Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

In a blink of an eye.

It was such a funny phrase and Matthew hated to use it, as it made him feel like he was a character in some pulp story from the Strand rather than a man of flesh and blood who lived in the real world and who dealt with the normal struggles of life. It was a phrase that should belong to daring detectives and epic heroes and cunning women hiding secrets while engaging in spectacular adventures. Not for a man who worried about bank books and the running of an estate. That string of words should have only been reserved for tales of heroes fording the Nile and treasure hunters stalking tigers in the wilds of the Asian continent. It wasn’t a dignified phrase, a proper phrase as Robert would say, and Matthew felt a twinge at using it.

And yet it was the only thing that came to mind. The only way to describe the chaos that had been his day.

He was stepping off a train, holding his wife’s hand-

In a blink of an eye.

She was screaming and crying and he’d never been so scared in all his life. Thoughts of Sybil drifted through his head and he’d prayed to God because he wasn’t as strong as Tom and couldn’t live if she were gone-

In a blink of an eye.

He was holding his son and he was the one crying now and all he could do is stare at that little scrunched up face. He didn’t want to let go, he couldn’t… Mary would understand if he spent the next week just holding little George-

In a blink of an eye.

Matthew had left them both but that is okay, he understood. He just needed to return to Downton, just for a few minutes to share the news and then he can return with the rest of the family. The day was so bright and lovely and it felt like the Holy Spirit has decided to create the perfect day to celebrate the birth of his child-

In a blink of an eye.

The car rumbled and a scream filled his ears and he dimly realized even as the glass broke against a branch and shards flew into his body, his form once more torn apart by shrapnel, that it is his own. The ground is rushing towards him and there is a hideous, horrible crack as his head strikes the ground-

In a blink of an eye.

He was in a bed.

A rather crummy one, now that he thought about it. It wasn’t like the thin sleeping bag he’d been given during the war, which he had once torn open to find was filled with newspaper and what he prayed was merely parchment stained brown from leatherwork. And it wasn’t as bad as the rock-like mattress he’d been forced to lie on during his weeks as an invalid, for even though he was staying in the estate that would one day be his he was still just an injured soldier and wouldn’t be given a private bed. Though, he thought now with bitter humor, only half of him had truly felt just how stiff that bed had been.

This bed though was different. Maybe, before he’d come to Downton, he’d have found it acceptable but living in luxury as he had tended to spoil a person. He’d once joked with Mary when she’d complained about the finest hotel room bed, saying she wouldn’t sleep well if 10 people hadn’t had a hand in changing the sheets. She scowled at that but he’d merely egged her on, stating that she was the literal princess complaining about a pea. Now he realized he owed her an apology because he was being just as fussy as her. There was nothing terribly wrong with the bed, only that it wasn’t something that cost as much as his old salary.

Him sleeping in such a bed did raise a curious question though; namely, how had he gotten there. He remembered the car crash but not how he had come to be on lying on the crummy bed with its sheets that were far too light for the cool fall weather. Of course it was possible that he had a fever before waking and whoever had put him to bed had wrapped him up in what little they could find. The excuse felt weak to him, especially since he didn’t feel that bad at all.

Matthew’s brow furrowed at that. In fact, as he considered his own body in the darkness of the room, he felt wonderful. Better than he’d felt in years! It was so odd to think about it, how little aches and pains that at first were so annoying became mere background noise as the years passed on, but suddenly Matthew was acutely aware that he felt as if he was fresh out of college. The tightness in his back along the shrapnel scars was gone, allowing him to shift without feeling like he was going to tear his skin to ribbons. The ache in his left knee from when he’d fallen off a horse during one of Robert’s hunts didn’t bother him. The ringing in his ears, another gift of the war, was gone as well; he’d forgotten what true silence sounded like.

And it was silent. Oddly so. It was such a rarity, in such big houses that held so few people, that they never seemed to be quiet. There was always a servant up and about, or someone sneaking away to relieve themselves, or just the normal moan and groan of an old house settling. He’d once asked Robert about it and his father-in-law admitted he didn’t know why the house made such noises; it was only later, when he talked to Tom that he got his answer. Something about heat and cold and expanding and contracting… he didn’t understand all of it, to be honest, and at the moment he wondered why he was even thinking about such things when he was clearly not in Downton.

Someone from the village then must have found him. Why not bring him to Dr. Clarkson then? Or to his mother’s home? He supposed there must be a reason… perhaps they had been afraid to move him? He remembered seeing several men strapped to their beds when Downton was a hospital, unable to move because the doctors feared that if they did they would hurt themselves even more than they already were. He had been in a car crash so that was possible. But he felt great! Even if he was on a crummy bed.

He reached out, fumbled a bit, heard something get knocked to the floor, but for the life of him he couldn’t find the lights. He felt a candle though and he cursed himself for his stupidity; of course they wouldn’t have electric lights. There were still houses in the village where such things were frowned upon. The old folks believed that lights could cause one’s home to explode or the electricity would escape and chase you down like a boogieman. He’d always been glad that his mother had never been that foolish; the only reason they’d never had electric lights in their old home was that his mother never saw the need for such an expense. She’d assumed that one day he’d marry and move into his own home and that she would find a smaller place befitting a widow whose child had finally left the nest. Then she would get all the electrical lights she desired. Crawley House had been a blessing and he still smiled fondly as he thought of how she’d looked about, trying to hide her delight at all the modern advancements that could be found about them. He never seen her look so young and even at his most priggish over having to become heir he’d never faulted her for feeling such delight.

Finding the matches he quickly lit the candle and watched as the room was illuminated in a soft golden glow. While it did have a crummy mattress with too thin sheets it was still a rather nice looking bedroom. Lived in too, that was clear. That had always been a problem at Downton; even to this day he felt afraid to touch some of the furniture. He’d once had a nightmare that he’d scuffed some antique chair and Carson had come at him with a serving tray, screeching about how he had brought shame to Downton and he would finish him as he had finished Patrick. Downton felt like a museum where one simply couldn’t relax but instead had to forever walk around on tiptoes. This room was different though. It was a bedroom he could live in, could feel free to be himself. He could flop on the bed like a child, throw a pillow at the wall if he were frustrated, or just sit and pick out a book from his bookshelf and read as the sun passed… through…

He paused.

His bookshelf.

He remembered it well. His father had been so proud when he’d gotten it, challenging Matthew to fill it up with books. The game had begun when he was 8 and every summer when he returned from Eton he would cram it full of new books he’d gotten either with his own pocket change or as gifts. It had taken nearly 10 years, long after his father had passed on, to finally fill it and it was a matter of pride to look upon it and see a visible sign of his learning. He remembered saying a silent prayer to his father, telling him he’d done it, when he’d slipped the final book into place. Robert had always bragged about his library but to Matthew nothing would ever be as impressive as his little bookshelf.

And there it was again, just to his right.

Impossible.

Even the books were the same. He might have believed that someone happened to have the same set of shelves but the same books? Ordered in the way he liked that no one could understand but him? It didn’t make any sense! He stood quickly and hurried over, yanking out one book and flipping through it. It was a collection of short stories from an American chap, a very interesting collection to be sure, and he remembered the tales well. Just as much as he remembered this book. It was his, he could tell. There was the rip on the corner of page 153, the one so minor no one would notice it but had gotten Robert all huffy and stating that Matthew really should buy a replacement. The folded page from when he’d been young and silly and couldn’t find a book mark and wanted to keep his place. The wear on the spine from his fingers holding it for hours, pouring over the tales.

But not the stain.

He flipped through the book again and again but couldn’t find it. But it should be there. Mary had startled him a few months ago as he’d been reading and he’d splashed his coffee on the pages. Nothing horrific, despite what Mary said, but enough that it left a recognizable stain right in the middle of the collection. Mary had sworn to replace it for him but he’d waved her off, telling her that the stain would remind him of her every time he read it. Matthew became almost frantic as he began to flip through the pages rapidly, searching for the stain, needing to find it, only to have clean paper meet his eyes.

The book slipped from his fingers and he began to look about wildly, finding that much of the room did look familiar. It wasn’t just the books and shelf… he recognized the dresser with its scratched surface and the mirror in the corner that always liked to get a bit crooked and even the pajamas he was wearing… he recognized them all and he found himself wondering how this could all be because he hadn’t seen any of this in nearly 9 years-

“Matthew?”

Matthew blinked as the intrusion of new candlelight before finally being able to focus on his mother's concerned face as she stood in the doorway. A sense of relief filled him for just as she had done when he was a young boy Matthew knew that she'd be able to chase away the confusion and befuddlement that came from being in a strange situation and give him the answers he sought.

"Matthew, my dear, are you alright? I heard you thumping about... oh, you look dreadfully pale! Sit, sit!"

Matthew laughed even as he sat down on the bed, his mother clucking and murmuring to herself as she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "I should say so, mother. I was in a terrible accident."

"You were?" his mother asked, concerned.

"Now is not the time to be coy," Matthew said with an annoyed smile. "I imagine Mary will be quite cross with me, being so foolish."

"Mary?" his mother asked. Her face was creased with confusion but Matthew didn't have the time or energy to wonder why. He had more important questions.

"Yes, I imagine she will enjoy needling me; she's been warning me for months on end that I drive too fast and that I treat the car like a child treats a toy." He rolled his shoulders a bit. "And I suppose like every naughty child I have broken my toy and must face the consequences. Tom warned me that I’d lost my respect for it and I know see he was right."

"Car? Matthew, when did you drive a car? Is that how you got in an accident?"

He frowned at that. "No one told you?"

"Why would anyone tell me?" And who is this 'anyone' you speak of?" Isobel Crawley made a face, one he knew all too well from his childhood. It was the same face she'd make when he told her some outlandish thing and she was wondering why he thought he was clever enough to fool her.

"No one told you?" Matthew asked, looking down at his pajamas. Whoever had placed him in this bizarre recreation of his old room had also dressed him in rather shabby clothing. At least they fit, unlike the garments he'd worn in the military hospital. "I must have been thrown from the car..."

"Matthew, you aren't making sense. I doubt very much you drove in a car let alone got in an accident. From what I've heard of those things people are lucky to survive just a normal drive!"

Matthew huffed. "I'm fine, mother. Now, where are we? Why wasn't I brought back home?"

Now his mother was staring at him with a frightful look upon her face. She moved to stand in front of him, tenderly placing her hands on his cheeks. "Matthew... tell me where do you think you are right now?"

His brow furrowed. "The Village, I suppose. Though I don't know why you didn't take me back to the house." He looked around, or did the best he could with his mother still holding his face. "And how is it that whoever owns this house got hold of my things from Manchester?" It suddenly dawned on him what the answer was and he gave his mother an exasperated sigh. "Did you donate them? You did, didn't you? I don't mind the furniture but why my books? You know I love them, despite Robert claiming his collect is more pristine and thus befitting a proper gentleman."

"Matthew, I think you need to lie back down. You're rather muddled."

"I'm fine, mother," Matthew said, all too used to his mother becoming overly dramatic when it came to his health. He half expected to wake up one day to find that she'd chained him to the bed 'for his own protection' while she tried to remove a splinter, convinced it would be his death. "I don't know if it was you or Dr. Clarkson that patched me up but I feel utterly fine. Now, I'd like to dress and make my thanks to whoever found me so I can get back to Mary."

Isobel however did not let him sit up and instead pushed him firmly back down onto the bed. "Matthew, you're befuddled. I think you were dreaming and it's made you all confused."

"I wasn't dreaming, mother. Now where is Mary?"

"Matthew," his mother said sternly, her warm and concerned tones replaced with steel. "You are talking of things I don't understand. If Mary is a woman you've set your eyes on-"

Matthew just began to laugh. "Set my eyes... did you two have a fight?" When his mother didn't respond Matthew began to talk slower, making sure to clearly say each word. "Mary. My wife. The mother of my child. Your grandchild, George."

"Oh... oh Matthew."

"What?" Matthew said, licking his lips. "Did something happen to her? The baby?"

"Sweetheart," his mother began again. "I swear on your father's grave... I have never heard of a Mary before. And certainly not one you married and had a child with." Matthew stared at her, shaking his head slightly and she gently reached over to brush a few stray locks of hair from his forehead. "I think... I think you had a dreadfully realistic dream and it’s got you all mixed up-"

"No... no..." he quickly stood up, nearly sending her toppling to the ground. "Is this a game? Did Tom put you up to it? Hazing of the new father? Because it is a rather sad attempt. Tom? Tom, are you there?"

"Matthew," his mother said, tears in her eyes. "Please."

"I don't have time for this," Matthew said, grabbing a robe and tugging it on. He searched for some slippers but when he didn't find any he padded across the floor barefoot. "I want to see Mary. You and Tom and whoever else is in on this can stop now." He threw open the door and stormed down the hall, his mother calling after him. "I need to... to..." he looked upon the other rooms, recognizing each one of them even in the dark of the night. He hurried down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, twisting around the hall tree his father had bought back when he was 5, before racing through the sitting room, eyes wide with shock and fear. He could hear his mother behind him, calling for him, but he couldn't stop, not until he escaped this madness. He rushed to the door, throwing it open and stared out not upon the sleepy village of Downton but his old neighborhood home in Manchester. It was as it had always been, everything the same even after nearly a decade. His jaw trembled and he felt tears in his eyes as he looked about the quiet street, the moonlight and gas lamps giving everything a soft glow. He felt his heart raising and could hear the blood rushing through his head even as his mother pulled him inside.

"Matthew... Matthew sweetheart..."

"No," he whispered, hand reaching out for something he couldn't see, only to close his fingers feebly. "This... this isn't right. This isn't..."

"It's a dream, sweetheart. You're sleepwalking. Shhh."

"No... no," he whimpered, tears trailing down his cheek. He'd just left his wife, he'd held his son. He had a family. It was real. "It was real," he said out loud.

"It's a dream, Matthew. A dream. Please..."

He let her guide him back up the stairs, putting up no protest as she laid him back in bed and sang to him as she had when he'd had a horrible nightmare as a child. But he hadn't had a nightmare... he'd had a life and now awoken to a terror.

A terror that everything... was gone. Had never been.

Matthew wept even as he fell back asleep.

~A~O~O~O~F~

He awoke once more with the rising of the sun immanent. And while all he wanted to do was leap to his feet and flee the world he found himself in, to search for Mary and prove that he wasn't going mad, he did not. With rest had come insight and he now saw that such actions would not work out well.

Matthew glanced over at his mother, who'd fallen asleep in the chair. For anyone else he'd have been concerned but his mother was made of stern stuff and she prided herself in being able to sleep anywhere and wake up just as refreshed as if she'd dozed on the Sultan's feather bed. He smiled despite his morose mood. 'If I do anything other than pretend it was all just a dream she'll try to help me.' That on its own wouldn't have been bad but he was the son of a doctor and knew that no matter how kind-hearted one was there were systems in place within the medical world that could consume a patient and never let them go. His mother would seek help, some doctor would rule that there was something wrong with Matthew's head, and he'd spend the rest of his life in an asylum, treated little better than a fly caught by a vicious bully who wanted to see what happened when you plucked its wings and legs off.

No. He couldn't act rashly and he certainly couldn't go to her for help. His mother was wonderful but he knew that even she had her limits and believing that her son was from nearly 10 years in the future would never be believed.

'Assuming that is the case,' he thought to himself. He hated to admit it but as he laid in bed he had to consider the option, no matter how painful, that his mother was right and it had all been a dream. And as much as he hated to admit it there were pros to that. 'Or one large pro,' Matthew thought. 'The War.' He silently laughed to himself. 'Just a day before if someone had told me that with a wave of their hand the war could be nothing more than a dream and all the pains that came from that senseless crusade would be undone I'd have said yes. And a more noble man would still say yes. But... my family against the world?' He shook his head. 'Damn the world.'

Of course if it wasn't a dream that meant the other option. The one that, had he heard it from anyone else, would have made him laugh and declare it fit for one of Mr. Doyle's tales. That somehow his soul had traveled a decade into the past. It was insane and ludicrous but he found it not only the option he longed to be true but also the one he felt the most likely. He simply remembered too much, had too many memories of the life he led for it to have been a dream. He had had vivid dreams before but those felt as if they lasted only hours at most; not the many years that he could now call upon.

'Not that they aren't any better than dreams I've had,' he thought. 'I was the heir of an earl. I spent years dancing around with Mary when she wasn't sleeping with Turkish diplomats or being blackmailed by newspaper owners. There was a war where I was in a coma, then crippled, then not when I caught a serving tray that must have been magical and able cure back injuries. My father in law's valet was falsely charged with murder, the butler was secretly a performer who sang on stage, the maid worked with the lord's daughter to become a secretary and then the same daughter married the driver and ran off to Ireland. We were rich, we were bankrupt, we were rich again because my fiancé died and her father died and he turned out to be richer than the Emperor of China. Patrick Crawley died then came back but not really because he was most likely a fake but oh Edith thought for sure he was.' He mentally scoffed. 'All that was missing was Robert saving the Prince of Wales and Edith having a child out of wedlock. Then my life would have truly been a page turner from a pulp paper.'

And that was the biggest problem facing Matthew: he had no way to prove, even to himself, that his memories were truly that: memories. 'I can't check to see if Robert is the Earl or that he has three daughters because it is entirely possible I read about him somewhere. I could walk through Downton I suppose but how would I explain being there? "Hello Robert, don't mind me, just making sure I'm not mad. By the way, please don't invest in a Canadian railway as I'd rather not try and convince Reggie Swire to give me his money again." I'd be tossed out before I got to the word 'don't'.'

For a moment he considered all he had learned in the war. He'd never been a crack shot (the hunting parties had proved that; nothing was more embarrassing than being the heir and being the worst shot of them all) until the war, when the difference between life and death meant learning how to kill a German. And he could remember the strategies used during those years in the trenches. But knowing something didn't make it true. 'Mosley claimed to know all there was to know about Cricket and couldn't play the bloody game if scoring meant he would become the Earl of Grantham.' He had no way of knowing if his memories of battle were truly memories or just the fanciful ideas of a madman.

Thus he found himself stuck. Until he could prove to himself that what he remembered had truly happened he was little more than a ghost stuck in limbo, going through life waiting until he was sure he knew if he could trust his own thoughts. It was a bitter pill to swallow but it would do no could to plot and plan until he had all his facts straight.

He heard his mother murmur and saw that the clock read nearly 6. It was time to get up and start the day. 'I still have a job, after all,' he thought as he made a show of snorting loudly before shutting his eyes.

"Mmm... Matthew?" his mother murmured as she returned from Morpheus' embrace.

"Mother?" Matthew asked sleepily, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick. “What… what are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

He watched, biting back a smile as his mother began to stammer just a touch. She had nerves of steel but when caught by total surprise she had a terrible habit of floundering. He’d seen the Dowager pull this trick many times and while he didn’t enjoy doing the same to his mother he knew it had to be done, to buy himself out of this situation.

“No, nothing wrong. At least not now. You were sleep walking last night and gave me a terrible fright and I stayed her to make sure you wouldn’t awaken again.”

“Sleep walking?” Matthew asked, raising any eyebrow. ‘Careful now… she loves you but she isn’t a fool. Careful.’ Rather than deny what she said he decided to embrace it. “I have the vaguest memory of throwing open the front door and… calling for a ‘Tom’.” His jaw worked nervously. “I hope no one saw me. Wouldn’t do well if I were called Mad Matthew the Raving Lawyer, now would it?”

“No one saw, don’t worry. You were calling out for several people; you seemed quite upset… but no matter.” Matthew bit back a chuckle. He knew his mother wouldn’t want to embarrass him and would write this off as something silly, letting it pass. “Most likely just brought on by something you ate. You didn’t try that new restaurant near your office, did you? Mrs. Plank got a terrible case of indigestion from that place and you know that upset stomachs can cause odd dreams. I remember your father…”

Matthew allowed his mother to continue on for several minutes before begging her off so he might dress. Isobel finally relented, kissing him on the cheek before hurrying off to dress herself so they might have breakfast before he left. Matthew, for his part, got up and began his daily stretches only to realize he really didn’t need to do them. He’d stretched because of the wear and tear on his body, thanks to not just the war but old age as well. Yes, 36 wasn’t THAT old and he was sure Cousin Violet would rap him on the leg for saying so, but it still was old enough that he awoke with pains and twinges. ‘Warrior’s Decay’, as Robert had once called it, trying to make it sound heroic and noble that one’s knees cracked and lower back hurt. But now he was young again, in the prime of life, and though he was in the past and unsure what to do he would take the small miracles.

‘At least I can dress myself without issues,’ he thought to himself as he finished buttoning his shirt. While he would have preferred Mosley (‘Oh I won’t make the same mistake this time, old chap. I promise this time I won’t be an utter prig when we meet again… if you’re actually real that is’) to help he wasn’t like some lords that couldn’t even wipe themselves without the aid of three valets and a footman to dispose of the mess. It would take some mild getting used to but he could easily slip back into being a simple lawyer without much trouble. ‘Or, at the very least, without a large amount of trouble’ he thought as he walked over to where he kept his calendar. It occurred to him that he had no ideas what cases he was currently working on and that might cause some trouble. ‘Hopefully nothing where I need to present.’

Matthew flipped open the book, casually glancing over what he had recorded the previous week. There was nothing major, just a few notes about different meetings he had scheduled and Matthew suddenly found it quite sad that there was nothing in the book about friends. Oh, he was on good enough terms with his partners but there were almost never any after work drinks at the pub or journeys to hear some new band play at a club. Just wake up, work, return home, read, sleep. Repeat. He sat down once more on his bed and found himself terribly missing Downton. Not just Mary, though that did make his heart ache, but everyone. He missed talking with Tom, who had become like a brother to him. He wondered if Robert knew how many times they had stuck away from their duties to get a pint. He missed Robert and their walks and, when he wasn’t being totally pig headed, their talks about Downton. He missed Edith’s wit and how, when she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, she could be a delight. He missed Mosley as well, the good chap who was happy to help. He missed Barrow, one of the only people he could discuss the war with; nearly a dozen times he’d awoken in the night and met Barrow in the drawing room, the two of them quietly stealing Robert’s liquor and talking of the nightmares and fears. He missed Sybil-

‘I can save her,’ he suddenly thought, eyes widening. ‘If this is real… if I am truly in the past and all that had happened could come again… I can change it!’ A massive smile broke out on his face. ‘I can save Sybil! Tom won’t be a widower! Sybie will know her mother! And William… I can save William, convince him not to sign up! And Lavinia! I can save them all!’ He felt like laughing, like rushing through the hall and whooping with joy. He could do it! He could save them!

Assuming they were real.

That brought his mood down again.

‘It does no good to hope or plan,’ he thought once more, returning this attention to the book. ‘Not until I know if it was real. Not until I have some…way…’

His fingers stopped flipping pages and his eyes focused on a particular date, namely what day this day was.

April 16, 1912

And suddenly he had a way to be sure.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author’s Notes: So this story came about because I wanted to read a Downton Abbey story that dealt with time travel. There are plenty of stories about Matthew escaping death, be it thanks to the Doctor or he didn’t really die or he becomes an angel only Mary can see… but never anything with time travel. And because I couldn’t find that I decided to write it myself.

I actually had two different ideas for how to handle this: one with Matthew, as you have just read, and one with Mary. I’ll share the Mary one in hopes that someone will pick that idea up and run with it:

The story would begin in 1991. Mary would be 100 years old and have led an eventful but not always happy life. Her and Henry’s child died in infancy and a year later Henry died in a train accident. World War II saw George die (as he stubbornly wanted to prove himself a hero like his father) and with no heir to be found Robert would eventually be forced to sell Downton. Mary would have happy moments, as she’d basically become a second mother to her niece Sybie, the two growing very close after Tom died of a heart attack in his 50s, and Mary would weather the changing world better than many would expect. Sadly, in the 1980s Sybie would pass away, leaving Mary the last person to have lived in Downton to be alive (Edith having passed away a decade earlier and Marigold dying a year before Sybie).

On the anniversary of Matthew’s death an elderly Mary would get her grandniece (Sybie’s daughter), to take her to visit Downton Abbey, now an estate that hosted tours and could be rented out. Mary would quietly slip away from the tour group and sneak away to her old bedroom, lying down on the bed and taking her last breath…

…only to wake up on the morning of Matthew’s arrival to Downton.

The story would then became a ton of fun as Marry, now with a century of experience, would utterly delight in being young again. She would run about hugging everyone, dance with a bewildered Anna, hurry down to the servants’ hall to see a startled Carson and thank all of them. And when confronted she would, unlike Matthew here, be utterly open with what happened: “Oh, I’ve traveled back in time and now I get to ensure everything goes right!” She’d be excited to try all sorts of foods (because she’d had dentures for 30 years and had to be careful with what she ate) and utterly refuse to wear corsets (“Wait till you see them burning bras, Sybil! It is amazing!”) and when she finally went down to Crawley House she would grab Matthew by the lapels and tell him “I love you, you love me, just accept it!” and snog him so hard he’d be blabbering for hours.

The fun of that story would be seeing how Mary that went through the feminist revolution, two World Wars, and the music of Queen would turn the events of Downton upside down. A Mary that would look at Bates and tell him “Get Murray to get you a divorce and hurry up marrying Anna, you young twit” because everyone would be young to her. A Mary who would happily sit with Violet and Isobel and talk about the pains of old age while the two women stared on in shock. A Mary who would happily lock Sybil and Tom in a room and tell them to just admit they love each other and stop wasting her time. And a Mary who wouldn’t play games with Matthew and use everything in her power to get the two of them together so they could turn all of English society on its head.

The reason I went with this story instead of that one is a practical one: I am a 33 year old American male, so I can more easily slip into the mindset of Matthew than I can Mary. But if someone wants to run with the idea, please do.

Chapter Text

“Don’t let Papa see you reading that,” Mary had once told him when she’d found him in their room, a small flimsy paperback in his hands. They’d been married for a few months and though Matthew hadn’t known it at the time Marry was already pregnant with little George. She’d walked in to retrieve something, he couldn’t remember and he didn’t even know if she’d ever told him, and caught him sitting by the window, engrossed in his reading. “You know that he thinks anything without a hard cover is rubbish and shouldn’t be in the hands of a gentlemen.”

“While normally I might agree I’m afraid this only comes in soft cover,” he’d said, shifting a bit as Mary walked over. He’d thought about hiding what he was reading but knew that Mary would never let him get away with keeping something from her and instead just continued on.

Sure enough Mary had begun to read over his shoulder, curious as to what he’d selected. He been able to tell by her sharp intake of breath that she hadn’t been expecting him to be reading up on THAT particular topic. “Is this about-?”

“It is. And now you see why I am reading here and not down in the library.”

“Why are you interested in that?”

Matthew had marked his place before he’d addressed her question, sighing slightly as he’d done so. “I know that for your family, and for many families, it was a tragedy. I’m not callous enough to think it wasn’t. But for me… though I didn’t know it at the time, it was the trigger for so many blessings.” He had pulled her around towards him, kissing her hand gently, and Mary had smiled that beautiful brilliant smile of hers that always made him melt. “I always wonder what my life would have been like had Patrick lived and you’d never come into my life.”

“And I as well,” Mary had stated. “I imagine I would have been dreadfully unhappy.”

“As would I. It is cruel to say, for all those it caused pain… but for me I thank the Lord for that iceberg every day.”

That conversation played throughout his gray matter as Matthew rushed into his office, shutting and locking the door firmly behind him before setting the newspaper down on the desk, not minding in the slightest that such action caused a stack of papers to flutter to the floor. Honestly he wouldn’t have cared if they had been swept up by a stiff breeze and sent tumbling out the window, never to be seen again. They wouldn’t matter soon enough, not if what he felt in his head and his heart was proven true. And if he was wrong then he’d be reduced to a sobbing wreck soon enough and be utterly useless when it came to any of his casework.

The moment he had realized what day it was he had sprung into action. Knowing that his mother would grow worried if he were late for breakfast he’d only allowed himself a handful of minutes to snatch up the pad of paper that he always kept near his bedside, there if a thought about a case occurred to him in the middle of the night, and begun to write down everything he could remember about the Titanic Tragedy. Nothing about the boat itself, as that would be common knowledge. Would do no good to write down things like the number of passengers, as he would never be sure if that was truly future knowledge or information he’d read about a few days prior. No, he recorded the time it had sunk, the name of the ship that had found the first passengers, a description of how it had slowly sunk down into the icy depths, taking with it so many unfortunate souls. He recorded facts that no person, unless they had survived the event personally, should ever have known this early in the morning on the day of the tragedy and set them down in pencil, thanking every angel listening that he’d studied the sinking so thouroughly that he could recall the details with a near perfect recollection. He’d looked over the list one last time, to make sure it was as detailed as it could possibly be, before cramming the sheet, his lifeline to his past and what he prayed was his future, in his pocket. Then had been the fastest he’d ever gotten dressed before it was a sprit out the door.

Breakfast had been a torturous affair, with Matthew doing his best to act normal even as it felt as if he had butterflies in his stomach and they were all performing that silly dance Mary loved from when they were in the Highlands. He couldn’t remember what they’d had for breakfast, or what his mother had talked to him about. He’d mostly just nodded and murmured polite agreements; he vaguely recalled kissing her on the cheek and managing, when she asked him to say hello to that pretty secretary of his, to not comment that he wasn’t going to cheat on his wife… who he wasn’t even married to… who didn’t even know who he was... with his secretary. His mind was too full to focus on anything really, as the same silent, horrible prayer repeating in his head.

‘Let it have sunk. Let it have sunk. Let it have sunk.’

It was wrong. It was horrible. It was vile and sinful. A true gentlemen, a true Christian, a man of noble thoughts and deeds, would never have thought such a terrible thing. To wish the death of over a thousand innocent souls purely so he might have his happiness was ghastly. Ghoulish even. He should have been on his knees, praying that it was all a dream and those unfortunate men, women, and children would be spared the cold death that had awaited them in his timeline.

But he’d spent nine years doing the right thing. He’d swallowed his pride when Cousin Violet had asked him to investigate the entail and see if he wouldn’t just sacrifice the wealth and all he would receive, after already altering his life so much, because Mary was throwing a hissy fit (and she was his wife so he could call it that… though never to her face). Never mind that it would utterly destroy Downton, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if Mary had tried to buy it off of him should he have been able to get her the money, so that the Crawleys might continue on like nothing had changed while he became a laughing stock. He hadn’t said a word when Violet demanded that. He’d attended their dinner parties where everyone, including the family that was supposed to be welcoming him, looked down on him because he actually had a skill and a job while Robert would be lost if he didn’t have an army of servants to help him. They mocked the idea of him being middle class, seeing him as inferior when in all measurements he was the most skilled of them all and had managed to make something of himself while the rest of them only had the deeds of those long dead to prop them up. He’d never become upset when Robert and Cora were expecting and certain servants had gotten snippy about his frustrations over Mary for toying with his emotions; never a cold word as he’d been treated as dirt by the likes of Carson because he’d dared not been a happy little tin soldier who did as he was told and accepted that his life was like parchment in the wind. He’d signed up to fight a war that should never have been fought but was because stupid petty men, the men that the Crawley family thought could do no wrong, wanted to prove who made the bigger bloody cock. He’d stayed with Lavinia even after he’d realized he didn’t love her as she deserved for he didn’t want to bring shame upon her. He’d tried to refuse Reggie Swire’s money and then given it to Robert even though, as much as he cared for the man, the Earl was an idiot when it came to money and should never be allowed to invest even a copper. Because he owed Mary that, apparently, never mind his own feelings on the matter. Time and time again he’d done the noble thing. The sensible thing. And what had that gotten him?

A year of happiness before he was killed because of a bloody car swerving into his lane.

‘To hell with the world,’ Matthew thought as he sat down in his office chair. ‘And the hell with being noble and proper. For once I am going to be greedy.’ For as much as he looked back on all he’d done and scoffed at how the family had run right over him he in his heart still loved them and wanted to be with them again. And if that meant a tragedy had to occur, one he had no control over… then damn it, let it happen. He’d allowed himself to become like Mary and Robert, forever worried about what others would think. Doing so now though would cost him his chance to be with those he longed to see again. For as much as he scorned the compromises he’d been forced to make he still loved them all and wanted to return to them. And if the paper’s front page was emblazed with the headline he hoped to see… then his chance to see them all again was possible. And he didn’t care what any Higher Power who sat in Heaven above thought.

He’d done his best to ignore people at the newspaper stand, humming to himself to block out their comments as he’d paid for his copy of the Herald and hurried to his building. While seeing shocked faces might have confirmed things he wanted to do this alone, in private and without any onlookers.

He was proud to say, at the very least, that his hands did not tremble as he carefully laid out the newspaper on his desk. He didn’t begin to weep or cheer either. He merely slunk down in his rolling chair (‘Oh, how Cousin Violet hated these things’ he thought to himself suddenly, the memory popping up out of nowhere) and stared at the headline.

TITANIC SINKS

~A~O~O~O~F

Mathew sighed, looking down at the sheet of paper he had laid out on the overly large hardcover he’d snagged from the bookshelf. His mother would have a fit at him using it as a glorified writing desk but this was something he couldn’t do out in the open and he’d only remembered upon entering his bedroom that night that he didn’t have a desk… yet. He’d have one in the village, and at Downton, but not here in his mother’s simple home. Why need a private one when there was a perfectly good writing desk waiting for anyone to use downstairs? It was a needless expense, or at least was one at this point in his life.

But this was something he had to do alone.

It wasn’t a dreadful loss. The book was a ponderous thing he’d been forced to read during his school days and honestly it was better served as a hard writing space than as a source of any enjoyment or knowledge.

His mind turned to his small cozy bedroom and he wondered if he should feel more ashamed at how meager he now found it. He’d promised that he wouldn’t let Downton change him but here he was bitter that he had no writing desk to call solely his own and that his shoes didn’t fit as well as the one’s he’d worn (from his perspective) a day ago, and missed Mrs. Patmore’s desserts that were so rich they should have been made illegal. He’d been altered, a mark left upon him, even if it was only his soul that, in this new life, had been to Downton.

‘But I changed them as well,’ he thought to himself. ‘Made Robert a little less stuffy, got Violet to open her eyes a bit more. Broke apart the ice that caked Mary’s heart. Helped pull all of them into the new century, even if they were kicking and screaming the entire way.’ He looked down at his list. ‘And this time I will do so much more.’

Once he had confirmed that all his notes on the Titanic disaster were true Matthew had begun considering what he could and more importantly should do next. Knowledge was everything and nothing. He knew so much but, at the moment, he was powerless. He knew everything and everyone at Downton but what good would that do if he showed up, during their mourning no less, and proclaimed he was the heir and madly in love with Mary? ‘I’d be driven out at best,’ he thought with a rueful chuckle, tapping his pencil against the book. He knew that Robert had already invested in that stupid rail line and that in about seven years every drop of Downton’s money would be gone; in fact he could practically hear it dripping away even as he sat there. Yes, it hadn’t lost anything yet but it soon would and that drove him mad. He wasn’t one that liked risks; Mary had joked that he was such a poor hand at cards because he only bet when it was a sure thing. That wasn’t entirely true… he only bet when he had a gameplan in place and didn’t throw his chips in like Robert was want to do and hoped for the best. The knowledge that Downton’s future was at risk was driving him mad and he wanted to go and shake Robert now and scream at him for risking everything on a fool’s gamle.

But there was nothing he could do about that, even after he was named heir; Robert would buck and snort and tell Matthew it was none of his concern and that he’d been doing this for far longer. ‘You are thinking like a middle class lawyer, Matthew. Leave it to me to secure the future of the estate’. If he came at him with demands it would be a million times worse than when he’d tried to get Robert to invest Reggie’s money properly. Robert would dig in his heels and refuse to listen.

The war was looming as well, only two years away, but he couldn’t stop it (and even if he magically managed to stop that war another would pop up; it was clear to him that the world needed a war like that to shake them awake and make them see the folly of their actions. Too many like Robert and William still saw war as a noble little game and not the bloody and muddy hell that it was, where the trenches were not filled with glory but with death and darkness.) and while he had some ideas on how he could save himself (and, if he played things carefully, Barrow and William as well) he couldn’t do much until war was actually declared. As much as it pained him Matthew saw that he was playing a long game. This wasn’t a hand of cards; his life was a chess match and each move might take months to make.

‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t start getting the pieces in the right postions,’ he thought, looking at his list.

The first domino had already fallen: Patrick was dead. Oh, he was convinced now that the ‘Patrick’ who had appeared in the hospital was not the true heir. He was a con man, a scared scarred soldier who had learned where he was and, finding out the current heir was a cripple and quite suicidal at that point, decided to step in, playing on Edith’s emotions in hopes of usurping the title and the lands. In his mind the man probably thought he was doing them a kindness: he could marry Edith, produce a child, and Downton would still fall to Robert’s biological grandson. But Matthew wasn’t going to get hurt… if he had his way he wouldn’t see the front line. So that ugly mess of a man and his ‘kindness’ could bugger off to parts unknown.

He shook his head. He kept doing that, allowing old memories and thoughts to pop up and derail him. He was sure it would get worse when he actually got back home. A painting or a dish would trigger a memory and he’d be lost like an old man in the grip of dementia, recalling tales that, to the rest of the world, had never happened. He needed to keep an eye out for that, lest he ruin everything. It would do him only ill if he let Robert and the rest think he was a scatterbrained fool.

Matthew refocused. Patrick was dead and in late July he would receive the letter from Robert asking for them to meet. By September he and mother would move to the Village and then he could truly begin to work on his list.

He looked down at what he had written, smiling to himself.

Mathew’s Grand List Of What To Change Now That He Has Found Himself In The Past

1- Get a new name for the list.

‘That much is obvious’, he thought with a rueful shake of his head as he turned to his next point.

2- Get Mary to fall in love with me sooner, get married, avoid all the heartache and pain

While it was the first thing on the list (technically second but he figured he could come up with a better name for his list within a day or two) Matthew knew it wouldn’t be the first thing he managed to do. Courting Mary the last time hadn’t been easy and while he knew her better now that didn’t mean such knowledge would make it easier. In fact knowing so much about her only meant that he knew what to avoid, not what to actually do.

Matthew was humble enough to admit that part of the problem had been himself. He’d been an utter prat when he’d first arrived at Downton, loudly proclaiming to all that he knew better and that their way of life was wrong and he wasn’t going to change, they had to. While it had become a funny story later on, once they’d finally settled down and married, Matthew could see that his ill-timed comment about Mary being shoved onto him, combined with her own anger at being passed by to inherit, meant that they’d started on the wrong foot, with her utterly bitter at his arrival. What attraction there had been between them had died on the vine with those words. While he wouldn’t be making that same mistake again (and he had a few ideas of just how he wanted their first meeting to go) he knew that Mary would not be changed like him and would still feel the anger and see him as someone claiming what was her’s. While he wouldn’t act like a prig he also couldn’t come in pitching woe and fawning over her as she would read that as him trying to win her over purely to better his standing. She’d turned down other men in the past for doing the same.

‘The trick is a happy medium, as the Americans say,’ Matthew thought to himself, picturing his wife as he had first seen her, prim and proper and looking at him with smoldering eyes. ‘To be respectful without coming off as a leech attempting to trick her with honeyed words.’ He would need to show her that he could be a friend, someone she could rely on, and someone that could challenge her and love her as she deserved. That is what had finally allowed them to fall for each other and this time he would ensure that all the blockades he’d created in that first timeline weren’t there this go-around. ‘And of course there is the other matter that would make life easier for all of us.’

3- Keep that Turkish prick away from Mary

At first he had thought to just include that in his Mary section but realized that the Turkish Diplomat hadn’t been just a problem for Mary but for all of them. Yes, his death had caused Mary embarrassment and shame. It had caused her to doubt herself and if she were worthy of marrying him. Keeping the dashing and annoying man away from Mary would certainly help her and him avoid many of the hang-ups that had caused their relationship to rock back and forth between happiness and despair.

But the more Matthew thought of it the more he realized that… whatever his name was (and he really should know it, considering it seemed as if every month someone was asking if he remember ‘The Turkish Diplomat that died in the house’. Why yes, Cora, I remember the dead man everyone can’t stop talking about, what does that have to do with the pudding we are eating?)… had cast his shadow over the entire house and was the source of so many problems. He was why Mary had ended up stuck with Sir Richard for so long. He had caused Rosamund to insert herself into problems that were none of her concern. It had created unneeded gossip and caused the Crawley family to do foolish and stupid things just to keep up appearances and avoid scandals. It had driven a wedge between Edith and Mary when the former had sent letters to the Turkish Embassy about the incident (and Matthew, having only found out about this 2 weeks ago from his perspective after Mary had let it slip, was still a touch mad at Edith and her senseless actions).

‘For goodness sakes according to Mary the man’s death is part of the reason Bates ended up in bloody prison!’ Matthew thought suddenly, making a note next to his comment on the Prick to look into Bates’ situation. ‘The Turkish prick and his… Turkish prick… are a curse on Downton and the Crawleys. I can imagine it a hundred years from now: Oh, don’t marry Matthrew Crawley the 5th, his family is under the Turkish Diplomat Curse’. Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘I can’t even hope that keeping him away from Mary will help… he’d probably end up in someone else’s bed and start the bloody thing off again.’

Matthew turned to his next task.

4- Don’t die

‘Is it sad that Mary and the Turk come before my own death?’ he thought to himself. This one would be the easiest to do: don’t be an idiot when driving a car. He’d become lax and stupid, allowing himself to forget that an auto was a dangerous machine. Tom had warned him time and again to respect the auto and like a love drunk fool he’d decided to go blazing about the countryside staring at the clouds. He would stop treating it like a toy to play with and show it the respect and caution it deserved.

Or just never drive at all. That would work too.

5- Save Sybil

Not just for Tom, who had been so lost and heartbroken after she’d left him. Not just for Sybie, who, if Matthew did this right, would be given another name, one her mother picked out as she held her close. Not just for Cora and Robert, for no parent should bury their child. Not just for Mary and Edith, who had lost a bit of innocence when, in their own words, the best of the three of them had perished. But also for him. He had spent the least amount of time with Sybil but it still pained him to see her gone. It was only after her passing he’d truly learned about her, from Mary and Tom and Robert and Cora and all the rest and he’d mourned not just her but the loss of opportunity to know someone so full of life. She was young, yes, and opinionated, but she felt like someone that could have been his ally, had he allowed her into his heart. So this time it would be different. He would save her and she would live a full life. He would research what had happened to her, get his mother to help, he’d tell Sybil and Tom he’d stand with them and demand they go see Clarkson…

…no, not Clarkson. A city doctor. They’d take her to a hospital, just as they’d done with Mary. One where there were rooms full of people to assist. Robert be damned, he would pay for it himself if he had to. He’d take her to bloody America if he had to.

6- Keep Lavinia FAR away from Downton, so she might live

‘And I’ll save you too’ he thought. Lavinia would be easier; so long as they never got together she wouldn’t come to Downton and would never get sick. Matthew paused before adding next to that item ‘stop the flu from even happening at Downton’ to the list. He wasn’t sure HOW he’d do that but he didn’t want to risk saving Lavinia only for Cora to pass away.

7- Save William

This one would be harder. William was too damn noble, even during the horrors of war. He’d been a true believer, fighting for King and Country, not seeing that the war was a folly and should never have happened. Matthew had an idea about what to do about keeping himself off the front lines but he didn’t know if he could keep William from charging off to battle, puffed up on patriotism and acting like the American cowboys Robert was fond of mocking. Still, he had to try. Which lead to his next task…

8- Don’t go to the front

Without the knowledge he had now he would have thought this an impossibility. Everyone had assumed that signing up early would get one out of the true fighting. Barrow had admitted as much during one of their late-night drinking meetings, shaking his head and cursing the rumors that those brave lads who joined up at the start would be given cushy positions. Matthew had reminded Thomas that he wasn’t the only one to fall for the lies and the two had toasted on the hope that whoever had created that tale was burning in hell.

(Thomas had also admitted, rather tearfully, that he’d purposely gotten himself shot to get out of the front and get sent back home. He’d expected Matthew to be mad at him but he’d merely shocked the under butler by stating “I’d wish I’d bloody thought of that! I waited till I got paralyzed!”. After that it seemed as if a weight had been lifted from Barrow’s shoulders, to know that there was at least one person he could talk to truthfully about what had happened)

For it had been a horrid lie. Volunteering first meant you got to fight longer. Waiting to volunteer meant you got stuck with bitter soldiers mad that you’d been able to duck away while they suffered. William had at least been protected by him and Matthew knew the poor lad had suffered through hazing because his fellow soldiers thought him a mama’s boy who had only come to fight when the shame had gotten too great. But the truth was that all of them had wished they’d been like William and waited. He’d heard of other schemes, other tricks, and knew that each one of them was doomed to fail. ‘Kill 100 Germans and they say you’ve done enough’. ‘If you can recite a secret passcode it gets you sent back home’. ‘Sneak into Captain Crawley’s tent and offer him your bum and the next morning you’ll get your papers’

Matthew would love to know what idiot had spread THAT rumor… so he could kill them slowly.

There were only four ways one could avoid going to the front: be too sick to fight, petition, find a role of importance that kept one at home, or run. As much as Matthew would like to avoid the front he wasn’t ready to cut off his foot to avoid it. The petition was an option but one he didn’t want to risk; being the Heir of Grantham would not see him approved and it was dangerous to claim he was morally against the war (even though he was). The best option was the find a job that would help in the war effort but not see him sent to the front lines. Usually that meant luck or having an in.

Luckily he had insider knowledge.

9- Keep Sybil and Tom at Downton

Matthew would never claim he loved his country as much as Robert, who he wouldn’t be surprised to find out wore Union Jack pajamas to bed, but he did feel that England had so much more to offer than Ireland. He knew Tom loved his home country but he also knew that it brought out the worst in him. He’d been a writer and probably could have provided a grand life for himself and his family but old friends with bad habits had drawn him in and made him make horrifying mistakes. It had nearly cost him his life and his marriage and even though both had survived he knew it had broken Tom’s heart to never be allowed back to his homeland, a man without a country.

‘And, if I’m being honest… I want him here,’ Matthew admitted. ‘It’s selfish but he became like a brother to me and I know it hurt Mary not to have Sybil around. I need to find a way to keep them here… and that will mean going to war with Robert.’ Matthew made a face as he remembered just how radical Tom had been before the loss of Sybil and the caring for their child had mellowed him out. ‘And most likely going to war with Tom.’

He wasn’t looking forward to that.

10- Ensure Robert doesn’t destroy Downton

‘Speaking of wars,’ Matthew thought with a bitter laugh. He loved Robert, he truly did, but the man had absolutely no sense when it came to business. He seemed to believe that just because you have the money you understood how to make it. ‘No, that isn’t right… he believes because he has things WORTH money he understands how to make it.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration, feeling a headache coming on just thinking about how mismanaged Downton was. ‘He invests in a rail line because someone with a better title believes it a grand idea. He doesn’t hold the tenants accountable because he believes that all of them are like him and believe in keeping Downton strong when all they see is a lord willing to let them do as they please. He refuses to try anything new because if it wasn’t done by men long dead then it’s not worth doing!’

Matthew set the list aside and let out a huff. ‘And this will be a worse battle than last time because I won’t be a co-owner. Reggie Swire will have no reason to put me in his will so there will be nothing I can use to help Robert out. And he will see me as some forward thinking country lawyer who doesn’t understand how things work and send me off with a bug in my ear.’

He did have the rumblings of a plan. When he’d originally gone to Robert to save Downton he’d had a much more ambitious idea in mind but realized even before speaking to his father in law that it would never be accepted and thus toned it down. Matthew knew it was risky but, should he be able to make it come to pass then not only would Downton be saved but he would take it to places no earl had ever taken it before. He would truly create its legacy.

Sitting up he decided to move on to the next item on the list.

11- Ensure Robert doesn’t destroy Downton

“Because it needs to be repeated” he muttered before looking at the next three.

12- Make friends with Tom, make him feel welcome

13- Help Molesely. He deserves respect

14- Get to know the entire staff better

He needed to do this, for all of them. Tom had become a brother to him and he wished he had gotten to know him better, defended him against Robert and Cora and knocked some sense into his thick head that he didn’t need to leave. That there were opportunities for him at Downton… that together they could make it wonderful. He would do better this time; like with Mary he would see that relationship come about sooner and thus make it stronger for all the extra time they’d have. Already he wished he could ring Tom up, invite him to drive over and they’d hit a pub and talk about everything and nothing. He’d give anything to hear Tom rant and rave about Irish independence and then fall asleep at the bar (for an Irishman he simply couldn’t hold his liquor… Matthew loved to tease him that he was a secret English baby his mother had adopted).

‘And then there is Moldsely,’ Matthew thought with a sad smile. ‘I truly how many of the troubles you went through were because I had such a habit of destroying your ego. From belittling you the moment we first met to not bringing you with me when I moved into Downton because I didn’t understand the connection between valet and gentleman… well, I promise things will be different.’

‘Just as they will be with the rest of you.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘I claimed I was better than Robert and the rest and honestly I was worse. They made connections, at the very least, but I let the dark looks you all gave me when I first arrive color my views and we never recovered. I need allies in the likes of Mrs. Hughes and Carson, not enemies or to be generous neutral parties who tolerate me due to Mary.’ He managed a smile though; he had a plan in mind that would drive Robert mad but would also impress him greatly and help Matthew make a better impression on the servants this time.

15- Save the baby

Matthew had said he’d be selfish. Damn the world and focus on himself.

But… if being the Earl meant watching Cora and Robert mourn once more over their child…

He would give it all up.

Of course he also realized there was a chance the baby might never come to be. After all, if he was already going to be radically changing things there was a chance that Robert and Cora would never do… that (he couldn’t even imagine them in their undergarments without shuddering in horror)… and the baby would never be conceived.

Or it could be.

And even then Robert had never informed him of the baby’s gender. He’d refused to speak of it and, as far as he knew, only he and Dr. Clarkson knew if they were to have another girl or an heir.

So Matthew would save the child. Because there were too many ‘what ifs’.

‘It will be hard. How do you advice someone not to slip on a bar of soap?’

That would be one he’d need to puzzle over for some time.

16- Find out about Gregson, his wife, and if Edith can truly be happy with him

‘How sad that even on this list Edith is last,’ Matthew thought. While he tried to justify that saving lives and saving Downton were more important he still felt guilty that she was an afterthought even when he hadn’t met her yet. Still, he would help her all that he could, though he did find it sad that she would have to suffer many years before Michael Gregson came into her life. Matthew was not a fan of Sir Anthony, thinking that he was too concerned with finding the first young thing to cling toand was too quick to abandon someone he loved at the worst possible moment. Had he broken with her gently Matthew might have helped him but he’d broken Edith’s heart and spirit and he simply couldn’t trust the man not to do it again. No, Matthew would do what he could to keep Edith from ever falling for him.

Gregson was a wild card but one Matthew needed to examine.

‘Most likely this will be the only task I start after the day I… originally died.’ His mouth puckered a bit at that, not liking how morbid it sounded but not knowing any other way to describe it.

He carefully folded the list and slid it into his briefcase, promising to soon get a small safe and tuck it away where only he could get to it. He had so much time and yet so little to do all that he wanted. He knew the risks, how his actions could blow up in his face and destroy everything. Part of him was tempted to just go through the motions and live the next nine years exactly the same up until he left the hospital. But when he thought of Sybil and Lavinia and William he just couldn’t do it.

‘I’ve been given a gift,’ he thought as he began to change for bed, ‘and by God’s good grace… I will use it.’

It would be a mantra he would repeat for months… until the day Lord Robert of Grantham changed his life once again

~A~O~O~O~F~

Chapter Text

Early August 1912

He’d honestly forgotten when Robert sent the letter. He knew it had been coming, of course, but didn’t know exactly when and thus had to forced himself to stop acting like a puppy waiting for his master to come home every time a message arrived at the house. He’d done his best to just live his life, even if he found it almost painful to go through the motions and constantly pretend that there was nothing different. He found there was very little he could do to keep himself occupied. Work was too easy because he remembered each case, once he already read up on his carefully made notes, and thus knew what would and wouldn’t work. And even then compared to the horrors of war and the minefield that was the social niceties of high society dealing with trade agreements between two small companies simply didn’t challenge him as they once had.

People always believed, when they heard he was a lawyer, that he was in court all the time, wearing those silly wigs and talking to old men in black robes who also wore funny wigs, delivering long drawn out monologues concerning justice and the power of the human spirit. The fact of the matter was that Matthew’s job dealt more with contracts and deals; a lumber mill would want to gain logging rights to a patch of land and Matthew would draw up the contract that ensured the mill got what they wanted but didn’t take or damage anything else, thus ensuring the owner could use it for farming or regrowing the trees. Two businesses might want to come up with a plan to sell to each other needed parts and Matthew would work with both, hammering out the details. It has been challenging work, interesting work, but now was dreadfully dull when he already knew the answers. Part of what made him a good lawyer was that he was able to remember details quickly and in vivid detail (except for when Robert’s letter had come, much to his own annoyance), thus allowing him to work faster than those who had to constantly check and reference things. This gift became a curse though when he was now faced with clients he’d already helped and thus knew exactly what they needed. In his original timeline his work should have lasted right up until the first of September, with him rushing the final contract so it could be done before the move. Now however he’d gotten everything done and simply handed them out when the time was ‘right’, creating the illusion of hard work. That meant he spent most of days sitting in his office, throwing wads of paper into a trash can and trying desperately to seem busy.

He’d debated buying a new book but then he’d have to explain to his mother what was wrong with the three he’d bought only days before the sinking, the ones he’d told her he’d heard wonderful things about and wanted to read. He couldn’t just come out and say ‘Well, I remember reading them in my first time living this life and while the first two were fine ‘The Woman in White’ bored me to tears and I ended up tossing it away rather than even look at its cover…’. No, that simply wouldn’t have passed so Matthew was forced to spend the last few months rereading the books (or in the case of the third pretending to do so while imagining he was wringing the author’s neck) and finding other ways to pass the time. The days seemed to crawl and blend together and Matthew felt like a child waiting for Father Christmas to arrive with presents as he lay in bed.

Sleep hadn’t even offered him relief. His dreams every night were of his past, of the life he had led and would be allowed to live once more. Sometimes they were pleasant memories, ones that made he wake up with a sad smile for what he’d had and what he wished he could have once more. Sometimes they were mundane but he found even dreaming of just sitting at a table watching his family eat was good enough. And sometimes he dreamed of things that had never come to pass. He didn’t know why he’d dreamed of Carson performing a dance number for them all while they ate, or why he dreamed once that the family had decided to swap clothes and all the women had wore tails while the men wore the finest dresses money could buy, but dream it he did, along with a thousand other thoughts in the dusty recesses of his mind.

So his days became ones of boredom and waiting, of the same routine he feared to break or could not find a way to shatter, because he did not know when the letter would come. But time decided to mock him and thus it was a complete shock when, during what felt like yet another breakfast with his mother where he ate toast and eggs and tried orange juice (an American thing to do, really, but his mother had read about it and thought it interesting to try), his mother had taken the post Ellen had given her and passed it to him. He briefly wondered, not for the first time, what Cousin Violet would think to see him opening letter at the table, with a kitchen knife no less. He didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelope at first; it was Murray’s handwriting he’d later realize and Matthew had always allowed Robert to handle the family lawyer and his messages. But the pages in his hands, the ones he’d just pulled from the envelope… those contained words written in a hand he knew all too well.

To Mr. Matthew Crawley

From Lord Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham

I confess that I am not confident in how to convey this message and thus if it is blunt I apologize.

“Matthew? Who is it from?” his mother asked, her own letter forgotten.

A recent tragedy has found our orbits to have collided. The sinking of the Titanic has saw the death of my heir, my first cousin James Crawley, and his son, Patrick. As I have no sons of my own that makes you, my third cousin once removed, my closest male heir.

“It’s… from Lord Grantham,” Matthew said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. The first time he hadn’t been nearly so moved but then he hadn’t known just how much this letter would alter the course of his destiny.

I have been informed by my solicitor that you are a lawyer yourself and thus won’t insult your intelligence by explaining how this has come to be.

“Whatever does he want?”

I would ask that you contact me so that we might arrange a time to meet, perhaps in London if you are available, to discuss the entail and begin to plan for your coming to Downton so you might better know the lands and people that you will one day be held responsible for.

Matthew forced himself to speak while at the same time did all he could to keep the tears from leaking from his eyes. “He wants to change our lives.”

~A~O~O~O~F~

London, One Week Later

“Are you alright, my lord?” Bates asked as he finished running his brush along Robert’s pant legs, gathering the last bit of fuzz from them and leaving the Earl of Grantham looking as if he’d stepped from a painting where the world was forever perfect and no blemish or imperfection would ever be found.

Robert looked at Bates and mentally sighed, chastising himself for making things so much harder on his valet. When he’d been hired in he’d been concerned that Bates couldn’t handle the position but had been desperate to make it work. Thus he’d not treated him as he would any other valet, thinking he must step in whenever there appeared to be even the smallest amount of trouble and assist the man. Only now did he see how wrong this approach was on so many levels. Bates was a fine valet who knew how to handle himself and worked with such a steady hand that it was easy to forget about his difficulty. And even when it did cause difficulties the man was quick to find workarounds. Thomas had complained that Bates couldn’t handle luggage when needed but Bates had proven them wrong and, when it came that a bag might be too heavy, was able to find other tasks that eased the burden of others that stepped in to assist. While Thomas was loathed to swap places with him William had shown himself able to and Bates didn’t mind humbling himself by performing the duties of a footman for a few minutes while William dealt with a tricky piece of luggage.

His attitude had also affected both Bates and the staff. For his valet what Robert had thought was kindness had ended up being seen as pity and Bates, a proud man, had been silently shattered by it. Oh, he’d never said the words but Robert had seen it in his eyes. In fact that was why he’d finally chased down the car when he’d almost fired Bates; the look in the man’s eyes that said “I’d rather you have screamed at me than killed me with kindness”. As for the staff Robert had learned, after discussing with Carson a few noticed looks several of the staff (mostly Thomas and O’Brien) shot Bates’ way that a rumor had spread that Bates had been brought in to act as a spy, whispering the goings-on of the downstairs in his ear. Robert had been aghast. He also quickly came to see just how such a tale could get started. Robert had never been close to Watson, his previous valet; oh, he saw the man as able and appreciated his work ethic but he’d been selected for Robert when he’d been a youth and had always been his father’s man; the valet hired to keep an eye on ‘foolhearty Robert’. A good valet, just like a good lady’s maid, should have been their employer’s most trusted confidant. Watson could never become this for him, as it was known to all that whatever was said to him went instantly into the ear of Robert’s father. Thus Robert had kept the man at arm’s length, even after his father had died, developing with Carson the bond that should have developed with him and Watson. He knew that this aggravated the old man, who had assumed that when Robert became Earl that old sins would be forgotten, as if all his spying could be cast away. But Robert could never forget or forgive the man that had searched out in him faults and failings so he could scuttle back to Robert’s father with the news. When it had become clear that Robert would never trust him Watson had become more and more tiresome until finally it was a relief when the man announced he was leaving. His relief had turned to annoyance and a touch or anger when he’d learned from Carson the state of Watson’s room. Having already made inquiries to Bates about him joining them Robert had demanded to see the room himself and nearly demanded the car be brought around so he could chase after Watson and throttle him for the mess he’d left, a final bitter parting gift from a bitter man.

Looking at this relationship with Watson and what he now had with Bates it was quite easy to see how some could believe him too close to his valet. Most of them had only saw him with Watson and assumed that would be how he would treat any man who served him. Carson, bless him, had offered to nip things in the bud but Robert had waved him off; while he would never claim to be an expert in how to run a house staff he did know that any word from Carson would have the opposite effect than what he desired; Carson had ruefully admitted that to be the case as well and had been pleased he didn’t have to carry out a command he knew would only create more trouble. No, it was better for him to just continue on as was and hope that Bates could manage for himself.

“My lord?” Bates repeated again, pulling Robert from his thoughts.

“I’m sorry Bates… lost in my own thoughts.” He dimly wondered how he had gotten on the track of thinking about Bates only to realize that it mattered little how but rather why.

Bates, it seemed, was on the same track as him. “If I might be bold enough to ask, my lord… are you nervous about meeting Mr. Crawley?”

Robert sighed as he looked himself over in the mirror. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not unless one knows you as I do,” Bates stated in his matter-of-fact way. He went to get Robert’s jacket, allowing the Earl to look himself over in the mirror. “My mother used to say that sometimes it helped to speak your thoughts aloud, as if you allowed them to always rattle around your head without escape they would swell and grow until they crowded everything else out.”

“Mama says we’d all be better off with we just stayed silent about all things save the weather,” Robert said with a playful smile.

“I don’t think our mothers would get along.”

“Bates, I would pay a decent part of my fortune to see Mama and your mother forced to have tea together.”

“I wouldn’t,” Bates said with a slight grin. “They’d become friends just to spite us both.”

Robert chuckled at that, imagining his mama and Bates’ Irish mother becoming thick as thieves, gossiping about the two of them and whenever Robert walked by they would chuckle then refuse to say what they found so funny. “Thank you, Bates, I needed that.” He slipped the jacket on and allowed Bates to see to the final touches. “I… am troubled, I admit. I am troubled about just what sort of man I will encounter. My legacy, all that I have built and all that my forefathers did before me will now rest in the hands of a man I’ve never met.”

“Is it that you’ve never met him… or that he isn’t a gentleman of your standing?” Robert glowered a little at that but Bates merely raised his eye brows, a challenge in his eye. That’s what also made Bates the perfect valet for him: he could challenge him without stepping over the line, to get him to talk about things he should without ever getting thoughts beyond his station. It was something Robert needed.

“…a bit of both, to be honest,” Robert said with a sigh. “I know it sounds wrong, Bates, and makes me come off in not a fine light, but I cannot help but feel as I feel.”

“And I don’t blame you for doing so,” Bates said, going over to retrieve Robert’s hat. “It isn’t easy, facing the unknown. Mr. Crawley is a man you’ve never met who you will entrust Downton in. To make matters worse he is part of a class you know very little about. Honestly it is a class I myself know little. I was born poor and rose into a life of service. I have no aspirations to become a lord in some castle-“

“Though you would make a fine one, had things been different,” Robert stated with a chuckle.

Bates joined him before continuing. “But I have not had much to do with the middle class. The same as with you. For all of us in Downton this man is a mystery and what he comes from is a mystery. It is only natural to be nervous. It is odd to consider that this Matthew Crawley is closer to you than I am in terms of wealth but you know more of what to expect with a stable boy than you do with him. It’s only natural my lord, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

“Well, you’ve made me feel better about my feelings though not told me how to deal with them.”

“Oh, that is simple enough,” Bates said as the two of them prepared to leave Robert’s room. “Find something to relate too.”

“To relate too?” Robert said. “I’m afraid I might find that hard to accomplish.”

“But it will have to be done,” Bates said gently. “No matter who he was Mr. Crawley WILL be your heir. Unless you choose to keep him from Downton before he takes the title-“

“Heavens no,” Robert said, horrified by the thought. “That would lead us all to ruin! To thrust a man unknowing of how such a great estate works.” He held up his hand. “I know you aren’t suggesting that Bates. You’re merely acting as the devil’s advocate and while what you speak of is a touch bitter I do appreciate it. And you’re right. For the good of Downton I must find a way to work with Mr. Crawley, to find a way for us to become like family, to be family, so that we might work together in managing the estate.”

It was easy to declare that but once he left Bates and got in the hired car Robert was left with only his thoughts and he found that Mother Bates was quite right: allowing one’s thoughts to rumble in their head caused said thoughts, and fears, to grow and twist and swell. Robert found himself dreading what he could find, what he would find, waiting for him at the club. Robert was suddenly hit with the vision of a man wearing ill fitting clothing, his face black from coal soot, elbows up on the table as he loudly smacked his lips and ate his food like Pharaoh tore into an evening meal. For all he knew Matthew Crawley could be like the illustrations one found in papers of the poor buggers in the American South, bare-chested with their filthy feet on the table, a whiskey jug in reach if they needed a drink or to play a song. He knew that was nonsense, that there was no way this Matthew Crawley could be anything like that, but that didn’t stop his traitorous mind from conjuring up such images.

‘Nothing that can be done with it now, even if he does look like some barefoot bootblack from one of those Dickens novels,’ Robert thought as he finally stepped out of the car and nodded to the doorman before stepping into Boodle’s. The area was thick with the sound of muted conversations, spoken low enough so that he couldn’t actually hear what was said. Instead all the words blended together so that it sounded like constant thunder rumbling across the quiet farmlands. ‘No matter how bad this might be at least I can enjoy the company of other men for a change’. Since Patrick and James had passed Robert had found himself outnumbered by the women in his life, with only Bates and Carson for him to turn to for male companionship. And even then that wasn’t the same as it had been when he could rely upon James and Patrick to help draw him away from the awkward conversations of women and engage in the talk only men could have amongst themselves. He’d even half thought of trying to convince Carson to join him for a drink, he was so desperate for male companionship. Tonight would allow him an outlet for that need. And it was a comfort that Robert needed, if his fears of what he was about to deal with were proven true.

“Lord Grantham,” the club’s head waiter said with a slight nod of his head. “Welcome. Mr. Crawley has already arrived and is waiting for you.” Another attendant quickly darted forward and took Robert’s coat, hat, and gloves. “If you will follow me?”

“Thank you, Simon,” Robert said, following the man as their weaved their way through the different overstuffed chairs, the most powerful and noble men of England giving him only a passing glance before returning to their conversations. A few nodded politely and Robert returned their greetings but his focus was to a set of chairs in one corner, his favorite spot, where a tall blond man was waiting for him.

‘My word,’ Robert thought, staring at the young man, ‘certainly this can’t be Mr. Crawley!’

When Robert had learned that his heir was a middle class lawyer he had envisioned someone much like Murray: a man who, at best, lived on the fringes of the upper class but could never be mistaken as one. Oh, his lawyer could hold a conversation and eat dinner with the family like any of Robert’s ilk could but he would never be one of them. Robert tried to picture Murray in a set of tails and while possible to envision such a scene even then there seemed to be an… aura… about him, one that told all that he was not of noble birth or upper class breeding.

He had expected the same with Matthew Crawley. At best he’d expected to see another Murray and at worst a pretender, someone who tried to dress and act as an Earl or a Duke would. Robert was too used to that, even from the children of those who Robert considered peer and friend. ‘Like Larry Grey, the little twit,’ Robert found himself thinking of the young man Cora was desperate to get Sybil interested in. ‘The boy tries to pretend he is a king when I doubt very much he will be able to match Lord Merton on his worst day’. He had hoped that the news would not go to Mr. Crawley’s head but had steeled himself just as much for fop who thought his train had come in as he had for a middle class man who didn’t know his tails from his buckle.

But the man who stood and greeted him with a warm smile was neither. When Robert looked upon him he found himself staring at a man who held himself as if he’d been an heir all his life. There was an ease to his movement but a politeness to his gaze that made Robert’s heart reach a more normal rhythm and the ball of tension that had been forming in his stomach clear away. Had he met Mr. Crawley at a dinner at an estate he’d have accepted without second thought that this man was one of his peerage.

“Lord Grantham,” Mr. Crawley said with a smile. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, though of course I wish it wasn’t under such a dark cloud. My condolences on the passing of Mr. James Crawley and Patrick… I wish I had known them.”

Robert managed a slight, tight lipped smile at that. “Yes… it is easy to forget that they were your family as well, Mr. Crawley.”

The young man waved him off. “Please, my lord, call me Matthew. We are not only family but will be getting to know each other quite well and it feels only proper we treat each other with a touch of familiarity.”

Robert could see the man’s point. And while he hadn’t originally planned to be so personable so soon with him Robert found himself saying, “Then I insist you call me Robert in return.”

Mr. Cra…Matthew smiled in acceptance. “As you wish.”

The two of them lapsed into easy conversation. They discussed their upbringing, their families, and a few other simple topics. While Robert could handle small talk easily, having learning from his mother how to say many things without saying anything at all, he found his conversation with Matthew quite enjoyable. Robert had shared stories of Downton, of his lineage starting with the first Earl to him and Matthew had listened attentively, never showing signs of boredom or faked interest. For his part Matthew talked of his parents, including his departed father the doctor and his mother who had been a nurse before becoming pregnant with him. Talk had turned to schooling and Robert and Matthew had swapped stories of childhood antics.

It was during a story about one of Matthew’s professors getting into such a sneezing fit he ended up scattering all his lecture notes that Robert was struck with the oddest thought. Rather than this feeling as if he were meeting a stranger it was as if he’d found an old friend he hadn’t seen in years and they’d lapsed back into a comfortable routine. It made him smile all the more and his laughter grew all the more genuine.

It was when they’d talked of Matthew’s job as a lawyer that things took an awkward turn.

“Robert,” Matthew said after a few moments, swirling his brandy before continuing, “I know that soon enough we will properly sit down and go over the true details of my being your heir… but there is something I wish to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Robert asked. “And what is that?”

“I… well, before I begin I’d like to say I ask this of you now because I wish there to be no misunderstandings between us, or between myself and your family. I understand how what I am about to question you on could sound rather brash and rude and thus would like to discuss it with you before making any formal plans.”

“Well, this sounds like rather heavy conversation,” Robert said dryly.

“A bit it is.” Here Matthew paused again, considering his words. “I suppose the best way to start would be to ask you what you would see as my daily duties at Downton.”

Robert’s brow furrowed at that. Of all the things he’d expected Matthew to ask it hadn’t been that. ‘I thought he’d ask for money or when he’d be moving into the Abbey. Daily duties though?’ Robert rather liked that Matthew called them ‘duties’, as this was how he himself saw the running of Downton, as his duty rather than a job or a perk, but still didn’t quite get what Matthew was getting at.

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.”

“What exactly did Cousin James in his role as your heir? Day to day.”

“Ah. Well, he would assist me in the running of the estate. He’d sit in during meetings, occasionally run errands for me, visit tenants, and of course attend events.”

Matthew nodded. “As I assumed.” He leaned forward a bit. “Robert, I was raised to believe that a man must work hard to achieve things in life. And I fear I could not do that at Downton.” Robert held his tongue at that but was prepared to get rather testy with Matthew’s insinuation that he himself didn’t work hard only for the younger man to blast his annoyance away. “I mean, look at all you do. You must manage so much, meet with so many people, raise your family, help with charities and the local village, converse with your agent and your solicitor and I am sure many other people I don’t even know about. I imagine there are things even your wife doesn’t realize you do, in the name of Downton. It is different work from what I am used to but it is still work nonetheless.”

Robert puffed up a little at that. Too many times he’d heard people, mostly the lower class and those that had clawed their way up from those levels of society to his own, complain bitterly that all Lords and Ladies did was sit in their giant homes and do nothing but get fat off other people’s work. To hear that Matthew understand that it wasn’t that easy and while not physically hard could be mentally so was a true treat.

Matthew, seemingly not noticing how pleased he made Robert with his little speech, continued on. “The thing is, I fear that I will not find enough to keep me busy… at first.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I am used to long days pouring over contracts and sitting in meetings with my clients. I fear that should I give that all up I will rapidly become bored at Downton and worse become a pain for you.”

“How so?” Robert asked, intrigued that Matthew had put so much thought into this.

“I understand that there will be a period of us getting to know each other, as you learn to trust me and we develop the relationship we will have. While I imagine you will want me to learn how to run Downton, and I look forward to learning that very much from your hand, I also imagine you will not want to give me free reign or full power to do as I please, not until I have proven myself to you. After all, one does not hire on a man to be a footman and within a week make him butler.”

“That is… a rather wise deduction,” Robert said. He hadn’t considered that point himself but now that Matthew had brought it up it made complete sense. With James it had been easy, as the man had already run his own estate, though it had been much smaller than Downton. He’d come with much of the knowledge and skill already in place and the trust had been there due to the two of them knowing each other already. Matthew would be a foreign entity and Robert could see pushback from many if the other man simply walked into Downton and tried to behave as James had during his final days.

Matthew continued on, encouraged by Robert’s comment. “I would also like to keep a lifeline to my old life, a way to ease myself into this new one. I… I suppose the best way to think of it is as such: your wife is from America, is she not?”

“Cora? Yes, from New York.”

“What if tomorrow she received word that the two of you had inherited from some unknown uncle a cattle ranch in the American West. One worth more and with more standing that even Downton.”

Robert snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It is merely a scenario,” Matthew said with a smile.

“Ah. Well then, if we are to journey to your land of make believe so be it. Cora and I have inherited a cattle ranch that would make the king envious.”

Matthew chuckled at that and Robert joined him, both tickled by how absurd that scenario was. “Quite. You are told you must come right away and within a month you find yourself on a farm with thousands of steer, expected to wear one of those big cowboy hats and those ridiculous brown trousers… chaps I believe they are called?”

“Oh, now that is a sight that would horrify many,” Robert laughed.

“Yes, but do you see that such a change for you is the same as this change will be for me?”

Robert quickly caught on. “And in that case I would like to have something to remind me of home, of the life I had led, so that I might not be like a ship without anchor.”

“Exactly!” Matthew said happily. “What I am suggestion is this: there is a partnership, in Ripon, that has expressed interest in me. I would go to work for them for several days, four at most but preferably three. The rest of my time would be served learning how to manage the estate. After 6 months or so I’d slowly begin to ease back on work until we both decided I was ready to leave it all together and focus fully in assisting you in the running of the lands. During that time I imagine you’d give me small projects, allow me to demonstrate my handling of things to you. I’d say that within two years I would be ready to work with you fully and we could begin a true partnership of sorts to truly strength Downton and ensure it thrives for another hundred years or more.” He leaned forward once more, clearly excited. “This would allow me to learn from you without getting underfoot. This is a time of upheaval and I imagine the last thing you or the tenants need is me nipping at your heels like a puppy. You will need days by yourself, to handle things that would be harmed by having me ask a thousand questions I’m not ready to hear the answer to. I do want to learn under you… I want to see how things are handled that way, many years from now, when your time is at an end you can go to God knowing that Downton is in good hands.”

Through Matthew’s speech Robert found himself fighting back his emotions, startled by just how stirring the other man’s comments were. He’d feared so much about meeting Matthew but to hear him speak it was as the Fates had selected the perfect man to become his heir. By the end Robert could only smile and whisper, “I think I’d like that very much.”

Matthew grinned. “Then I suppose the only thing left for us to consider is when I’ll make my arrival and where I’ll live.”

As the two of them discussed Matthew and his mother moving to the village and all that would entail Robert found himself feeling lighter than he had since James and Patrick had been lost. Perhaps even before that. So much worry, so much fear… and now, having finally met this young man, this family he’d barely know, Robert felt the burden lift from his shoulders.

With Matthew… Robert saw Downton’s future already brighten.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Chapter Text

"Yes... yes I think this will do quite nicely," Matthew's mother said as she looked about the sitting room. It was clear from the tone of her voice that she was already envisioning the hundreds of little changes she would make that would transform not just that room but the entire house from merely being 'Crawley House' to 'The Home of Isobel and Matthew Crawley'. She was looking at the walls and the furniture and imagined what might be shifted or replaced so to better reflect her tastes. She was debating what would need to go and what would need to stay. She was deciding just what fit into her vision and what was merely the relicts of those that had come before.

As for Matthew, he looked around the room and saw only memories.

He'd only, in truth, spend a few years living at Crawley House. More than Downton proper, to be sure, but the war had seen to it that for a good portion of the middle years of his life as Heir had been spent on foreign soil or recovering in Downton’s library after the shrapnel had torn through him and sent him home. And yet there were plenty of good memories that were released just by standing in Crawley House once more. The chair he'd sat in when, one late night when he'd first begun to doubt Mary's love for him after his first proposal, his mother had brought out a bottle of wine and the two of them had spent hours just drinking and talking, acting less as family and more as old friends. She’d told him stories of his father that she’d never dared tell him had she not gained the courage found only in drink and he remembered that night as the first time his father had become more than the man who raised him and, in Matthew’s mind, a real person. Then there was the corner where he'd stood, forced to back away as Violet came in on a tear (about what he'd couldn't remember) and he remembered how he'd trembled like a school boy as she'd demanded to see his, in her own words, 'know-it-all mother who can't stop sticking her nose into things that have nothing to do with her' before telling him that he needed to not cower before her but it made an old woman feel good she could still make ‘a young buck tremble in fright’. He knew that around the corner was the large table where Cora, Edith, and Sybil had sat with him, the ladies dripping wet after a sudden freak storm had hit, and they'd laughed as they drank tea and talked of the craziest weather each of them had ever seen, Cora telling them all of her childhood in New York even as she looked like a drowned rat; it had been one of the few times where she felt to him as actual family.

It was one thing to have the memories in his head but to be back where they had formed was the oddest chaotic swirl of emotions he'd ever felt. On one hand he felt once more at home, as if at long last his life were moving towards what he remembered. On the other to look around and see the faces of the shopkeeps and his neighbors and know that none of them recognized him was a stab to the heart. Even thoses he’d interacted with on only a nominal basis became crushing blows when he realized they didn’t know him. He'd done his best to manage through his meeting with Robert, slipping into old routine with the older man, but it had still troubled him to know that only one of the two remembered what they had meant to each other in only a few months past (at least from Matthew's point of view). He remembered a friend from his days at Eton speaking of his grandmother and how towards the end she hadn’t even recognized her family. She would talk about what her son had done and how she hoped he visited soon… not realizing her son was sitting before her. The same was true for Matthew: the whole world had slipped into a forgetful daze and all he could do was watch, feeling like a ghost wandering through a lost life.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble to get things ready for us, Molesley," Matthew's mother said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I know that originally we'd said we'd be here after lunch but when we awoke the two of us found ourselves so ready to begin that the thought of waiting for our scheduled train just seemed too much."

'That and this time I didn't drag my heels about it,' Matthew thought with a sardonic smile. The first time he'd procrastinated and had nearly caused them to miss their train, as if he thought delaying the visit would mean it would never have to come to pass. This time he'd been prepared for days and just as anxious as his mother to get started. He’d been unable to sleep the night before, feeling like he was once more seven years old and waiting for Father Christmas to bring his presents.

"No trouble at all," Molesley said with a slight nod of his head. "We were prepared since yesterday for your arrival, in case such a thing came to pass."

"Very good," Matthew's mother said. "Now then, I think I'd like to take a moment to sit before we saw to lunch-"

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind mother I'd like to talk to Molesley for a moment, if that is all right?" Matthew asked.

His mother was flustered slightly by that, shooting him a worried look but when he merely smiled she relented. "Oh! Well... well yes, I suppose that would be fine."

Matthew nodded and motioned for the butler/valet to follow him to what would be Matthew's study. He paused, imagining just as his mother had what changes he would make to get it back to looking as he desired before sitting down in his chair, Mosely shutting the door behind them. Looking at the older man Matthew was struck by just how different this Molesley was from the man he'd last seen several months ago and several years later. That Molesley, while good at his job, had been a bit of a fumbler when it came to his words and too quick to spring to action, as if he were constantly trying to court attention and praise. 'And why wouldn't he, when I abused him so,' Matthew thought, chastising himself. 'Our first interaction saw me belittle him and make him feel less and I continued to do so in all the years I knew him. I allowed the words 'Poor old Molesley' to influence my views and, in return, caused him to believe them himself until the entire world saw him as that.' Matthew's jaw worked for a moment. 'Not again. It is time to set one thing on my list right.'

He didn't offer Molesley to sit, as he knew that the man would never do so, finding it improper. Instead he launched forward. "I want to first assure you that there is nothing wrong. Nothing of the sort. My hope is that you will be in my employ for a long time and wouldn't want you fearing that our time together was coming to an end so shortly as it began."

There was a slight relaxing of his shoulders as Molesley stated, "I hope so as well, sir. To remain in your services, I mean."

Matthew smiled at that, a hint of the man he'd come to know but not the fluttery wreck that he'd become. Or hopefully would ever be. "I wanted to speak with you about several things concerning your employment so that we might be able to get off on the best possible foot." He leaned forward in his chair, locking eyes with the man. "Were you made aware of my background?"

After a moment Molesley answered. "You were a lawyer in Manchester, sir, living with your mother as you are now."

"Exactly. And as you can imagine my life was quite different than how it will be now. Little chance or need for a valet when one is but a lawyer." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "I want to assure you though that you aren't stuck dealing with a man who doesn't understand any of the trappings of this new life. I have managed to dress myself in a set of tails before." Seeing Molesley pale slightly at this, and remembering his unfortunate words in his previous life, Matthew quickly added. "What I am trying to say, and I suppose rather poorly, is that I will be needing your help... but I beg you to be patient with me. There will be times I make mistakes... where I attempt to do for myself something you wish to do for me.” He paused, remembering one particular incident… mostly because his mother had chastised him for it, bringing it up on and off for years whenever he got a chip on his shoulder once more about ‘his way being better than Robert’s’. “I beg you not to take offense when I make these small mistakes. If I make myself a cup of tea or bend over to tie my own shoes don't see it as me looking down at your service or feeling I don't need you. See it... see it as someone still growing used to what this new life will bring and making innocent mistakes. And they will be innocent, Molesley; never a comment on your ability."

That seemed to perk the man up, the relief clear on his face. "Of course. If I may confess... I was a touch worried about how you and I would interact, considering your upbringing." He blinked and spoke up, "Not that I am saying there is anything wrong about-"

Matthew laughed, holding up his hand. "Peace, Molesley, peace. I understand completely." Seeing the valet/butler breathe a bit easier Matthew decided to press on to his next point. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" When Molesley nodded Matthew asked, "What positions have you held in the past? I truly am curious. I know you are qualified, as Robert assured me he would provide mother and I with the best man he could find, but he failed to mention the details."

Puffing up all the more at the praise Molesley stated, "Well, unlike most I didn’t start off as a hallboy. Rather I began as a footman, having received a good reference from my father, who himself was a butler before he went into retirement. After that I served as a valet and did what one might consider the role of under butler, though they didn’t call it that as we were simply too small of a house for such grand titles, before I put in my application here. “ He finished with a look of quiet pride and Matthew grinned.

"Perfect! You know your way around a large house and that is just the sort of man I'll be needing." Matthew dropped his voice a touch. "Molesley, would you mind terrible if, in the future, used you as a sounding board?"

"I... don't quite understand."

"A sounding board. For example, let's say that when my mother's birthday comes around I decide I want to surprise her by having her favorite dessert served up at the house. Now, I could ask Lord Grantham but I fear it would make me, well, look rather foolish and silly to ask something that, to him, is a basic request that he has done many times. So I would rather ask you, "Molesley, who should I speak to if I wanted to get lemon cake with a lemon-lime drizzle frosting served?"

Molesley instantly caught on to what Matthew was getting at. "Ah. Yes. I would then suggest asking the butler, Mr. Carson, or perhaps Mrs. Hughes, who is the head of the maids, if you might speak with Mrs. Patmore about the menu that night. You’d want to go through them, at first, so it didn’t seem like you were taking command without earning it."

Matthew nodded in quick agreement. He, of course, knew how to do all this but using Molesley in this way would help cover up any mistakes he made where he demonstrated knowledge he shouldn't have when it came to the staff and the inner workings of Downton. It would provide him an excuse , make Molesley happy, and let others see him as valuable. "Exactly. I can trust you, Molesley, to keep my secrets of how new and confusing this will be and help guide me through all the holes that will be waiting to trip me up. No need to make myself look anymore foolish than I already will be in these first few months. I am already at a disadvantage compared to the main family and I’d hate to do more damage to myself by appearing as a fool. Your help could see me avoid that fate, if you are willing."

"I would be more than happy to help," Molesley said, the pride in his voice warming Matthew's heart. He could see one of his many mistakes slowly being wiped away and replaced with something better. He knew, of course, that this was only a first step, that it would take time to rebuild this relationship, but he was ready to put in the work. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Matthew said with a smile, reaching out and, after a moment, shaking Molesley’s hand. “If you could ask Mrs. Byrd to prepare some tea that would be lovely. And you have heard that we are to dine tonight at the house so I will need you to help me prepare. Do you think 5 would be a good enough time for you?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Molesley said. “It will give us time to review a few things.”

Matthew nodded. He would use this time to fully remind himself of who had worked at the house during this year, so that he didn’t accidently ask for someone who wouldn’t join the staff until after the war. Would do no good to reference O’Brien’s nephew before the man was employed. “Sounds wonderful.” He paused, looking out the window and spotting a familiar form approaching the house and he felt his heart skip a beat as he watched her confident stride, so sure of herself even at this young age. “And Molesley… I think it might be wise to prepare another setting. I think we’re about to have company.”

~A~O~O~O~F~

As Mary walked through the village she cursed her mother for sending her on this appointed task. ‘Yes Mama, I shall happily go meet the upstart middle class lawyer and his mother who has come to steal what should be rightfully be mine and make sure that they know to come to dinner at seven. Would you like me to spit shine his shoes and iron his pants while I’m there or is humbling myself needlessly good enough?’ Of course she hadn’t said such things and she’d kept her face frozen in the noble, regal expression she had been taught to hold, but she’d sensed her mother had somehow sensed what she was thinking and purposely suggested she hurry and see if ‘Cousins Matthew and Isobel’ needed help unpacking. ‘Unpacking… already she has me acting as a servant to him. Perhaps next Anna and I will switch places and I will wear her uniform while she makes idle smalltalk with every boring old man Mama drags to the house.’

Mary pursed her lips, forcing herself not to grind her teeth (a terrible habit that she was trying desperately to break herself from but could never seem to manage, what with everyone in her life seeking to frustrate her to no end). ‘It’s bad enough how Papa goes on and on about him.’ Her father hadn’t actually come out and told her much of Matthew Crawley, other than he was a ‘good fellow, very bright and thoughtful’ but Mary had kept an ear open and listened in when her mother and father, and sometimes even Granny, had discussed the upstart. Her father practically gushed about him, acting more like a girl during her first season who had caught the eye of some handsome duke than an earl forced to give a commoner all he possessed. It annoyed Mary to no end as it felt as if her father had put aside her cause before he truly considered taking it on. What hope did she have in her father fighting for what should have been her’s when ‘Matthew is so wonderful and he has such interesting ideas and I truly think he will help Downton’?

‘I swear Papa, if you weren’t most likely thinking of pushing me at Cousin Matthew I’d think you were going to go after him yourself!’ A lesser woman would have laughed out loud at the vision Mary suddenly had in her head of her father, dressed in a white wedding dress, clutching a bouquet as he walked towards Travis and his lawyer groom. But she was Lady Mary Crawley and so all she did was smile ever so slightly at the outrageous thought.

Her thoughts turned dark once more though as she thought of her father and her mother’s wealth. From a young age she had realized that, had she only been born a boy, things would have been vastly different. She would have been the heir, had received all the wealth of Downton, and been held in high esteem. Instead, purely because of her gender, she was passed aside. Oh, she wasn’t one of those rabble rousing women who had nothing better to do than to demand that they be given every right under the sun but it did irk her some that fate had dealt her a cruel hand right at her birth. Still, she had understood this and moved on… until Sybil had been born and it had been clear that her parents would not try for another child.

It was then that Patrick had brought into their lives and a new type of torture had been thrust upon her. She could have managed if it had been her brother to become heir, as that was expected. But to have it be a cousin? It had burned her. Not at first but slowly, as she had matured and begun to realize just what she had lost out on and that now she was not seen as her parents’ daughter but as the first millstone that must be cast aside lest she become a spinster who bled them dry… if she hadn’t already had it in her nature to freeze her heart that revelation chilled her blood beyond all doubt. Then there was the fact that of the two of them Mary was superior in every way. She was smarter than Patrick, who did his best to bluff but was a poor student. She had better manners and a more regal being. She understood the burden of nobility more than he did. Patrick was a pale imitator and had she been born a boy would have been held as his superior. Things had only become worse when her father had not-so-subtly pushed her and Patrick together, it clear that he hoped to at least see his grandson become the heir.

‘Is it a wonder I don’t mourn as I should for Patrick?’ Mary thought to herself as she reached Crawley House. ‘They expect me to mourn the man that, had we been married, would have been a reminder that it was only out of HIS favor that I was the countess I should have always been.’ Mary hated to feel indebted to any person and yet found that to be her lot in life. First she was to have been in debt to Patrick and now it would be to the upstart Matthew Crawley. ‘He probably expects that the three of us will be thrown at him, like he were a prize purebred and we were steak bones. His ego will expect us to fawn over him and that he deserves such attention.’

Never mind that this was exactly what was happening. Mary wasn’t one to dwell on silly things like ‘facts’ and ‘reality’ when she had herself in a mood.

Stopping to adjust her hat before knocking on the door she just barely managed to raise her hand before she found it open and the butler stared at her. “May I help you?”

Mary quickly righted herself mentally. She was never one to let a suddenly surprise rattle her. “Lady Mary Crawley here to see Mr. Matthew Crawley and Mrs. Isobel Crawley.”

“Follow me,” the butler said, motioning for her to enter. Mary did so, looking about the house or at least making the butler think she was. In actuality she was trying to listen to the conversation that was echoing down the hall between the lawyer and his mother.

‘Probably rubbing their hands together, gleeful at everything they’ve been given,’ Mary huffed to herself.

“-not saying I want it to be awkward mother. I’m only cautioning you that it might be for them,” a man said, who Mary clearly took to be Mr. Crawley.

His mother, for who else could it be, asked, “And why do you think that? I don’t see why Lord Grantham’s daughters would have any reason to be put off balance by us.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at that. ‘So, he’s already talking about us, is he?’ She did her best to continue listening, never noticing that Molesley had slowed to a stop just outside the door and made no move to announce them.

“They have every reason to, mother,” Matthew Crawley said. “They’ve just suffered a great tragedy and now we’ve come along to shake things up.”

“That is hardly our fault.”

“Yes but I know how terrible it must be for them. Their eldest, Mary, was engaged to Patrick Crawley and it wouldn’t surprise me if Lord or Lady Grantham weren’t pushing her towards me.”

‘Of course,’ Mary snarked in her own head, ‘because you must-‘

“It truly isn’t fair to her, that she is constantly at the whims of others and not allowed to choose for herself.”

Mary’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, like a train whose break had suddenly been thrown. She was startled at Matthew’s tone… for it was clear he… he actually sympathized with her.

“Such is the way of their world, I’m afraid.”

“But I am not a part of their world. And I don’t think it right that any of those girls feel as if they must hurry now to be married purely because I’ve shown up and might raise a fuss. They probably live in fear that I will somehow use my status as heir to demand they be married off so not to suck away money from Donwton when that is the farthest of my intentions. They have a right to be happy mother and not feel as if they must marry the first man they meet.”

“You mean to support all three, even if they all should be spinsters?” Mrs. Crawley asked, surprised.

“If that is their choice, yes. If they choose to marry some American buck or the son of the family cook then I will support them as well and make it clear that I will help them if their parents won’t. If the eldest, Lady Mary, wishes to never marry and instead travel or write a novel or spend her life doing charity work I want her to know that I will support her. I feel terrible enough taking the money from the family… if there was a way to ensure Downton and the village survived without it I’d give it them all right now. I want them to live their lives as THEY wish. If that means marrying a duke or an earl I will be in the first row. If it means living at Downton with my family when it is my time to be earl and creating the next great piece of fiction or working towards woman’s suffrage I will support this too. I want to be there for them and not be seen as an enemy.”

“Lady Mary Crawley,” Molesley called out, the two other Crawleys turning to find Mary staring wide-eyed at them, startled at being caught snooping. Still, if she was anything she was a woman skilled at adapting to shifting sands and she forced herself to adopt an air of aloof welcoming as she strode into the room, not showing any signs of embarrassment for so brazenly spying on their private conversation.

“Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mary,” the older woman said with a smile and despite her anger Mary found she couldn’t hate the old woman; she was, after all, innocent in all this. “I am Isobel and this of course,” she gestured towards the man, who was looking at Mary with a teasing glint in his eye, “is my son, Matthew Crawley.”

“Welcome to our home, Lady Mary,” Matthew said politely.

“Oh please, call me Cousin Mary. We are family, after all,” Mary said with a smile that wasn’t nearly so pure if one saw the wicked glee in her eyes. Despite her young age she was a skilled hand in the games of the elite; she might not have been her father’s heir but in spirit and cunning she was Granny’s. This was one of her favorites to play, to see how others would react to her so quickly allowing them to treat with her so informally. It was always interesting to see how people reacted to something so simple, to see their characters revealed. The most confident man would suddenly become a stammering wreck purely because she allowed him to call her by her Christian name and that alone. A woman pretending to be humble would become bold and reveal her schemes, thinking that she’d managed to sneak into Mary’s confidence when all she’d really done is ensure anything but. It was a gambit that let her see who whose around her truly were and she couldn’t wait to see how-

“Yes, of course,” Isobel said with a friendly smile. “I must say it will be rather refreshing to do away with the formalities and be as family should.”

“I quite agree,” Matthew said with a nod. “Feel free to address us the same.”

-they wouldn’t react at all.

‘No matter,’ she quickly concluded, deciding to move past that failure. ‘They are middle class, they don’t know better. No, other tactics must be used.’ Keeping the smile plastered on her face (and wondering if she could convince Anna to massage her cheeks later that night to relieve the cramping she was sure to have from wearing that forced grin for so long and so often) Mary said, “I came down to invite you up to dine with us tonight… if you are willing.”

If Matthew showed any hint of realizing just how condescending she was being with her word choices he didn’t show it. Instead he merely kept wearing the same polite smile and said, “Yes, but of course. It is very kind of all of you to invite us up. I look forward to finally getting to visit Downton properly.”

‘Robert’, Mary seethed. ‘Not Lord Grantham but ‘Robert’. Papa only has met him once and already this upstart treats with him as if he were an old friend he’d known for years.’ She at once regretted allowing him to call her ‘Cousin Mary’, as it was another formality blasted away. It was too late though to take it back and like the proverbial barn door the horse had gotten loose and there was no sense in shutting it now.

Deciding to keep with the ‘I am being ever so polite but in reality I am stabbing you in the heart with small dagger over and over’ routine Mary quickly said, “I am so glad you can attend. I was afraid you’d be rather afraid to come see us so soon after moving in. Downton is far grander than anything you’ve encountered and I’ve seen earls and dukes become utterly intimidated just stepping foot through the door, let alone dining with the whole family. So worried about what everyone will think, fearing that one small slip up with make them look like utter fools or fakes… silly but it does cross minds. How good to know though that such things don’t concern you. It warms my heart, it truly does.”

‘Let’s see you smile at that,’ Mary thought vindictively.

But it wasn’t Matthew who seemed flustered by that but his mother. She made a few small sounds, clearly surprised by Mary’s comments and the young woman felt a twinge of regret at that. She’d been so focused on Matthew that she hadn’t even thought of what her words would do to his mother. She wasn’t her enemy, after all, just an innocent bystander, and while Mary could have a heart of ice and a vindictive streak that would shock any who truly saw it she wasn’t some cackling witch from a fairy tale who went out of her way to terrorize all those around her. Despite what some in the village might say.

‘I’ve gone too far,’ she thought, gracing Isobel with a true compassionate smile. “If’ I’ve frightened you-“

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Matthew said, cutting in. “You are quite right… Downton will be rather intimidating. Still, we middle class are quite used to facing intimidating situations. It is our lot in life to face such things.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Isobel said with a huff.

“I don’t mean it as a bad thing, mother,” Matthew said with a smile. “It’s just that as middle class we are open to so much that those less fortunate than ourselves will never get to encounter and have so much more freedom than those of the upper class. Thus it is only nature we find ourselves out of our element more often.” He shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Mary. “I mean no offense, Cousin Mary, but that is actually my greatest concern with all of this, the loss of that freedom.”

“You and I have very different definitions of freedom if you believe wealth and privilege results in a lack of it.”

“Well, I know of course that your wealth makes certain doors open for you that I would have to work much harder to get through… I am not blind to that.” Matthew walked over to the table and allowed Molesley to pour him a cup of tea. “But you must also admit that your life comes with its own costs.”

“I will not as I do not see any costs,” Mary said, lifting her head up high.

“Really? You don’t see it as a cost that your every movement is judged?” Matthew took a sip before continuing, not allowing Mary to answer. “Every word you speak, every action you take, every decision made weighed against the fear of ‘scandal’.” Mary opened her mouth, startled by just how accurate his comment was to her own thoughts and concerns, but Matthew was far from done. Much to her surprise he suddenly jerked forward and proclaimed, “Let’s run off to London.”

“Ex...excuse me?” Mary stammered, wondering if Cousin Matthew had taken leave of his senses.

“Let’s the three of us hop a train to London, right now, and take in a show, get a meal.” Matthew wore a large grin, looking like a school boy who’d been given a new toy. “I’m sure there is a play we might attend!”

“Matthew,” Isobel warned.

“We… we couldn’t,” Mary said, hating how she sounded.

Matthew raised his cup to his mouth but didn’t sip quite yet, his posture growing lax once more. “No… you couldn’t. If Lady Mary Crawley suddenly decided to flee to London it would be whispered about in every great house for 40 miles by the time dessert was served. You are expected to behave a certain way. But, before I became heir, had I done that hardly anyone would have minded. A few comments, to be sure, but nothing you would face. Because I had the freedom to do so.”

“I can and have gone to London many times,” Mary snapped. “And I have been to parties and places you could only dream of visiting.” She tried to keep her tone cold but wondered if her argument sounded as childish to Matthew as it did to her own ears.

“Oh, I am sure of that,” he said, taking another sip. Mary wanted to smack the cup out of his hand. “But even then, everything is so… structured. Weeks of planning, with an army of servants around, hardly giving you a chance to breathe. And no deviations. If I saw a new art exhibit I could happily go and look at the works of the masters. But now that I am heir I imagine that such things can never be. I will be forced follow the routine set in place, the parties that I’ve already agreed to attend and the people I’ve promised to meet.” He set his cup down and walked back over towards her, causing Mary to stumble as she tried to take a step back. He wasn’t moving in a threatening way at all… and still she felt the need to flee. If only from the truth in his words. And she hated herself for feeling like that. “People seem to think that becoming part of the Upper Class will open doors for you and while that is true… I fear that the structure and ritual that one must observe to be part of your society will be more like chains around my wrists, making me as much a prisoner as a master.”

Mary shook her head. She didn’t know what was worse: that he was so easily insulting her and her upbringing or that he was saying all the things she had secretly thought herself during her dark moments. But Mary wasn’t about to let him win this sudden debate. She wanted to make some grand point that would have him feeling like he was the one stumbling back but all that came out of her mouth was, “I think you are simplifying matters just a bit.”

“Is it true that there is a gong to tell you when you’re allowed to eat?” Matthew asked innocently.

“…there is a dinner gong to announce dinner is ready-“

“And who determines when dinner is served? If you are hungry an hour or two before hand are you allowed to ask that the meal be moved up? Because if I come home from work and mother and I decide that we’d like to eat sooner rather than later it is easier for us to ask the cook to make something simple.” He shrugged. “I won’t fight it, of course. That would be terribly rude. But I will miss the freedom that has been loss. As well as the thrill. After all, while we middle class people are easily intimidated… the upper class never are because they never allow themselves to encounter something new.” He fished his pocket watch out and looked at him, brow furrowing. “Oh, I am terribly sorry, Cousin Mary! It seems our conversation has dragged on for quite some time! I imagine your mother has grown worried wondering where you are. We wouldn’t want to keep you waiting, as I am sure you have much to do before dinner. I for one am suddenly in a mood for a walk.” Mary opened her mouth to complain but already Matthew had taken hold of her arm, gently like a proper gentleman, and was leading her to the door. “We’ll see you this evening, of course, and I do so hope we can talk more.” He laughed but Mary could see that while his lips smiled his eyes flashed with victory. “Assuming I’m not rendered tongue tied from my intimidation.”

It took her nearly a minute to realize that she was now standing outside Crawley House, the door firmly shut and Matthew gone. Mary looked about, her mask crumbling into a look of utter bewilderment, one thought alone racing through her mind.

“What… what just happened?” she murmured.

~A~O~O~O~F~

“Matthew… Matthew!” his mother snapped as she glowered at her son.

“Yes?” Matthew asked politely as he let Molesley slip on his walking coat.

“I think I deserve to know what was that display!” his mother demanded, her face screwed up in frustration. “Are you trying to make Cousin Mary see you as an enemy?”

“Not an enemy, mother,” Matthew said with a grin, “a challenge.”

Chapter Text

For Cora, the Duchess of Grantham, it was clear that an 8th Wonder Of the World needed to be added to the grand list: Matthew Crawley.

Not because of anything he had done himself, of course, but rather how he had so taken her family and led each and every one of them in wild and strange directions that she could never have predicted. Cora had assumed, naively perhaps, that the family would have a few disagreements concerning the new heir but would all end up coming to an agreement on him; namely if they would accept him or if they would fight to get Mary what she deserved. Instead it seemed that the Crawleys had decided that rather than, to borrow a phrase from Robert, "close up ranks" they'd rather scatter about in a multitude of different directions.

Cora, from her chair in Mary's room, watched as Anna helped her two youngest get ready, considered their reactions. Edith's had been easy to predict as it fit her rather contradictory personality so well. The definition of 'middle child' (the one who was neither eldest or youngest, the leader or the baby, yet both at the same time), her personality had always been a mix of an old soul with a childish temperament. Edith tried to hold herself as more mature than she truly was and would, more often than not, ruin the effect by allowing her easily bruised ego dominate her reactions, like a child given a mild scolding who acted as if they had been whipped. Such was the case with Matthew. She tried to be noble, to hold herself as above what she saw as the pettiness of Mary when it came to the new heir, but it was clear this was as a way to needle Mary about Patrick than it was about Matthew himself. Cora knew of Edith's crush on Patrick but it seemed that in death he had become her shield and her lance at which to attack all. She had claimed both that they were far too quick to forget Patrick and that they weren't being far to Matthew by clinging to a dashed dream. It would have been amusing if the contradiction hadn't been so tiring.

'And then there is Sybil,' Cora thought. 'She is the surprise but I suppose her being the surprise is, well, no surprise at all.'

Her youngest had shocked them all by being Matthew's biggest supporter in those early days after the news of just who he was had been revealed. She had said, in her own blunt and passionate ways, that "life is simply too short to allow the ghosts of the past to haunt us. We could die a hundred years from now or tomorrow. We could suffer a grievous wound, be struck by a carriage, or die in our beds as our loved ones sobbed for us not to leave them." She'd then gotten a far off look in her eyes before stating, "is it not better to simply embrace what life throws at us, rather than wage a tiring fight to make it heed our commands?" She'd then smiled and stated she'd be out in the gardens reading, the strange mood she'd suddenly taken leaving her.

Cora could still hear Violet murmur, "From the mouths of babes, I suppose".

Of her mother-in-law Cora was of two minds (as was the case more often than not, it seemed). On one hand Cora was very happy that Violet was still fighting for Mary and was in her corner when it came to finding some option, any option really, to save most if not all of her fortune from being claimed by Matthew. On the other hand it irked her that such things had not bothered Violet until Patrick had died. Cora held a sneaking suspicion that, had Patrick chosen to marry another woman other than Mary, Violet wouldn't have fought as much as she was now against Matthew. While Cora would never accuse Violet of not loving Mary she also saw that this current fight had much to do with Matthew's upbringing as it did Mary's happiness. Had Matthew been a gentlemen of grand breeding Cora could easily see Robert's mother putting up a token fight before proclaiming that there was little good in battling against a strong river's current and it was better to focus their energies on getting Mary settled. But with Matthew being a middle class lawyer Violet was now Mary's champion.

'But only Mary,' Cora thought, looking at Sybil and Edith. 'She doesn't care about the two of them and how they will get nothing. Only Mary. And only now that a lawyer will be earl.'

Cora looked away from the two girls and glanced at Mary, who was waiting to be finished up while Anna got Edith's hair perfect. Sybil had made a comment about Mary wanting to look nice for Matthew, thus why she was spending so much time on her makeup, only for Mary to snap that she was doing nothing of the sort. Cora had been shocked, as it was usually Edith who got such treatment (and honestly, despite how she loved to play the victim, Edith gave as good as she got) and she'd never heard Mary truly get mad at her baby sister. Frustrated, annoyed yes, but not mad. Sybil had thankfully not taken offense and Edith had merely chuckled but Cora had looked at her eldest and thought of how her sour mood had only grown worse after returning from Crawley House… and meeting Matthew for the first time.

Robert's meeting with Matthew had rendered such a change in him Cora had wondered if the man she'd said goodbye to days before was the same one who had returned. Before he'd left Robert had accepted that Matthew must be the heir, much to Cora's annoyance, but at the very least he did so with the utter most reluctance. It was clear that he was accepting this fate not because he wanted to but because he had to. It had been drilled into his head that things were handled a certain way and nothing, not even his own family, would see him break family honor. While Cora had wished he'd do more to try and get Mary what she deserved she understood that the weight of Earl and all it meant to Robert forced him down, the burden chaining him to a decision he truly didn't want to make.

That… had been before he met Matthew.

The man that had returned to Downton looked as if the entire weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He hadn't even waited to get to the drawing room before he told Cora all about his time at the club and how wonderful he found Matthew. He spoke of the man's intelligence, of his bearing, of how he appeared already a lord yet also held a humble nature that sadly so many heirs lack in youth ('Including myself' he'd told Cora, to which she'd agreed with a smile). Robert told of how Matthew had surprised him with his thoughtfulness and how he had suggested things he'd never considered before when it came to the transition into this new life. Cora wasn't quite sure about this whole 'part time job' idea and when Robert had tried to explain it he'd ended up finally waving her off, saying it would be better if she just asked Matthew herself as he would bungle it all up. Never had she seen him so taken with someone so soon; not even James, who was his own cousin and whom he'd known since childhood, had received such early praise as Matthew did after one meeting. And certainly not Patrick. It startled Cora and left her wondering what sort of magician Matthew Crawley was.

Then Mary had swept in a few hours ago and made it clear that Matthew Crawley was more devil than mage.

"You still haven't told us what Mr. Crawley did to upset you," Edith said.

"He did enough," Mary complained as Anna finally waved her over so she might finish getting ready, Sybil giving up her chair to her sister. "It doesn't matter, anyway. No one cares what was said."

"I care," Edith complained.

"No one important," Mary shot back.

"What about me?" Cora asked, speaking up at last. "I care to know… does that me not important?"

Mary's eyes widened at this before her face settled into a glower. But Cora had faced off with Violet when the woman was the Lady Grantham herself and in the face of that anger and determination Mary had no hope of competing. She was a novice trying to play at a game dominated by a master. Finally seeing that she'd been forced into the proverbial corner Mary relented. "I wished to save you all from this but… he was very mocking of us all and our way of life."

"…how?" Sybil asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What exactly did he say?" She held up her hand. "Wait… no… tell us how it started, from the very beginning. And don't think of lying because we can simply ask him and Mrs. Crawley when they arrive."

"I would never lie to you," Mary complained, whipping around to glare at Edith when she snorted.

"Mary, please," Cora said. As Mary huffed in annoyance, Cora looked over Mary's shoulder and locked eyes with Sybil, who merely smirked before winking. 'Ever since the Titanic sank and James and Patrick were taken she has acted like a different person,' Cora thought. Death, of course, affected everyone different but she hadn't expected this from her youngest. She was so used to Sybil being passionate and speaking her mind… and while that was still there this new sneaky side of her youngest was startling. Where before Sybil would try to play peacemaker now she seemed an old hand at it, able to get Mary or Edith to do what she wanted with just a few choice words. Cora smiled at that; perhaps her baby was finally growing up into the woman she'd always known she could be.

Mary let out a long suffering sigh. "I went down to ask them to dinner, which shouldn't have been needed since a note would have been fine for him and his ilk, and as I was waiting to be introduced by their butler I heard them talking about Sybil, Edith, and myself. I was-"

"What were they saying of us?" Edith asked, interrupting Mary and causing her to scowl. "Not much, I would guess, since they haven't even met us. I'm not even sure if Papa mentioned anything about us."

"He would have mentioned your names," Cora stated, "and your ages, but nothing more than that."

"It doesn't matter," Mary said, waving her hand.

"I would like to be the judge of that," Sybil said with a smile.

"As would I," Cora added, watching as Mary struggled, and failed, to stop herself from clenching her jaw.

"He said… at least he might have said, for I could have misheard him... he felt terrible that the three of us felt so adrift with all that happened and he wanted to find a way to let us know that he would support us and fight for us to do whatever we wanted with our lives. They we shouldn't worry that he'd force Papa to marry us off in poorly chosen marriages just to save his inheritance."

Sybil smiled at that and said nothing while Edith blinked. "That is what he said that was so terrible? I… I would call that a rather kind gesture."

"He probably was just saying it because he knew I was there and thought I would fawn over him as you are now if he spoke pretty words," Mary said hurriedly.

"Oh Mary, please," Cora said. "Do not let your anger cloud what you remember. What Cousin Matthew said sounds very kind and understanding. It speaks well of him that he is concerned about you three."

"You still haven't told us how he insulted us and our lifestyle," Edith reminded her.

"I was getting to that before you all began gushing about him," Mary snapped as Anna finished with her hair and stepped away. "Thank you, Anna. Now then, I introduced myself and invited him to dinner and then he proceeded to mock our way of life."

"What were his exact words?" Sybil asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, what were yours?" Edith asked. When Cora looked at her Edith shrugged. "I find it hard to believe that Cousin Matthew simply launched into a tirade. Something must have triggered it. I can only imagine who did."

Cora conceded that Edith was right and, looking at the way Mary was glowering, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, it was clear that she had said something to bring about Matthew's comments, whatever they were. Cora wasn't blind to her daughter's faults and knew that Mary tended to use her acid tongue far too often, believing that she could rival her Granny and do as she did every day. But where Violet Crawley had the age and knowledge to know what to say, when to say it, and to whom, Mary lacked such information and thus tended to make snide remarks without thought… especially when angered.

And she'd been so angry for so long.

"It was entirely his fault," Mary said and Cora felt her shoulders droop. It was classic Mary to heap as much blame on others before admitting her own mistake in the vain hope that people might be so distracted by what others did they missed how she herself had caused the very problem. Cora could still remember a young Mary standing next to Edith when she'd just begun to learn how to roll about, Robert's precious books used to make a box around the crying infant, Mary telling her and Carson 'She made noises, Mama' as if that excused her of all sin. Cora pushed aside the memory and focused on what her daughter was saying now. "He took what I was saying the wrong way. I was trying to be helpful. He clearly didn't see it that way and felt the need to reveal his truth feelings. It's clear he has an inferiority complex and a bit of a temper too-"

"And what did you say that he took wrong?" Sybil asked, watching her oldest sister with a coy smile.

Mary waved her hand dismissively. "I merely stated that I hoped he didn't feel intimidated coming to dinner with us."

Edith shot her sister a look. "In other words you insinuated that because he is middle class he didn't belong here and then tried to scare him terribly, making us all sound like horrid monsters that would gobble him up."

The way Mary flinched, ever so slightly, proved that Edith had hit the mark.

"Oh Mary," Cora said, exasperated. Honestly, it was like her daughter couldn't help but start trouble.

"Why are you all looking at me like that? I didn't say the words… which are true, though."

"You merely insinuated them and they certainly aren't true," Cora said. "You insulted your father's heir to his face mere hours after his arrival. You will apologize tonight."

"For what? Saying what is true?" Mary argued. "Are we to live in a world where we can't say what we believe to be true?"

"There are times I wish Nanny had spanked you," Sybil said with a shrug. "Perhaps that would have kept you from being a spoiled brat."

"Sybil!" Cora gasped, startled more that it was Sybil who made the comment rather than Edith.

The youngest Crawley girl locked eyes with Mary and smiled sweetly. "What? Why should I apologize for saying what I feel is true?"

Edith snorted.

"Please, both of you, enough." Cora commanded.

Mary didn't even bother to respond to Sybil's barb. "What I say pales in comparison to how he slandered our family and our way of life. It will be a wonder if Papa allows him to finish his meal before he is tossed out."

"Aren't you being a bit dramatic?" Edith asked. "I mean… even for you?"

Mary opened her mouth to make some snide comment but Cora cut her off. "What exactly did he say, Mary?"

Her eldest huffed. "He first tried to play it off that to be intimidated was rather common for the middle class, which I agree with. But then he had the audacity to claim that he and his ilk are better than us because they are more freedom!" She waved her hand about in disgust. "He said that being part of the upper class meant we were enslaved to our customs. He mocked how we show decorum and manners while he may break all social norms and be forgiven because of who he is. He mocked how we actually prepare for things and don't go running about without a care. He even mocked having a dinner gong! Can you believe that? He has no sense of tradition and understanding! The gong-"

Cora tried her hardest to remain neutral but seeing Edith and Sybil's twitching faces she finally failed and allowed herself to smile. Her younger daughters did more than that, opening laughing at Mary as the dark haired woman looked about in confusion, trying to understand how she'd suddenly become the focus of their amusement.

"What... what is so funny?"

"You!" Edith laughed. "Or should I say the real reason you are upset with Cousin Matthew!"

"I am upset because he has insulted us all! He mocks Papa and Granny-"

Cora let out a sigh that, even to her own ears, sounded a bit like a chuckle. "Mary... he was jesting with you."

"Jest... Jesting? You call that jesting?"

"Very much so," Cora said with a small smile. She reached out and patted Mary's arm. "You are smarter than this, my darling girl. You must see that Matthew was having one on you in response to your own mockery." Mary stared at her, shaking her head slightly to deny what Cora had just said and the Lady Grantham sighed even as she smiled. "Mary, you tried to scare him and mock him. But you made the mistake of thinking him another suitor who could easily be dealt with by uttering a few curt words and then walking away, knowing that your lineage would protect you. But Matthew Crawley is not like the boys who would ask you to dance during the Season and rather than allow you to mock him openly he challenged you. And you lost."

Mary now was shaking her head much more violently. "No, Mama... you give him too much credit-"

"Oh, she does not," Edith said, finally getting control of herself. "I'd say that Lady Mary Crawley had finally met her match but it appears Matthew is not a match but your better!"

Mary made ready to snap back but the dinner gong rang and Cora stood up. "Enough. We are about to meet Cousin Matthew and Isobel and I want us to make a grand first impression. Mary has already made hers... I'd like the rest of us to do better." Cora's humor left her and she shot a warning look at first Sybil and Edith then at a fuming Mary who appeared about ready to stomp her foot like she was a toddler once more before she forced her cold mask of indifference back into place. As the girls got up to leave Cora whispered to Mary, "I'm not saying we must like him... but we must treat with him properly until he does something deserving of our scorn."

"He already has," Mary hissed. "He is heir."

Cora sighed. "Nothing is set in stone. Your grandmother and I are still fighting for you. We'll find a lawyer-"

"Does it matter?" Mary said, cutting her off. "Papa has already made his decision. What use is finding a lawyer when we have one here to stay and I once more am cast aside?" With that she turned on her heel and left the room, Cora only able to watch her daughter's retreating form.

"Oh Mary… why must you always make things more difficult for yourself?"

~A~O~O~O~F~

As far as Matthew was concerned his second first visit to Downton was so far a success.

He'd managed to avoid the pitfalls that had plagued him the last time, when he'd allowed his annoyance at the situation cause him to open his mouth when he should have kept it shut. As he looked back at his first entrance in his first lifetime, of how he'd rather foolishly called the gathering of the family and servants a 'reception committee', he was reminded of a quote he'd read that warned it was better to keep one's mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.

No, instead when Cora had welcomed him and Isobel to Downton he (wearing a proper vest instead of that foolish cream colored one because he'd been too lazy and stuborn to find a proper one) had thanked her warmly and complimented them all on the beauty of Downton, stating that it was 'the most breath-taking building' he'd ever been in.

The only true faux pas he'd allowed to occur once more, as it had in the first timeline, was his mother marking right up to the Dowager Countess and asking what they should call one another. Well he knew it had been a touch embarrassing he also knew that his mother and Violet had developed a deep friendship that started that day with quick words and cutting intelligence. He didn't want to risk ruining that relationship and thus made no move to stop his mother or cover for her when she so brazenly talked to Robert's mother.

'In a way their friendship is… or was… curse time travel… easier to establish than Mary and my relationship. We needed confrontation and battles to allow the bonds of love to form.' Matthew took a sip of wine as he glanced over at Mary across the table, smiling slightly when all she did was narrow her eyes at him before looking away. 'Not that it makes the beginning any easier.'

They'd retreated to the dining room and begun to settle in as they waited for the food and Mathew knew that the next few moments would be the most interesting. Talks around the table always seemed to bring out the most unexpected topics of conversation and he both looked forward to engaging in them again and dreaded what new pitfall would appear. Of all the moments in his life he knew these dinners would offer the best chance for history to be altered and for him to find himself in a situation he could not plan for.

"Do you think you will enjoy village life? It will be very quiet after life in the city." Robert asked, pulling Matthew from his thoughts.

"Even Manchester," Violet added.

Matthew smiled, speaking to her before his mother could answer. "I think you of all people would know that it isn't the locale but those around you that determine how invigorating… or tiresome… a place can be." The Dowager looked at him and he merely shrugged. "I look forward to learning more about my new home and those who make it all that it is."

His mother nodded. "Quite right. I hear there is a hospital."

"Oh yes," Cora said with a polite smile. "Just a small cottage hospital, of course, nothing like what you are used to, but it is still well run."

"Thanks to Dr. Clarkson," Robert said. "He is determined to make it a rival to St. Thomas'."

"Who pays for it?" his mother asked.

Matthew inwardly bit back a groan. He glanced at Violet and sheepishly smiled even as she said, "Oh good, let's talk about money."

Robert quickly stepped in. "My father gave the building and an endowment to run it."

"How wonderful of him," Matthew said before his mother could make another comment and stick her foot into it even more. 'Come now, mother, you were worried about me?' he thought. "So many people are so concerned with their legacies that they build monuments to their greatness. He decided to make his remembrance one that could benefit all." He smiled at Robert. "Your father was a caring man."

Violet let out a playful huff. "Be glad he isn't here to hear you say that." Though it was biting Matthew could tell the old woman was pleasantly chuffed at the compliment.

"But you are right," Edith said. "It reminds me of that Egyptian king, the one who built a statue of himself and wrote 'Stand here and look upon all my great works' but time had rendered them to dust. Buildings crumble but what we do for others always remains."

"The good and the bad," Mary said, staring at Matthew pointedly when she said that.

Matthew's focus, however, shifted from Mary and onto Thomas as the footman walked over to him with his tray. "I will hold it steady and you can help yourself, sir," he said, his tone almost clinical. Matthew inwardly rolled his eyes at both Thomas and himself. The first time around he'd been insulted, glowering at the footman and then snapping at Mary, and by extension the entire family, then confirming that yes he was different from them and had led a much different life. When he'd first done it he'd thought he'd scored a victory but now with age and wisdom he saw it just made him look like a bloody prat.

It was something Matthew found utterly fascinating, how even the servants looked down upon him. By all definitions they were lower than him in society's eyes. Before he'd become heir he'd had a well paying job, would have soon had enough money to buy his own house, and had freedom to make many choices concerning his life. The servants at Downton made far less than him, were in need for the Crawleys to provide them with everything, and nearly everything they did was controlled by the family and Carson. And yet they looked down at Matthew and his mother and thought them uneducated fools purely because the servants lived in the Abbey. Never mind Matthew had gone to some of the finest school in England… because he didn't live in Downton he was automatically considered lesser than them.

The absurdity of it all, summed up in Thomas' condensing 'aid', left Matthew chuckling as he selected his portion.

"And what, pray tell, is so humorous?" Violet asked, staring across the table from him.

Matthew blinked, quickly thinking on his feet. 'Telling them that I thought it hilarious that the footman thinks himself better than me would be worse than my priggish rant,' Matthew thought as he rapidly thought of a lie to spin to explain his amusement.

"Most likely Cousin Matthew is laughing at how we do things at Downton," Mary said before taking a sip of her own wine. "I'm sure to him this is all rather… laughable."

"Not at all," Matthew said, silently thanking Mary. Had anyone else commented he would have been lost for an answer but his beautiful wife (even if she weren't yet in this timeline) always managed to fire up his thoughts and get him thinking creatively. Even at her most biting she was still helping him; that made him smile. "No, I merely just now realized that, despite being family, we all know so little about each other and lacking such knowledge will lead to rather awkward and humorous situations."

"What do you mean?" Sybil asked, leaning around her mother to look at him with curious eyes.

Matthew made a show of considering his words. "Let's take you, Cousin Sybil… what do you know of me?"

"Well… that you are our cousin and from Manchester and that you were a lawyer…" she blushed a little. "But other than that not much."

"Exactly. You do not know so much about myself and my life and I am sure there are some… misconceptions… about how I live." He paused before turning to Robert. "Please be honest… how many people of the middle class do you truly know."

"Not many, I admit," Robert said, clearly curious where Matthew was going. "Jarvis and Murray might be the only two. No, three… Dr. Clarkson. But even then I do not know them well."

"So it is little wonder that you do not realize how much I know. Take Thomas here," he gestured at the footman. "He very kindly told me how to serve myself and were I a different man it would have been very welcoming. But he, along with the rest of you, don't know that this is hardly my first dinner party. There is no fear that I will sit here awkwardly waiting for someone to dish food out onto my plate like Downton was a restaurant."

Violet huffed again, her lips twitching. "Now that is a thought that will haunt my nightmares."

Matthew continued. "I could have gotten mad and been insulted but that would have been wrong because Thomas was merely being helpful. It isn't his fault he didn't know this… it is mine." He waved a hand in the direction of Edith. "And I also now realize that just as you all know little of me I know so little of all of you. Just names, honestly." He took a drink of wine. "Well, most of you. I have had the pleasure of learning a little about Robert and Cousin Mary."

"And you and I will have plenty of time get to know each other better in the coming months," Robert said.

Matthew used that moment to take a bite of food, nearly weeping at the taste. 'I've missed Mrs. Patmore's cooking,' he thought before answering. "Yes. But the rest of you are also family and I want to get to know you as well. I've already learned that Cousin Mary has a sharp mind and a sly sense of humor. She teased mother and I early about coming here and I do say that when she spoke of how intimidating Downton is it eased my fears. She knew to just come out and say it rather than dancing around the topic. Having the words spoken lessened their power." He caught out of the corner of his eye Cora giving Mary a smug little smile and Matthew wondered what that was all about.

"What are you suggesting then?" Cora asked.

"I'd like to arrange, over the next week or two, to have tea with each of you. We would have it at Crawley House or here if you prefer but I would very much like it to be one on one. During which I'd like us to just… talk."

"Talk?" Violet asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course. How better to break the ice and truly get to know one another? I imagine that you alone could fill an entire day with stories of Downton; stories I truly need to hear. How can I hope to be a part of Downton's grand tradition if I know so little about it?"

"I think that is a lovely idea!" his mother said. "And I would love to do something similar myself with each of you."

"Oh, I agree," Edith said, excited at the prospect. "It is so hard to get to know people at dinners like this, when there are so many about and conversation flies so freely. A more casual setting would be far more personable."

"I second it," Robert said, warming to the idea. "While you and I will of course have our running of the estate I think it speaks well of you to want to get to know everyone better."

Matthew, after swallowing another bite, decided it was time to push another idea he'd had, one that would be far more risky. "There is another request I'd like to make… but perhaps this isn't the right place…"

"Well, you must make it now," Violet said. "You can't just let that cat out of the bag and expect us not to pounce on it."

Matthew nodded before looking at Robert. "I was wondering if there would be any way I could arrange meetings with Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"Whatever for?" Robert asked.

"To get to know them," Matthew stated. "You told me that Downton isn't just brick and stone but a legacy. And while I agree I think there is another part you've missed… not on purpose, mind you, but because you have an advantage I do not. Downton is also its people… from the family who lives here to those that serve to make it great. I must ask, can you picture a Downton without Carson?"

"I can scarcely say I could," Robert said, looking at Carson who nodded, his face impassive but a flicker in his eye showing he appreciated the words.

"But the thing is I can… but only because I do not know him yet. If I am to be Earl one day it is important I know not just the history and the lay of the land but those who truly make it great with their dedication and hard work. While I suppose the best course of action would be to meet with each and every person, right down to the kitchen maids, I know that would be impractical. And, if I guessed correctly, might cause some pain and stress for the poor girls. But I hope that by knowing Mrs. Hughes and Carson I can learn more about Downton and better understand their places in it, as well as those that work under them."

Cora nodded, smiling a polite and, to Matthew's eyes, genuine smile. "I think that is a wonderful idea. It is so easy to forget how important the servants are. Dinners such as this wouldn't exist without the likes of Mrs. Patmore."

Mary nibbled on her meal before adding, "I suppose it would be better than asking a million questions. Would be less bothersome."

Robert turned to the butler. "What say you, Carson? Do you think you and Mrs. Hughes could at some point make time to talk with Matthew?"

"If that is what Mr. Crawley desires we certainly can," Carson said.

Matthew grinned to himself. 'Another victory.' While he already knew most of the senior staff having those conversations would serve two purposes: it would allow him to have an accuse should he slip up with future knowledge, such as the names of people he hadn't met yet, and it would also work towards winning Mary's heart. He knew Carson was Mary's greatest supporter and he also knew the man hadn't liked him when he'd first arrived. If he could win him into his corner sooner it would give him another ally he desperately needed.

"It sounds as if you will have quite a full calendar for some time," Edith said. "Tea times, working with Papa, meeting the staff."

"And don't forget your new job," Isobel said. "I do so worry about you tiring yourself out, Matthew."

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sorry… a job?" Violet asked, blinking at him in an almost owlish manner.

"Yes," Matthew said with a grin, remembering well this particular part of the dinner from the last go-around. "In a partnership. You might have heard of it, Harvell and Carter. They need someone who understands industrial law, although it will mostly be wills and the like. Though I suppose the odd contract or two will pop up from time to time."

Cora stared at him, her eyes narrowed slightly. "I was under the impression you'd be involved in the running of the estate."

"And so he shall be," Robert answered, stepping in the smooth things over. "Matthew is only working three days a week and will only keep the job for a short while, until there is enough work for him to do in running Downton."

"I told Robert I didn't feel comfortable diving in, as it were, until I had proven myself, both to him and myself. I'll learn about the estate, take on a few small projects, and hopefully within a year's time be ready to sell out my part of the partnership and dedicate myself fully to Downton." He paused, sipping his wine before continuing. "It pays rather well, so there is no fear that I am lowering myself, if that is a concern. Merely me allowing myself to ease into my new life and not make myself a burden on all of you by being constantly underfoot." What he didn't say was that he'd been offered a salary that equaled what he'd made the last time working a full week; he had come to realize, sadly, that Harvell and Carter was more interested in having the Heir of Grantham as part of the team than actually having HIM. After he'd signed the contract he'd gone over his case load from the two years he'd worked for them and realized that he'd done almost nothing of value at all, and certainly nothing anyone else at the partnership couldn't have easily taken on along with their normal load. It had been a gut punch, to say the least, to realize that he'd been hired only for his title but rather than grow angry he accepted what had happened; especially since it worked so well with his plans now.

"Well, I suppose it could have been worse," Mary said dryly. "You could have claimed you'd only help Downton on holidays and the weekend."

"What is a weekend?" Violet asked, Matthew smiling as he returned to his meal, allowing the chatter to flow around him and the feeling of being with his family again, even if the bonds were nowhere as strong as they had been before, wash over him. It was a balm for his soul and he smiled gently as he listened to his mother try and explain the concept of weekends to the Dowager Countess.

After several months of living and several years falling back through time… Matthew was home again.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: First off, a few reviewers have asked me what the connection is between my story and Anne O' The Lake's story, Miracles Happen. Well, two things: one, I came up with the original plot and Anne is running with it. Two, we use each other as sounding boards. Some people think I am writing Anne's story as well or that Anne is writing this with me. That isn't the case. We are writing our own things and have our styles, if you can't tell. But we use each other to bounce ideas off… she'll ask me for advice occasionally and I'll bounce ideas off her. I do it with other people too, including the other Ann that I've mentioned in previous author's notes.

So some might complain that Matthew's charm offensive is working to well and there is no way that Robert would be so taken with him so soon. But here is the approach I am going with: When Robert first learned of Matthew he was prepared for the absolute worst. In the show he met a man that was decent enough so he went along with it, being friendly. Here though? Here he is meeting a Matthew that knows how to be upper class and says the right thing almost every time. Who has soothed his fears. I'm reminded of a comment River Song made, concerning the Doctor: Imagine someone suddenly appearing who knows everything about you and is everything you could ever hope to find in a person… can you imagine what that does to someone? The same here. Matthew isn't just charming Robert he is using his future knowledge to… well… woo him. To say "Here is everything you could have hoped for in an heir and by the way these things you aren't too sure about? Here is reassurance that it will be a-okay". Robert is utterly relieved (and in my mind he was never happy with Patrick being heir… James was find but Patrick only got his blessing because he saw Mary being in charge) to have at last an heir he wants.

And finally we get our first dinner party conversation. This one was a fun one to write as I got to take out priggish Matthew and replace him with one who was a better hand at playing the game. We got to see the family's reaction to him, as well as his own thoughts. We also see that Matthew isn't perfect… he slips up at times but his great strength is thinking quickly on his feet.

And once again, it is time for Plot Bunny Theater. And this one will be a bit different as I've decided to focus on another of the fan favorite pairings, Tom and Sybil.

This one would begin roughly a month or so after the Season 3 cricket episode but before the Christmas in the Highlands episode. So in that period where Mary is pregnant, she and Matthew are happy, Tom is settling into his new life at Downton and save for the death of Sybil things are looking better for all. And that is the key: for everyone but Tom life is getting better. But for him he is still a widower with a baby, mourning a love that was taken too soon. One night, unable to sleep, he goes to check on Sybie (and doesn't find that odious hippo of a woman Nanny West on duty… oh, maybe she was hit by a bus and my prayers will be answers!) who is fussing and decides to walk around with her to get her to calm down. He talks to her about the house and how he wishes Sybil were here to tell her all about growing up at Downton and soon Sybie falls asleep… but Tom still hears a baby whimpering. Following to a hall he can't ever remember going down he reaches a door that looks like it hasn't been touched for ages. Opening it he finds himself in a small drawing room…

…and is shocked to find Sybil walking around, trying to calm down a crying baby.

Tom at first thinks he must be dreaming but this Sybil is just as shocked to see him, the two of them both exclaiming "You're dead!" in shock. After a heartfelt reunion the two begin to talk and Sybil explains that for her she was sick before giving birth but Tom sided with Doctor Clarkson early on and forced the family to take Sybil to the hospital, where she lived. Later that night she awoke and asked Tom to go a blanket that she'd had made for the baby, as it didn't feel right for the child to be without it. Tom did so but as he walked to the house he saw a fire had broken out in a house in the village. Tom had heroically saved those inside but the building collapsed, killing him. Sybil always blamed herself for sending him away, just as Tom blamed himself for not listening to Clarkson. Both feel guilt that they killed the person they loved.

As the night goes on the two talk but then both realize that the babies are fussing and they need to go get milk for them. Sybil goes first but when Tom leaves the room she isn't anywhere to be found. Robert and Cora believe he had a dream and Sybil was never there when he tries to explain what happened. Tom begins to accept this… until the next night when he awakens once more, walks towards the room… and hears Sybil calling for him desperately. He rushes inside and there she is again, the two embracing.

The two soon come to the conclusion that they are from two different worlds (Sybil and Tom both reading a story that dealt with parallel worlds in the Strand) and that the Drawing Room they are in links these two worlds. At the hour when their counterparts died in their realities the dimensions cross over in the drawing room and the two are able to meet. If one leaves before the other the realities separate until the next night.

How it would go from there would depend on the author. Tom and Sybil could decide to live in two separate worlds, experiencing the events of the show for two points of view and then meeting at night to be together, raising their now twin girls (with Sybil's baby being given a different name, of course). Maybe even eventually they request their living quarters be made the drawing room and thus a strange little life comes about for the two. Or the author could focus on them working to merge their realities together, so that they can be together, or decide to live in one world and abandoned the other and who should join who (making it that so long as they leave together they enter one reality together, with whoever stepped out first determining the world; they can only return to the other one the next night). Or even that they decide to split the difference and spend one day in each universe.

One could also decide to make Sybil's reality radically different. For example… what if Sybil's reality had already separated when it was Lord Patrick Crawley, Robert's father, who had lived instead of Violet? And then, when Robert and Cora died along with Patrick and James, Lord Patrick Crawley, heartbroken, brought his cousin Reginald and his son Matthew to be his heirs. This could be a reality where Mary dies in child birth and Edith died before she and Gregson could be together and thus the Crawley's of Sybil's world decide to jump to Tom's world, so that Violet is reunited with her husband, Isobel with Reginald, Edith and Gregson, and of course Mary and Matthew, with several babies now having twins.

Or it could be almost exactly the same to the point of Sybil's death/Tom's death and the two decide to see how their worlds are the same and different, finding happiness in their time in the room and actually building their lives around it so that, nearly a century later, Sybie and her 'twin' Kate (let's just call her that) have family reunions that always start late at night when the two realities meet up and share what has happened and the entire Crawley family just accepts that they live odd lives.

This idea was inspired very loosely by the Harry Potter fanfic 'Passageways' where Harry uses the Room of Requirement to meet someone he can trust and ends up meeting a 15 year old Bellatrix Black before she was (in this story) basically mind raped into insanity by Voldemort, the two falling in love. I liked the idea that story had but it didn't take advantage of the idea of living in two worlds.

Chapter Text

Daisy frowned as she watched Mrs. Patmore pull some biscuits from the oven, her fingers nervously fooling with the end of a towel. "Why shouldn't he be a lawyer?" she asked.

"Gentlemen don't work, silly, not real gentlemen," O'Brien said, her tone firm but not as biting as it normally was. Anna always found it odd how O'Brien could, seemingly at a drop of a hat, decide that a member of the staff was to be abused or merely lectured. They were never treated friendly, of course, not unless their name was Thomas Barrow and even then Anna wasn't for sure if O'Brien truly liked him or saw him as someone to gossip about. While Thomas could be decent enough at times (though with Mr. Bates' arrival the pendulum had swung from 'able to hold a conversation with' to 'watch out for that sly fox he'll steal the fingers off your hand') O'Brien never seemed to be friendly with anyone. But tonight her ire was directed at Mr. Crawley and Anna was thankful for that; the last thing any of them needed was Daisy having another whimpering fit.

Still, that didn't mean she agreed with O'Brien's comments.

"Don't listen to her Daisy," Anna said, taking a sip of her tea before Mrs. Patmore scolded the easily-flustered girl and got her back to work. Mr. Bates merely looked off to the side, looking to the world as if he weren't paying attention but listening to every word. While he wasn't a smug little snake like Thomas could be Anna had come to realize that Lord Grantham's valet was more cunning and sneaky than most realized. "What do you think Mr. Moseley thinks of him?" Anna asked O'Brien, deciding to reward the lady's maid for her restraint with Daisy by allowing her to gossip.

But it wasn't O'Brien who answered but a newly arrived Thomas, who along with William set down their trays. "That is something I'd like to know."

"And what about you?" O'Brien asked. "What do you think of the lawyer of Grantham?"

"I honestly don't know," Thomas said, surprising them all that he wasn't instantly joining in on snarking about the new arrival. "He's a hard one to read."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Bates asked, finally joining the conversation.

At first Anna was worried that Thomas would just snap back at the valet and that would be the end but Thomas surprised them all by continuing. "The man claims to be a lawyer, yes?"

"You think he isn't?" Anna asked, watching O'Brien perk up at the hint of juicy gossip.

"Oh, he's a lawyer, I'm sure of that. He's got a cagey mind. No, what I mean is… he fits."

"And what is that suppose to mean?" O'Brien asked.

Thomas pursed his lips. "It's like he's been here before. You wouldn't know, as you aren't around for the dinner parties-"

"And I wouldn't want to be," O'Brien stated smugly.

"-but I've served enough people here, especially those who are dining here for the first time. You can always tell."

William quickly nodded. "Yes. They are always looking about, like they are following a bee buzzing around. Taking it all in."

Anna frowned and set down her cup of tea. "But not Mr. Crawley."

"No. He sat there as if he'd dined in that room a thousand times."

"So he's a good actor then," O'Brien reasoned. "Trying to make himself look better than he is."

"No, that wasn't it. I've seen people trying to put on airs, like they belonged at Downton. The Grey heir… that one thinks he can command a room but he still looks like a starry-eyed child."

"Don't let her ladyship hear that," O'Brien commented. "She has hopes on Lady Sybil and him being a match."

"I don't know who to pity more," Thomas said, William chuckling beside him. "Mr. Crawley though… there is something odd there. And not just because he's a middle class lawyer."

"Well, you can think of why it is while you bring these desserts up!" Mrs. Patmore snapped, waving her spatula at William and Thomas. "Go on, then!"

O'Brien merely shrugged and wandered off, most likely to get a smoke, while Anna stayed with Mr. Bates, allowing themselves to take a small breather before they plunged back into their duties. "Well, I don't know about that but Lady Mary seems to not like him one whiff."

"You feel the same?" Mr. Bates asked.

Anna chuckled. "Unlike Mr. Carson I believe that a servant is allowed to have opinions that differ from their employers. I think Lady Mary is just upset that Mr. Crawley was able to match her wit."

"Hmmm," Mr. Bates said.

"What?"

"Nothing… just that I've found that sometimes the strongest relationships are formed through a connection of the mind rather than the body."

Anna looked up at him. "Is that so?"

"Indeed." He pushed away from the counter, Anna knowing that he'd need the extra time to get up the stairs to Lord Grantham's changing room. She watched him go, her own mind oddly filled with thoughts while also feeling like she was thinking nothing at all.

"I think the man speaks from experience," Mrs. Patmore said.

"What do you mean?"

The cook sighed. "You're young."

"…what does THAT mean?" Anna asked even as Mrs. Patmore hurried off. "Well? Well?"

~A~O~O~O~F~

Several hours later, after the family had headed up for bed and many of the servants were finishing their final tasks for the evening before going to get some shut-eye for themselves, Mrs. Hughes found Mr. Carson still in his office, going over the books one last time to make sure everything was in order. She waited, politely, for him to notice she was there before saying, "You know, I liked that song."

"What song?" Mr. Carson asked, brow furrowed.

"The one young William was playing before you came storming in acting as if he'd dumped soup on his lordship himself."

"He was wearing a torn uniform."

"I saw the rip… it was only visible when he bent down, which means that only you saw it. None of family would have ever noticed. And it could have easily happened while he was serving. It was on a seam and you know those like to burst. You've said yourself that once Mr. Crawley is settled in you wish to ask his lordship if we might purchase new livery."

"That is not the point," Mr. Carson said slowly, stressing each word. "As a footman-"

Mrs. Hughes held up her hand. "Yes yes, I've heard that before. I'm merely saying that your reaction did not quite match the crime committed." She stepped further into the room and shut the door behind her. "So please, tell me what truly has you upset."

"What has me upset is that the honor of Downton-" Mrs. Hughes merely stared down the butler and, after he took a moment to collect himself he spoke again in a softer tone. "No, you're right. And… I suppose I owe young William an apology. He wasn't the one that bothered me tonight. What has me upset is Mr. Crawley."

"I thought as much," Mrs. Hughes said. She glanced at the empty chair and when he made no move to stop her she took a seat. "He's been a source of conflicting feelings since Mr. Murray found out about him."

"I would agree with that."

"But from what I gathered the dinner went rather well. William even mentioned that Mr. Crawley complimented Thomas for being helpful."

Mr. Carson snorted. "Either Mr. Crawley is a fool or he is polite. Thomas saw fit to try and embarrass him and Mr. Crawley played it off as if he'd been done some great service by Thomas treating him like a chimney sweep who didn't know a salad fork from a soup spoon."

"Well, did he attempt to use his soup spoon to spear some lettuce?"

"No, he did not," Mr. Carson said dryly. "Mr. Crawley was the very definition of polite and sociable. The entire family fell into an easy rhythm, save for a few moments when the Dowager questioned his decision to work 'part time' as he called it, but other than that he did very well."

"So most likely polite then. He took Thomas' mistake and rather than simply turning it against him he showed kindness and restraint. It speaks well of him."

"Indeed," Mr. Carson agreed.

"So if Mr. Crawley did nothing wrong and from the sounds of it was actually a model guest… why has he upset you so?"

Mr. Carson sighed, closing his books and folding his hands in front of his face, his elbows up on his desk; a clear sign that he was agitated. "I find him… non repulsive."

"Well… high praise indeed."

"Please, do not jest."

"I won't if you won't."

"But I am not."

Mrs. Hughes shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. Sometimes she wondered if Mr. Carson wasn't Daisy's father, as the two of them had a horrible habit of saying such strange nonsense that she honestly couldn't understand what made them spout off what they did. "Then please explain to me why Mr. Crawley being… likeable… is such a bad thing."

"I did not say he was likeable," Mr. Carson said, insulted. "He merely generated a feeling of… neutrality in me."

"And yet I still fail to see what the problem is. Is neutrality a sin now?"

"It is here."

"And what sin, pray tell, is that?"

"The sin of betrayal," Mr. Carson said darkly.

And like that the clouds parted and the sun shone down revealing to truth to her. "This isn't about Mr. Crawley at all, is it?" She leaned forward. "This is about Lady Mary."

Mr. Carson let out a huff. "I know that I must be fair, that I must look upon Mr. Crawley as I would any other man… but I simply cannot do so. He has come here to rob Lady Mary of Downton and that is something I can't forgive."

"Aye, that is true… if it had ever been her's to begin with." Mr. Carson opened his mouth but Mrs. Hughes cut him off. "She was not the heir. Mr. Patrick was."

"It would have been her's when they married."

"Is the estate his lordship's or his ladyship's?"

"His lordship's of course." Mr. Carson blustered for a moment. "But that is entirely different. She is not a Crawley by blood."

"But Patrick was and so is Matthew Crawley."

"It is entirely different."

She laughed though it was with little humor. "It entirely is not. In the eyes of the law Downton goes to the heir and that is Matthew Crawley. Oh, it'd be different if his lordship had gotten the estate with his own hard work like so many modern men seem to be doing now, but he didn't. He got it through blood and the law is clear what happens next."

"…the laws are rubbish. Lady Mary should be the heir."

Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes. "Is that because she is the first born? Or because she is Lady Mary and in your eyes she is perfect?" Mr. Carson scrunched up his face in annoyance but didn't answer. "If she had been second born and Lady Edith was the eldest would you still proclaim the laws rubbish? Or would you call Lady Edith unbecoming of her position for demanding to break from age-old tradition and take something that was never truly hers. And do not lie to Mr. Carson, you are no good at it." He sat there like a school boy who had been told to stay inside while the other kids went sent out to play and Mrs. Hughes just shook her head at his pouting.

While she would have loved to gloat on catching him out Mrs. Hughes found herself unable to bring him down any more than he already was and instead merely sighed and offered him a sad little smile. "It's not just you whose done it, Mr. Carson. I know you don't like anyone speaking ill of the family but his lordship and her ladyship did Lady Mary a great disfortune by allowing her to have such notions in her head. Even before her and Patrick were… engaged to be engaged… she believed Downton to be her destiny when it was never anything of the sort."

"Is it wrong to want her to have all she desires?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Heavens no. But it is wrong to allow that want to color your judgment and your actions." He pulled a face at that and Mrs. Hughes realized what weapon she could use to get him to come around and behave as he should. Mr. Carson was a man of principles and pride; he believed that his honor was worth more than all… save for Downton. And that was his weakness. "Do you think Thomas' little comment will be the last of it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"His snide little comment, the one he made to Mr. Crawley. Do you honestly believe that it will be the last time he does something like that?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Mr. Carson asked. "Mr. Crawley took all the wind out of his sails, turning his remark back on him. He's learned not to try that again and it will be the end of it."

"Or it will push Thomas to try all the harder to get a rise out of him." She gave Mr. Carson a cool stare. "You know how he is. When he gets shoved he doesn't take his licks and then move on. He rather chooses to press back, to continue to test the limits, to find where the line is. And you are allowing him to do it."

"I am-"

"If he had done that to his lordship or Lady Sybil you'd have him in this office right now, ranting till your face was purple. But because it was Mr. Crawley you see no problem with it and let it slide. Which is fine… if I thought that it would end there. But what will happen when someone else decides to join in? Or Thomas decides to do it among people who won't look kindly upon servants at Downton talking to the\heir in such a way and look down on the family for allowing it? And what if someone else decides that if they can do it to Mr. Crawley why not Lady Sybil? Or her ladyship? Lady Edith?" Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "I dare say the honor of Downton would take quite a knock."

While she couldn't see what he was envisioning Mrs. Hughes had a good idea what was going on in Mr. Carson's head. Visions of Downton in disgrace, servants allowed to lip off to whoever they chose, other houses whispering of how far the Crawleys had fallen and how it was all that butler's fault for not doing his job. Mrs. Hughes hated to play on the man's fears but she knew she needed to nip this in the bud. Mr. Carson was allowing his caring for Lady Mary to lead him down paths he'd never have gone down otherwise and she wished to save him before it was too late.

"I will… take to heart what you've said."

"I certainly hope so," Mrs. Hughes stated, standing up and making her way to the door before turning and delivering one final blow. "And remember, Mr. Carson… we have no idea what life might bring. We never guessed his lordships heirs would be on that ship. I would hate for you to allow your loyalty to Lady Mary cause you to shrink your duty… and find yourself suddenly serving on a Lord Matthew Crawley who remembers ever time you stood by and did nothing." She opened the door. "Just a thought. Goodnight."

Mr. Carson didn't answer.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"Where is everyone, Carson?" Robert asked as he took his seat at the breakfast table. While he tended to be an early riser and Cora preferred to have breakfast in bed 'as a proper lady should' normally at least one of the girls were up and about. Oh, sometimes it would be only one of them but he was never alone when it came to breaking his fast. Yet on this day that was the case, with only Carson there to keep him company. "Are they all sleeping in, worn out from yesterday's excitement?"

"No, my lord," Carson said, stepping forward so that he could better speak with his employer. "Lady Mary has decided to give Diamond her paces and left just as the sun was rising. Lady Edith said she wasn't feeling well and wished to go for a walk to clear her out; I had Mrs. Patmore prepare her a small basket of food and she went off to tour the gardens. As for Lady Sybil said that she was going down to the village."

"So they leave their old Papa to fend for himself, I see," Robert said with a smile. "I suppose they are giving me a trial run, as the Americans say, for when they go off to make families of their own." He looked through the paper, seeing if there was anything of interest, but the tales of laws being considered by Parliament, the transfer of control of Sir Richard Carlisle's prized tabloid to The Sketch, and the rumbles that at long last the Italo-Turkish War would come to an end did not hold his interest. Instead his mind turned to other thoughts, ones of the bent towards family and the philosophical. "Do you ever think it funny, Carson, how we spend so much time worrying about the wrong things?"

"What do you mean, my lord?"

Robert sighed, folding his paper close. "I find that in life, or at least in my own life, that I wasted much time worry about things that didn't matter and not worry about what I should. Asking if I would find a wife worthy of me when I should have asked "Will I be worthy of her?". Fearing that the girls will never grow up only to now fear they have grown up too soon. Cora and I worry about them getting married but sitting here I am struck with the fear that I will be left behind; no longer will I be Papa who they run to when they are frightened. Instead I will be some old man who bothers them too much and doesn't know when to end his visits and go back to his lonely home so he might amble about the empty halls."

"I suppose that is life, my lord. We fear the unknown only to find that there are terrors we never considered."

"Plato couldn't have put it better himself." Robert took a sip of coffee. "Of course, I've also found that some worries give way to such hope that I feel foolish being concerned. I feared being able to step into my father's role and yet now feel as if I, at the very least, can measure up to him." He paused, smiling slightly. "I worried about Matthew too. Even after our first meeting, when everything felt so well and he seemed perfect… I still worried. I still feared that something would occur, something that would prove all my doubts right." He then smiled, thinking of the dinner before. "And then I saw him at the table and do you know what I thought? "It is as if he had always been here." It just struck me… it was like… he'd gone off on some tour of the Continent and then returned to us and settled back in. No different that if Mary or Edith had left and returned again." He raised his cup once more. "And I felt great shame for doubting him… and great relief."

And with that Robert turned to his meal, surrounded by empty chairs and brilliant hopes.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"When do you think you'll talk with Mr. Carson?" Moseley asked as he helped Matthew dress for the day.

The lawyer turn heir turned time traveler looked at his reflection in the mirror. 'When did I get so fat?' he thought, gazing at his lean frame and remembering how he'd looked only a few months ago, from his perspective. While he'd thought he'd looked fine back then staring at his lean frame he realized just how… bloated… he'd truly become. The muscles he'd gained from the war had given way to soft flesh, his sharp features had smoothed a bit, and he'd even developed a bit of a double chin when he turned his head the wrong way. Staring at his current body he resolved to say no more often to Mrs. Patmore's desserts and walk and bike more often rather than ride about in his car. 'Of course, considering that is how I died that is safer for me overall. Perhaps my money would be better spent on something else… perhaps convince Mary to get a bike herself? Or I suppose I could purchase a horse and ride with her more often. She'd like that.'

"Sir?"

"Sorry, Moseley, lost in thought. I don't know when he'll be up for it but I hope soon. You were right, he doesn't like me in the slightest." Matthew paused. "Or perhaps it is better to say that when weighed against Lady Mary I am found wanting in Carson's eyes."

"I expected as much," Moseley said, stepping away to look over Matthew's frame to make sure his suit was sitting just so. "Most of the village knows that Lady Mary is his favorite. It is hardly a secret. Any man trying to compete against her would fail when it came to Mr. Carson."

"All the more reason to win him, and the rest of the family, to my side."

"Including Lady Mary?"

"Including her."

Moseley opened his mouth to say something only for the door to chime. "I'll get it sir."

"If it's for my mother let them know she already headed to the hospital. As for me I'll take any visitors in the dining room. And let Mrs. Byrd know I am ready for breakfast."

Matthew made his way down stairs, finding his paper, freshly ironed, already waiting for him. Setting down in his chair he began to scan through the articles, trying to decide what he wanted to read first, and waiting to see just who had come round to visit.

It was a surprise when Moseley entered with Sybil a step behind. She was dressed in her riding outfit, which even being very similar to Mary's show how managed to look cute on her rather than appealing as it did on Mary. Once Moseley had announced her Matthew motioned for her to take a seat while the valet poured his coffee before going to get his breakfast from the kitchen.

"Have you eaten?"

"A little," Sybil said with a smile. "But I wouldn't say no to a small bite. Riding does so make me hungry, even this early in the morning."

"Then by all means," Matthew said and soon the two of them were nibbling on bacon, eggs, and toast with jams, Moseley leaving them to talk in private. "I suppose this is a rather plain breakfast for you, considering what you normally get."

"I've had plainer," Sybil said. "Though sometimes it is nice to keep things simple. There are days where I curse how many choices we are given, as it makes breakfast exhausting when you must make choices so early in the morning."

Matthew chuckled at that. "True enough, I suppose." He ate a bit more before asking, "What brings you here, Lady Sybil."

"I was hoping we could discuss last night's dinner."

"I suppose you've come to run me off for all my radical ideas and strange ways?" he teased.

Sybil smiled. "Hardly. I found you rather refreshing… and not at all what I expected."

"Ah. I suppose the fact that I knew how to behave properly at a dinner party shocked you as much as it did Mary."

"No, it didn't, and that isn't what I meant."

"And what did you mean? How did you expect me to be?"

"I expected you to be a bit of a prat."

Matthew raised an eyebrow at that. "Sorry to disappoint. Perhaps in another life I'd have made a great scene and utterly scandalized your family."

Sybil stared at him for a moment, her lips pressed together in a tight little pucker before she asked, "What made you decide to invite each of us to have tea with you?"

Matthew shrugged. "I thought it would be nice to do. Why? Is it that shocking?"

"Not shocking just… again not what I expected."

"I am trying to be unexpected. I'm glad to see I'm succeeding."

"Pease don't misunderstand… I think it is a grand idea. It is so hard to get to know someone at a table surrounded by so many people. No way to have a private conversation, all the decorum and pomp getting in the way of truly speaking your mind…"

"That is why I chose to do it," Matthew said. "I thought something less formal would help ease any nerves and allow everyone to be more honest with each other."

In truth that was only part of his reason for suggesting the tea times. While so many of his other little changes and ideas had been carefully planned out to help improve his life and the lives of all those around him the suggested get togethers had had a simpler, more selfish reason behind them: Matthew missed his family.

He'd always planned to suggest the meeting with Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, to help cover up any knowledge that he had that might accidently leak out. But as he'd sat in the table, looking at people he knew so well but who stared at him like he was a stranger… Matthew had felt the urge to connect with each and every one of them once again. He wanted to reform the bonds, to get them all back to what he'd had before and stop the dull ache in his heart that came from watching the people he loved carry on as if he was a stranger (even if, to them, that was exactly what he was).

'I suppose I should be concerned about just how much my life had become about my family,' Matthew thought to himself. 'But then again, to be honest… before them I truly didn't have much else, except mother.' He looked down at his plate and thought, 'Until Tom and I truly began to bond I can't say I really had a friend. For the longest time it was work and mother, then it was Downton…' He didn't think about the war and the bond with those in his unit as those memories were always painful. Yes, he'd made strong relationships in the trenches but he'd lost far more than he had remaining. There were days where it had seemed like he would meet someone, get to know their name and feel like they were someone he could talk to and actually form a true bond of brotherhood and friendship… and then a German bullet would rip through their brain and that was the end of it.

It hadn't been until he got to Downton that he'd truly begun to develop meaningful relationships with other people. It was a touch depressing but when Matthew thought of all the joy the Crawleys had brought into his life he couldn't find himself mourning what he'd never had with others that weren't part of the family unit.

"So, what brought you by here so early, other than your surprise I'm not a prat?" Matthew asked with a smile.

"Your offer to meet with each of us individually, actually. I was struck by it greatly and, well, I hope you don't find this too direct but… I was hoping you might consider the two of us getting to do ours right now."

Matthew took a sip of his coffee to hide his frown. While it sounded innocent enough Matthew was suddenly having flashbacks to Edith and him touring churches and him having to do all he could to pretend he didn't notice Edith's blatant attempts to interest him in more than ancient religious architecture. Honestly, he had been shocked the girl hadn't realized after the tenth time he'd stuck his nose in a pamphlet rather than respond to her that he was trying to let her down easily and with her dignity intact.

'Of course this would happen to me,' Matthew thought nervously. 'Attempt to change things so that Mary and I get together sooner and I end up seducing her little sister.' He'd been worried about changing his past and how it could affect his future; while he hoped to prevent the many tragedies and mistakes of his first life there were many things he didn't want to change. He'd had nightmares of him saying the wrong thing and suddenly watching the ghostly form of his son-yet-to-be-born fading away into nothingness. And now he was sitting across from Sybil who was staring at him intently and he saw just how dangerous his actions could be. The young woman was staring at him and if he didn't handle this right it would create a mountain of headaches.

"Of course," Matthew said brightly. "I don't have anything planned this morning so as long as we are done by 1 it should be fine. Your father wants to visit some of the nearby farms so I could walk you back to Downton before starting off with him."

"Splendid," Sybil said with a grin. "So… how do we go about this?"

"Well, I suppose that is up to you. This is all about us getting to know each other but it won't work if you aren't comfortable. How do you thing we should go about all this?"

Sybil tapped her chin in thought. "The biggest thing for me is that we are honest with each other. Wouldn't do well for us if we began by hiding things from each other."

"Fair enough. I promise to be honest and fair with you, no matter what you ask."

"Thank you."

Matthew took another bite of his breakfast. "So, what would you like to know first?"

"When did you die?"

The world stopped spinning. The wind froze and nothing could make it blow again. Every sound was muted and colors seemed to lose their vibrancy.

"What?" Matthew said, chuckling nervously. "I mean…hah… what… what are you… I don't understand… what do you-"

"You promised to be honest with me Matthew so please don't try and brush this aside. . ?"

His tongue felt thick in his mouth and the words nearly caught in his throat but Matthew found himself revealing his greatest secret to Sybil, the words "September 23rd, 1921, the day my son was born" spilling from his lips.

"Barely a year," Sybil whispered before reaching out and taking Matthew's hand. "I beg you to forgive me, Matthew. I shocked you but… but I wanted to know. Needed to know."

"I… I don't understand," Matthew said, stilling trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Sybil KNEW.

The young woman smiled sadly. "Then let me make it clear: My name is Sybil Branson. I died May 22nd, 1920… and I would very much like to know what happened to my baby."

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: So I don't want to get too much into this chapter as I think that the author's notes are encouraging people not to review as much because I am basically answering all their questions so they don't need to ask.

Remember, reviews feed the muse and gets it motivating me to write!

What I will say is that this chapter is probably one of my favorites I've written for this story (and before you say "Oh six?" I've written around 16 so far… I'm really far ahead!). First off, I enjoyed being able to write Mrs. Hughes and Carson… their voices just came so easily for me and I had a blast having them converse. Honestly, I probably slipped the most easily into their mindsets compared to the rest of the cast. Which is odd since I am a 33 year old American from the Mid West, not an old British butler. I MIGHT be a Scottish head housekeeper… there are moments I black out…

Anyway, that isn't what had you guys screaming "WHAT?!" at the screen, was it? Yes… I can finally reveal that Sybil also came back in time. For those that noticed that Sybil was acting different, good catch!

Now then, before I let you guys all go to write a ton of reviews that I can respond to and we can have long conversations about the show and story… it's Plot Bunny Time!

This one starts when Matthew was around 7 years old. His father, wanting to improve his family's lot, got involved with a money scheme run by an Earl or Duke's son, only for it turn out to be a scam. But because the son was heir to a upper class house the family was able to get the son off of all charges and Reginald, in disgrace, left England for Ireland, dying a few years later. Matthew swore that the upper class as a whole would pay for what they had done to his family. He would later meet a certain Socialist named Tom Branson and through conversations with him the two would decide that when you want to send a message sometimes you must be bold… daring.

Thus Matthew and Tom created the persona of 'The Grim'. Based on the myth of the black ghost dog of the same name, Matthew in his persona as the The Grim uses gadgets built by Tom (Tom in this realiy being a tickerer and inventor) to make it appear that he is a supernatural being: smoke bombs, special goggles that glow red so that it looks like his eyes are on fire, and Tom's favorite item, a super silent car that is faster and handles better than any vehicle ever made (at least in this era). Tom serves as Matthew's driver, the Kato to his Green Hornet. The Grim is a thief who targets upper class families and nobles but rather than stealing just wealth he will also steal secrets, revealing them to the world and bringing the family to ruin. His last target was the MacClare family at Duneagle, where he revealed Susan MacClare's dark secrets (what it is would be up to the writer) and while Shrimpie and Rose avoided most of the scandal they did end up leaving for India to escape the press. One of The Grim's secret allies is Sir Richard, who happily buys the information The Grim provides.

However, things take an odd turn when Matthew learns that he is to become the Earl of Grantham… because the previous heirs, James and Patrick Crawley, died under mysterious circumstances. While both Matthew and Tom aren't interested in Matthew being Earl (in fact Matthew his disgusted by the idea of becoming that which he blames for his father's death) they do see that it would help them in their crusade; the wealth would be REAL nice, they could learn more about the upper class families (even getting into their estates INVITED), and could turn Downton one day into their headquarters. Thus they move to Crawely house with Isobel (up to you if she knows about their nightly activities) and begin their work. But when The Grim goes to rob his first target, the Grey Family, he is startled when he happens upon the death of Larry Grey at the hands of a masked assassin who says she is Titania. The two engage in a sparring fight before breaking apart, Titania escaping on, of all things, a motorcycle (one of the old style ones that actually looks like a bike) while Matthew/The Grim escapes with Tom. Matthew states they have a rival. Meanwhile, in the forests outside of Downton, Titania stops at a small cottage near the abbey… and greets Sybil and Edith, revealing that she is Mary.

Mary, when she was young, was playing hide and seek at the abbey when she fell asleep in a closet. When she woke up she saw one of her grandfather's friends raping a maid. She later learned the maid hung herself. Mary, disgusted by what she saw, went to her grandmother but Violet said there was nothing the law could do… before leading Mary to a secret room in her home, where she reveals that in her own youth she took up the guise of Titania, avenging women who were hurt by upper class men. Violet trains Mary and later Edith and Sybil how to fight and kill and the sisters swear to hunt down all those that hurt the innocent and make them pay.

During all this we get the normal Matthew and Mary dance while Sybil and Tom bond. And of course Matthew and Mary, as The Grim and Titania, develop an odd Batman/Catwoman relationship.

Chapter Text

Sybil felt a mixture of pride and annoyance as she watched Matthew struggle to process what she'd just told him.

Pride in the fact that she'd managed to startle him. He'd always been so steady, even when he allowed his emotions to run wild. Where others would rant and scream he would grit his teeth and snap off quick little comments before forcing himself to calm down. Where others would be reduced to crying wrecks he merely brooded and asked for solitude. When compared to all the other adults (and she still thought of them all as 'adults' compared her herself, even after she had managed her own home; it was only worse now that she looked in the mirror and found her child-like features looking back at her once again, the hard-earned signs of maturity wiped away by her travels into the past) he was more like Granny and Papa than her mother of Isobel, who allowed their emotions to lead them to strange paths and stranger decisions. And he certainly was better than Mary and Edith (and while she still saw herself as not being an adult when compared to her parents when it came to her sisters she truly felt her exra years and though her body didn't reflect it she was now their big sister). Matthew, though passionate, was reliable.

So being able to surprise him and leave him at a loss for words was a thrill for Sybil.

Except as the seconds ticked by and Matthew kept staring at her without speaking the annoyance piled up. She wanted her question answered, to find out what had happened to Tom and the baby, as well as the rest of the family. Even if it had only been a year that Matthew could provide answers about it was a year more than she had been given and Sybil was thirsty to find out all she could.

'I only got to see her once,' Sybil thought again, her mind clinging to those few seconds she'd managed to hold her baby, Tom by her crying with joy. It ached that, after all she'd done, all the good she'd achieved, her reward had only been a few moments of happiness with her little family before it was all sent crashing down. It had haunted her, after she'd slowly come to realize that somehow this wasn't a dream and she was truly trapped in the past, to wonder what had happened to her daughter and to Tom. How had they managed without her? Did the family rally around them or were they cast aside? Her greatest fear was that her mother and father would look at her baby and blame the little one for her death and thus drive Tom and the child away, left to fend on their own. She'd thought that she'd never know the truth, never know what had happened to her family…

…and then Matthew had come to Downton and Sybil realized that she wasn't the only one to travel back.

"Matthew," she finally said, hoping to snap him out of his shock. "Matthew, come on now, say something." He stood up and began to pace, Sybil watching him with bemusement that was still wearing away quickly as he remained silent. "Matthew-"

He turned suddenly and walked around the table, stopping dangerously close to her before kneeling before her. "Sybil?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said, her voice taking on the same slightly exasperated tone Mary's did when someone said something she thought was terribly obvious.

"…my Sybil?" Matthew asked, his voice soft and trembling as he reached forward and clasped her hands in his.

Her annoyance dissolved away and she found herself crying though she truly didn't understand why. And yet despite her tears she smiled. "Yes."

There was no warning. One moment he was just kneeling there while she sat at the table and the next he had her in the air, swinging her about as he hugged her tight, laughing in utter delight. Sybil let out a squeal as she was spun about, finding it her turn to be startled. It was so wrong, so improper, something that if anyone in her family had seen they'd have gone into shock. But as Matthew finally set her down at stared into her eyes, a massive grin on her face, she couldn't blame him. The thoughts that were racing through his head must have been the same that popped into her mind as she gripped his arms and yanked him into a bone crushing hug.

'I'm not alone.'

She still remembered how this had all begun. She'd been lying in bed, her body hurting so bad that it made her unable to bend, unable to relax, unable to do anything but lay there like a board even as her family shook her and cried at her, telling her they were there. She'd tried to yell 'I know! I know it's you Mary! I'm not a bloody idiot, now HELP ME!' but she couldn't even let out a gurgle, let alone shout. Her head had ached, like railroad spikes were being driven slowly through her temples. She'd hear Tom begging her not to leave him and even as her throat seized up and her lungs felt as if they were packed with cotton she wanted to tell him she was there, that she wasn't leaving, that it sounded as if he were the one going because his voice was growing quieter and it was so hard to hear him. The same with Mama, who'd been clinging to her arm but then she couldn't feel her… couldn't feel anything really. Even the pain had been gone, fading away into the ether leaving her floating, light and free but also so sad because she could hear people crying…

~A~O~O~O~F~

…and then the sun was in her eyes and she could hear quiet footsteps along the hardwood.

Sybil blinked, startled to find it so easy to do when before even twitching her eye had felt as if it were a Herculean task, and slowly came to realize that she was in her old room and Anna had entered. Sybil rose up slowly, shifting up against the headboard, brow furrowed as she stretched.

"Good morning, my lady," Anna said with a smile. "Did you rest well?"

"Very well," Sybil said, still confused. "What… what am I doing here?"

Anna looked at her, smiling the smile of one who was confused and didn't know how to react to a question. "Sleeping, it would seem. Unless you were suppose to be doing something else?"

"I meant how did I end up here?" Sybil asked. "Who brought me in here?"

"No one did," Anna said, standing at attention, waiting for Sybil to rise so she could help her up and begin preparing for the day. "You came in here yourself."

"I did?" Sybil asked, surprised. "I don't remember that."

Anna smirked at that. "Slipping wine during dinner when no one was looking? Normally Thomas lets us know when you do that."

"Dinner?" Sybil said, confused. "Why would I…" she shook her head. "Sorry, things are a bit foggy, I suppose." She looked about. "Where's Tom?"

"Thomas?" Anna asked, confused once again. "He's downstairs, most likely. Why?"

"Not Thomas, Tom." Anna just stared at her. "Tom Branson?" No recognition. "Anna, you're scaring me."

"Lady Sybil, you're scaring me. Are you sure you are alright?"

"I'm fine! I just want to know where Tom and my baby are."

"Baby?" Anna said, setting down the dress she'd gathered for Sybil to wear for the start of her day. "What baby?"

Sybil was in no mood to be pleasant. She was confused, disoriented, and felt as if she'd stepped into a play that was already two acts in. So instead of acting properly, as was expected of her even if she no longer truly considered Downton her home, she snapped. "My baby. The one I forced out of my damn body last night!"

"Lady Sybil, I think you are confused."

"Oh, I'm confused alright!" Sybil snapped, flapping her arms. "I don't know what game you are playing but I don't appreciate it! And why are you up here, anyway? I can dress myself, I've done it plenty of times!"

"You… you have?" the blonde woman said, backing away nervously.

"Plenty of times. There aren't many ladies maids in Dublin." She paused and, for the first time, saw just what Anna was wearing. Rather than the dark dress that Anna had worn ever since Mary had married Matthew she was once more in her maid's outfit and looking as if it were natural for her to do so. "Why are you in that? Did Mary have you demoted? Or is this just some sort of game?"

Anna's went wide and she rushed forward, grasping Sybil by the shoulders and forcing her back down onto the bed. "My lady, I don't think you're well." She placed her hand against Sybil's head, checking her temperature. "You don't feel hot-"

"I would know if I were sick!" Sybil shouted. "Now tell me what is going on? Tom? Tom!"

"What is going on!" another maid said, rushing into the room.

"I think she's delirious. Help me get her into bed and I'll go get her ladyship."

Sybil didn't want to lie down though and began to struggle even as the two maids pushed her back under the covers. "What are you doing? Why won't you make sense? Where is my baby?"

"Please, Lady Sybil," the other maid said, wiping her brow with a cloth. "You are confused. Just relax."

Suddenly Sybil's eyes focused and she stared at the maid, taking in her red hair and kind eyes, and began to shake in fear. "Gwen?" She whispered.

"That's right, Lady Sybil, that's right… Shhhh…"

"No… you… you can't…" Dark edges appeared in her vision and she heard her mother rushing into the room, her cries having drawn her in. "How… where… Tom… the baby…"

And then she knew no more.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"When I woke up again I feared that it had truly been all a dream," Sybil told Matthew, the two of them once more seated at the table though now Matthew had brought his chair to her side so he might better hold her hand and offer her comfort. "I made things terrible for them all, what with the news of James and Patrick just hitting them and then me in my 'delirium. Mama was convinced that Anna had let slip the news and I'd reacted badly. I was too grief-stricken to correct her but after a few days they felt I knew I couldn't wallow in bed and began to live my life again. I began to gather my evidence and confirm that I hadn't just imagined it all and that somehow I had ended up back in the past."

"I scared my mother the same way," Matthew said. "She thought I was sleep walking."

Despite how horrific it had been when it had happened Sybil and Matthew both chuckled. "I suppose we are lucky neither of us were committed."

"Not lucky, smart," Matthew said. "We knew to keep quiet about it."

"True," Sybil said. "It was so hard though." She toyed with her napkin with her free hand, looking down at her cup. "I so badly wanted to confide is someone. I thought about going to Gwen but I realized I had no way to really prove it to her. And even if I did… would it have been fair to place the burden on her? And what if she wanted to know about her future? Oh, I'd have loved nothing more than to tell her that she'll get a job and she shouldn't worry but what if doing so changed things? What if she knew those other interviews didn't matter and so she didn't go to them and when it was time for the one that mattered she wasn't prepared and blew it? Or what if I let slip something that she shouldn't know and she told the wrong person…" Sybil sighed. "So I bottled it up and didn't say I word. I kept it all to myself."

"Well, you don't have to do that anymore and neither do I." He gave her hand a squeeze. "We've got each other now."

"Thank God for that." She waited for a moment before finally dragging her eyes back up to look at Matthew. "Please… I have to know…" she shook her head and felt her emotions take another swing as all she wanted to do was cry. "God… I don't even know her name. I don't know my own baby's name." She sniffed, fighting back the tears that threatened to reappear. She knew already that she was going to look a wreck from her earlier crying jag but just the thought that she knew nothing about her daughter-

"Sybil," Matthew said.

"Yes?"

"No… that's what Tom decided on. He named her Sybil." She saw him smile only for it to fall when he looked at her. "What?"

Sybil realized she'd scowled at that. "Sorry… just… I hate it when fathers name their sons after themsleves. Just sounds so arrogant. I understand why Tom did it and I don't fault him for it but I really don't like thinking that my daughter was Sybil Branson II."

Matthew smiled weakly. "We called her Sybbie, if that helps."

"Oh God, that was all Mama, wasn't it?" She grimaced as the memory hit. "She called me that ALL THE TIME. I finally got her to stop a year ago from… now." She shook her head. "I hate that nickname." She sighed in utter annoyance. "Mama always thought it was so cute. I shouldn't be surprised she saddled it on my baby. Probably thought it was a lovely tribute." Matthew merely shrugged and Sybil waved him off. "It doesn't matter. I'll be naming her this time; a good proper Irish name that will make Tom happy and will make papa scowl when he has to call her that but we both know he'll grow to love it. Now, what about Tom? What happened to him?" It hurt to think of her husband and how rudderless he had been since they'd been forced to return to Downton. She'd been angry with how stupid he'd been, how he'd become involved with those… hooligans… who'd burned that estate down, but despite what her family thought she'd never gotten upset about what it meant to her. No, what pained her was what it meant for him. He'd been doing so well, becoming a writer for the paper, making a name for himself… and then, in one horrible night he'd tossed it away. He'd gone from a truly self-made man to being forced to live with his in-laws, feeling like he couldn't support his family, unsure about his future. She'd watched him struggle those last few weeks and sworn that she would find some way to help him once the baby came…

Matthew smile though eased her worry. "It hurt him, losing you. I won't claim otherwise. I think he felt your loss every day and while he could hear your name or think of your time together and smile it still left a hole in his heart that hadn't healed. But… he did find a purpose and his job did help keep his attention focused on other things than his pain."

"His job?" Sybil asked excitedly. "He got a job?"

"Believe it or not… Violet got it for him."

"No!" Sybil gasped in utter delight, squeezing Matthew's hand. "She did? Truly?"

"She did… though to be fair it was to solve another problem and not just to help Tom."

"What do you mean? What problem could be solved by helping Tom find a job?"

Matthew sighed, letting go of her hand and running his fingers through his hair. "Do you remember how your father was upset about you coming down for Mary and my wedding? How he thought your mother sent the money?" Sybil nodded; even though things had been mending it still upset her to know her father had been so against her coming. "He wasn't ashamed of you. And I think, had things been different, he would have brought you down much sooner. It was just easier to use Tom as an excuse, so he didn't have to admit the truth."

"I don't understand."

"Your father… Robert is a good man. But he has two flaws when it comes to being earl. The first is that like so many other men who are born into money and never have to work for it he has no understanding of how to properly manage it."

Sybil's eyes went wide. Of everyone in the family only she would have clued in on what Matthew was getting at; while her and Tom hadn't been living paycheck to paycheck they had been careful with their money and worked to be smart with it. Tom had showed her how he managed his own salary from Downton and as they'd settled in Dublin the two of them had worked together each week to go over their budget and ensure that they were spending their money wisely and saving what they could. It was so different from Downton, where no expense was too great and her parents and sisters would throw away all they had, forever thinking there was more…

"He lost it all, didn't he?"

"He did. He's already started us along that path." Matthew sighed in annoyance, his jaw working slightly. "He placed all of your mother's fortune into a rail line in Canada. Just after the war the entire enterprise will go bankrupt and with it all will be lost. It was only Reggie Swire, Lavinia's father, willing me his great fortune that saved Downton." He sighed. "I looked at the books and that wasn't his first mistake. To be honest, Sybil, I fear that had I not given Robert the money he wouldn't have even managed to keep Downton Place for long."

"Oh, how terrible. I knew it was bad, of course... papa made that much clear... I assumed he had merely lost a good amount and the move would be for a little while, until he could recover what was lost. But to lose everything? Oh, papa." She looked down only to snap her head back up. "Please tell me you have a plan to prevent it this time! Please tell me that! Even if you managed to gain the wealth again, and I dare say I don't think you have it in you to lead on Miss Swire like that just for a payday-" Matthew quickly and rather violently shook his head, his disgust clearly written on his features, "-it must have broken Papa to fail like that."

"It did," Matthew admitted.

"Then you must save Downton from him, Matthew. Even if you must shatter his ego it would be better to have a small wound like that then a mortal blow like losing Downton."

"Of that I agree… but I do think I can save Downton without hurting your father. That is the reason I've decided to work less and focus more on the estate. I hope, by summer of next year I will have gained his trust enough to suggest pulling out of that venture and moving to my plan."

"And what is yours?"

"Mine is the cause of the second problem… and related to your father's other flaw." Matthew stood up and went to retrieve his coffee, Sybil using the moment to nibble on a bit of bacon. "Robert is a kind man."

"And being kind is a flaw?" Sybil asked, knowing there was more to the story.

Matthew nodded. "When it comes to managing those that live on his lands? Yes." He began to pace. "You must see it yourself, or if you don't you will if we can sneak away for a tour of the farms. He allows the tenants to do as they wish, following old methods and old ways. It was fine in the days of his father but we live in a new world, a busier one that demands more. Downton could be self sufficient… no, it could be more than that. It could not only see itself empowered but those that run the lands as well! But Robert fears upsetting those that have served Downton without realizing that he is hurting them worse by not caring for them as he should. He acts like a friend who constantly pays his drinking buddy's tab rather than a father firmly but kindly guiding his children to greatness."

Sybil sighed, nodding her head. "I can see that. Papa is always so fond of saying that he sees Downton as his fourth child and when I think of how he has raised all of us it is easy to take in the mistakes he would make. He allows us too much slack and he does the same for the tenants. One only needs to see how Mary is allowed to talk as if she were the queen herself to see proof of that. Old age has shown me that."

"I suppose that means you'll stop rebelling and demand he put his foot down?"

Sybil laughed at that. "I am more mature but I'm not a fool." She lapsed into a gentle smile. "So am I correct to guess that you wished to place the power of the money not in the hands of faraway businessmen but into Downton itself?"

"Exactly. Modernize, use the strengths of the lands and farms while diminishing the weaknesses. I had many plans before… before I passed away… but was only able to see one or two be put into motion. But that was enough for Jarvis."

"He left, didn't he?" Sybil said, once more cluing it. Matthew nodded and Sybil felt her spirits raise as she put the pieces together. "Tom! You made him the agent!"

"It was your grandmother's idea. He had more knowledge of farming than any of us and she predicted, correctly so, that the two of us would get on swimmingly. Tom is a socialist, yes, but he isn't an idealist. He understands how the world works. Even your grandmother could see that he would understand what Downton could do for the tenants and why it was needed. It was a good fit for me… and your father found it a good fit too." He paused, biting his lip. "I hope, with your blessing, to see him in that role again."

Sybil felt herself on the verge of crying once again, her hands fluttering to her mouth as she smiled. "Oh, that would be brilliant! We could stay at Downton but Tom wouldn't feel as if we were receiving charity… and it fits so well with what he wants! He'd be able to protect the tenants and help them establish themselves better in the world! Oh, it's perfect!"

"I worry if he'll be up for it, considering how he was when we first met him. He was rather against us all, if I recall right."

"You leave that to me," Sybil said with a playful grin. "I already planned to not dance around him as we did last time and I'm sure I can find the right path to get him towards taking that role." She could suddenly see it in her head; Tom, dressed in a suit, walking with Matthew, his 'for the people' views allowing him to argue how to not just help Downton but help the farmers and the people of the village, so that all could prosper. And then he'd come home, to their modest but beautiful home, where she would be waiting ready to hear about his day. Perhaps he would even allow her to work with him, at first in secret but later openly, the two of them helping Mary and Matthew bring Downton to new heights of greatness. The four of them could truly make the estate something beautiful, a modern jewel that was the envy of all!

The more she thought about it the more right it felt. She had loved her life in Dublin, despite what Mary and Edith and her parents might have thought, but being able to take the modesty and quietness of that existence and combined it with her family made her heart soar. She imagined herself talking her daughter ('Who will NOT be called Sybbie! Perhaps Caitlin and Bridget instead…') for a walk through the village then joining with Mary and her little boy before they all went up to Downton to visit her father and mother and let the proud grandparents spoil their grandchildren. She saw herself hosting Matthew and Mary at her home and going on trips with Edith, pushing a pram down the street as they looked through windows, all the while knowing Tom was out with her father and Matthew, securing the children's future.

' It is a crazy dream but one I will work hard to achieve. Harder than I've ever worked before.'

"You approve?" Matthew asked breaking her from her thoughts.

"Again and again," Sybil said with a smile. "Tell me… what other plans do you have? What else do you wish to change?"

"Believe it or not…" Matthew said with a grin, "I made a list."

"Of course you did! That is you to a t!" Sybil clapped her hands, feeling like a child at Christmas time. "May I see it?"

Matthew nodded and quickly popped up stairs to retrieve it from his safe, Sybil tucking into her meal. She found it easier to eat than to pace about, for it felt as if she had the energy of twenty women. It was the same nervous energy she'd felt when she'd been a nurse, waiting to find out if a favored patient would make it through surgery. Though this time the energy came from giddy joy rather than fear.

Her brother-in-law (and he was her brother-in-law even if Mary and him hadn't even shared a kind word yet) returned, shutting the door before coming over to her and unfolding a loose sheet of paper. She carefully smoothed it out before examining his crisp, clean letters, a smile forming on her lips as she began to read. "Did you ever come up with a better name?"

"No," Matthew admitted with a laugh. "And you'd have thought I would, what with have several months before I met any of you."

Sybil chuckled and continued to read. "Making Mary fall in love with you before being concerned with your own death? That is telling."

"Will you lie to me and say that Tom is not first on your list, before your own death?"

Sybil's smile fell at that. He was right, of course; while she hadn't actually written out a list ('How can one hope to ever hide anything when it is impossible to be alone in Downton?') her thought seemed to always dwell on Tom. She missed seeing his face, the way he'd smile when he spotted her in a room or the twinkle in his eye when she got excited and in turn he grew excited for her. Where so many other men would have been upset at her trying to better herself he delighted in her success for the mere reason that he loved her and wanted the world to see how wonderful she was. There were still nights, even though she'd gotten used to being back in her old life for a second go-around, where she'd reach over to hold him and found nothing but emptiness. Her greatest fear was him looking at her and not recognizing her and her greatest drive was the hope that she could make their story start all the sooner and all the stronger.

'Even when I try to think of my death it turns back to him,' she thought as she took a sip of tea. 'How it affects him, how he is managing…' she let out a quiet snort.

"What?" Matthew asked.

"I just realized… I keep thinking of Tom in the present tense." Matthew looked at her, forehead crinkling at that, and Sybil sighed. "I think about what he must be doing now, how he is handling my death and the baby… except he isn't handling it. Because he doesn't know me and I haven't died. It feels… it feels in here," she tapped her chest, "as if I've merely fallen down Alice's rabbit hole and he is still out there."

Matthew sighed and took his seat. "I wish I could say it gets better…"

"Oh… Mary…"

"Mary," Matthew repeated.

"How did you manage to get through dinner last night, with her acting so dreadful?" Sybil found herself saying, wishing she could show more tact but finding her mouth saying the words before she could stop. "At least with Tom I know he will see me just as the daughter of his employer. That will be hard enough but… oh Matthew…"

He managed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I remind myself that I will have her back soon enough." His grin grew bit more genuine. "And besides… I find it rather interesting to go back to their point in our relationship. There is a thrill there."

"That makes no sense to me."

"Do you mean to tell me a part of you isn't a bit excited to startle the entire family by announcing you are marrying the chauffer?"

"What's next on the list?" she asked, ignoring his laughter. "'Turkish prick'?" Matthew grimaced at that and Sybil couldn't help but find it hilarious. "We survived a war, our own deaths, and Mrs. Patmore putting salt in the pudding and it is a bit of coarse language that has you fidget?"

"It's not that," Matthew said. "It's just… this shouldn't be the way you find out." He took a moment before adding. "Had I had my way you would have never known as it would have never happened."

Sybil sighed. "I heard the rumors, same as you and probably everyone else. It wasn't hard to hear them, to be honest… you don't realize how anxious upper class girls are to tear down their peers. I tried to fight them at first but Mary finally told me to just let it be, that I was wasting my breath. That's when I knew they were true, because Mary wouldn't give up so easily if they were lies." Sybil bit her lip. "How did you find out?"

"Mary told me," matthew stated. "Right before I proposed. It was Christmas and I was trying to understand what had gone wrong with the two of us. She finally told me about how she took the man as her lover and it had made her unworthy of me and it was that, more than anything, that caused her to cringe back when I reached out to her."

"And what did you say?"

"That she had nothing to ask forgiveness for. That it was her past and no one had the right to demand she apologize for it. She could feel guilt but only if she felt it for her own regret… not because in her mind another demanded it."

"And you wish to prevent her from doing this?"

"Not because I need her to be… pure… for our wedding, if that is your concern. I only know that it upset her greatly what she had done and she felt it the source of so many problems. By guiding her away from the Turk I hope to help her prevent a mistake."

"Matthew…" Sybil paused, steeling her nerves. "While I agree wholeheartedly that we must spare Mary that pain I feel I must warn you… there is a very good chance you are wrong about what happened."

"You mean that she loved him? That she wanted it-"

"The opposite," Sybil said, a bit more forcefully that she'd originally meant to. Matthew cringed and Sybil took a calming breath. "When I was a nurse I had my eyes open to certain… truths about the world. Mary scolded me when I tried to run away with Tom, claiming that I thought life was a fairy tale but honestly that lesson I'd learned years before. I saw how men and women could be with each other…" she shrugged. "I saw how men could be with each other. And women with women." Matthew opened his mouth but she held up a hand to stop him, continuing on. "I saw how sometimes it was an act of desperation, with a woman flinging herself at a man because she saw him as her only hope or a soldier, broken and damaged, giving in to advances because he feared they would be the only ones he received. I saw the war break down boundaries just as it did with me and Tom. Yet… I also saw how men with power would use their station and strength to make women believe they had no option but to… give in."

Never had she been more glad that Matthew was a smart man. She watched his emotions flicker across his face, taking in what she hinted at and allowing it to process… and for the cold truth of what she was suggesting happened to Mary fall upon him like a heavy load. Shock. Horror. Rage.

"He… you think he…"

"I don't know," Sybil admitted. "But we must be prepared that such is the case. The more I think of it, though, the more I believe it likely. A strange man appears in her room, threatens her with scandal and disgrace if she doesn't give in…"

"No," Matthew said, shaking his head. Sybil felt for him, wanting to comfort him but knowing he needed to work through this. "Mary would never… no one would see it as her fault!"

"Would they?" Sybil asked. "We live in a world where men's word is law and sex is something the boys boost of and the girls must treat as a quiet shame never to be mentioned. When a woman claims a man raped her," she ignored the flinch Matthew made had her blunt statement, for she was a nurse and wouldn't dance around what it was just because it wasn't 'polite', "it is always the woman who ends up being looked down upon if it is merely her word against his. 'Why didn't she fight back?' 'I bet she really wanted it.' 'She's probably making it all up, just to get back at him'. There are even some who claim that it is proper… that men cannot control themselves when it comes to such things so they must be forgiven while 'the fairer sex' must either prove themselves stronger or be revealed to be sluts and whores." With each point Matthew jerked as if shot and Sybil wondered if he saw other men, men he knew, shouting such things at Mary. "Mary would know such things… and if that Turkish Diplomat cornered her and made it seem that the choices were ruin or submitting-"

"I'll kill him," Matthew said darkly.

Sybil was startled by such a threat coming from Matthew. She was used to thinking of him as being so gentle and kind. He wasn't a pushover, no, and he had a temper… but she'd never thought of him as a truly violent man. Even when it came to thinking of the war she couldn't picture him killing soldiers and tended to hold a vision of him rallying the troops rather than firing on the Germans.

And yet there he was, his jaw clenched, the mere thought that the woman who would become his wife could be violated so, in her own home, and lie to all including herself that she had been given a choice in the matter burning his very soul.

"I'm not saying that he did that," Sybil said ('Though I believe he did'). "I just wanted you to be prepared. We're going to change so much, make things better for our family… but we can't do that if we don't look at every option."

Matthew nodded, his anger dissolving away and leaving him looking tired. "There's so much I want to do… and I'm scared that trying to help them will only make things worse."

"It's a risk," Sybil admitted. "But so is life. We could be sitting here and a tree could fall through the roof and kill us both. That's just the way things are. We can't let that stop us though from trying to do better."

"You're right," Matthew said after a long moment. "Thank you."

Sybil nodded before looking back down at the list. "I'm #5?" she said, feeling oddly touched.

Matthew launched into the rest of his list, explaining what he wanted to try to do, his reasoning for what he wanted to change and what had to remain, and asking her opinion on anything he might have missed ("Help Bates and Anna," had been her main inclusion, as she knew from the blonde maid that it hadn't just been Matthew, Mary, Sybil, and Tom who'd dealt with rocky and prolonged courtships) and suggestions on how to accomplish certain tasks (she honestly felt that, despite Matthew's desire to save her infant sibling, there would be nothing they could do to prevent that tragedy). They talked for over an hour, each of them feeling their burdens lighten in knowing that there was at least one person out there who remembered the life-that-might-never-be and who they could turn to when this second chance grew too painful. Sybil left Matthew with a promise to try and help him however she could and he the same, both of them reaffirming they were family and nothing would change that.

As Sybil left the cottage though her thoughts returned to the Turk… and Matthew's rage. She knew he'd felt anger at what the man had done/would do but Sybil was convinced that, when the moment of truth arrived, Matthew's better angels would see him stay his hand. Because her dear brother-in-law, for all his passion and wearing his heart on his sleeve, was an honorable man. Mary and her had been lucky in that they'd both fallen for men that, despite their differences and 'lower birth', were the most noble and kind representatives of mankind. No… Matthew wouldn't kill the Turk, even if he was allowed to rape Mary.

'And that," Sybil thought as she thought of her family and her silent pledge to protect those she loved she'd made once she'd realized she was living her life once more, 'is why the task falls to me.'

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Note: So some were wondering when Sybil had come back and here we find out the exact same day Matthew did, only she woke up a few hours later.

Fun fact! Thanks to Game of Thrones when Anna first came in I had her say 'milady' and talk very 'game of thrones' style instead of Downton British, as it were. Oh well, at least I didn't do this Gwen call Matthew 'Jon Snow' and tell him he knew nothing.

And as an aside, I know it would never happen because Kit Harrington hates Downton Abbey but I wish he would have been Gwen's husband in that last season episode…hmm… plot bunny where it is revealed Gwen's new job was fighting with the wildlings and when she returns all of Downton knows about South of the Wall and thinks it is a sad place and Violet is the Night's Queen.

Before anyone says that I based Sybil's return to the past on Mary's from 'Miracles Happen', know that I wrote that scene back in JULY, long before I even posted the first chapter of this story.

So for this chapter's plot bunny I've decided that since we've done a ton of Mary/Matthew plot bunnies and have done a Sybil/Tom one, I'll try something different and go with an Anna/Bates plot bunny. And I promise soon I'll try and put up a Mrs. Hughes/Carson bunny.

This bunny can starts during the Third Series, during the episode when Bates is released from prison and arrives at Downton. He and Anna are welcomed back by Carson and Mrs. Hughes and the rest of the staff only for a message to arrive from Robert: there is a lawyer requesting Bates and Anna come up to the library. Naturally Anna is panicked that something has gone wrong and Bates will be sent back to jail but he assures her that it will be fine and it is probably just someone from the government wanting to make sure he doesn't seek charges against the police for them convicting an innocent man.

Arriving in the library the lawyer reveals he wanted Robert and the family to be there to serve witness and because he thinks Bates and Anna will need their support. Again, Anna is near tears thinking they have come to arrest Bates; Robert and Matthew believe the same and state that they won't allow Bates to be hauled away again. The lawyer, Mr. Perkins, causes everyone to become confused when he merely asks Bates what he knows of his paternal grandfather. Bates states that his father was the bastard son of a maid and he never knew his grandfather. Perkins states that Bates' grandmother had an affair with Timothy Mercer, who Robert instantly recognizes as the Earl of Redcliff. Lord Redcliff's estate, North Greens, is actually rather close to Downton but Lord Redcliff is a known recluse who hasn't been seen outside of his home in decades. The lawyer reveals that Mercer confided to him, Perkins, on his death bed his great secret: he had loved Bates' grandmother and wanted to marry here but his own father would not allow it. Mercer married another woman but other than his wedding night he never went to her. She died years ago and Mercer was left alone with only a few servants ever since, dreaming of the life he could have lead had he only stood up to his father.

As such, Mr. Perkins states, as of yesterday when Mercer died Bates, Mercer's grandson, is now Lord Redcliff and Anna is Lady Redcliff.

Naturally Anna faints.

The story would deal with Anna and Bates suddenly finding themselves on the same level as the Crawleys and everyone dealing with this new reality. There would be fun things like the servants struggling to deal with the fact that the maid and the valet they had meals with each day are now upper class nobles. Thomas of course would just break down laughing, seeing it as a practical joke God is playing on him, while Carson would be so utterly flustered he wouldn't know what to do, especially when Bates and Anna awkwardly go back down for supper and have to deal with the entire staff standing at attention. Several of the Crawleys would be horribly awkward around the two... after all, Robert now calls the man whose seen him naked a peer! And Cora would be terribly nervous about the whole thing. As for the Dowager she would be so startled she wouldn't know what to think. Other people would handle it better: Tom would, of course, be the first to congratulate Bates, while Matthew would offer himself to be a friend to the two, as he knows better than anyone what they are going through. And Mary, after a few seconds to think about it, would find herself utterly delighted as she already sees Anna as a friend and now she can truly count her as one, offering just like Matthew to help guide them in this new life.

Meanwhile, Bates and Anna would struggle with their new reality. They would be the servants that are now Lord and Lady, which would make hiring a staff hard. I see them making some interesting choices; for example, I'd have Anna, knowing that Alfred loves to cook, decide to give him a chance and hire him as their cook since no one else wants to work for them; perhaps Alfred would then hire other young men he knows want to learn how to cook and the entire kitchen staff would be men and teen boys. And on the Crawley side maybe Mr. Lang could return, now better adapted to his PTSD and him and O'Brien could begin to develop a relationship, with Thomas, after the issues with Jimmy, deciding to bury the hatch and actually encourage Lang and O'Brien to find some joy. A

nna and Bates would also struggle with what it means to be a lord and lady, as they suddenly find themselves utterly bored with their lives and fighting not to do chores or handle things like the long dinner parties and such. I see a scene where they are sitting around their new library and Bates and Anna comment on the weather before both say they are utterly bored out of their minds and wonder if they could call Robert and Mary and ask if they can be valet and lady's maid on the weekends to kill the dullness.

But through it all it would be a fun romance for them as they brought the village of North Greens into the modern day (Mercer was good with his money and left Bates a fortune) while also developing new relationships with Downton. Id love by the end Robert and Bates are true friends while Mary would happily take Anna with her to London to shop and eat at the best restaurants and just be excited to have a true friend to do such things with, realizing she never had a friend before and it is such a novel thing to have another woman she can just go to London with or see a play or just visit.

I think in the right hands this would be a fun fic that would offer a ton of slice of life fun, twists to canon (for example... what happens now that Mr. Green doesn't have Anna downstairs?), and just a chance to show what happens when two servants suddenly have it all.

Chapter Text

As she hurried up the stairs from the servants hall Cora did her best to remain poised and dignified even though her heart was racing and all she wanted to do was race up the stairs like she was being chased by the dogs of hell. It was a primal need she felt in her chest, the need to escape not a physical threat but a threat nonetheless. She'd always prided herself in being in control, of not allowing herself to get emotional in public or in front of others. Cora had sworn early on in her marriage that she wouldn't be some 'flighty, overly dramatic American house wife who sobbed and screamed and shrieked at the drop of a hat'. She'd understood well what was expected of her, both in terms of how she had to behave and how her enemies believed she actually would. She'd known that everyone, including her new husband's family, was watching her to see if she slipped up and confirmed all their cruel conceptions of her. So she'd worked hard to maintain the image of her being a proper British wife who maintained control of herself and her reactions. Even though the years had gone on and people now accepted her as one of them (so much so that many forgot she was the daughter of a Jewish Cincinnati businessman) she still maintained control, though more out of pride than fear.

And yet as O'Brien's words echoed through Cora's head, taunting her, she felt the urge to collapse into a shaking fit right there in the stairwell.

"And if anyone thinks I'm going to pull my forelocks and curtsy to this Mr. Nobody from Nowhere…"

She knew that the servants thought her anger stemmed from catching O'Brien speaking ill of a member of the family and in truth that was a part of it. But Cora knew such things happened. She wasn't like some of the upper class who seemed to believe at times that they lived in an Elizabethan novel where the servants were always loyal to a fault and would do all they could, from the highest butler to the lowest stable boy, to ensure the prosperity of the house. In their minds Carson wasn't a gem but the norm and O'Brien's snarled comments about Matthew were a rarity that shocked all that heard it.

'Oh, I'm sure Robert believes I think the same way… heavens knows he'd made enough snide little comments about O'Brien.' Robert had never understood why Cora had picked O'Brien to be her lady's maid, thinking that she'd have wanted someone that would be more like Anna, especially in the way she was with Mary. But it had been Violet who had suggested Cora find someone like O'Brien… it had, in fact, been her first kind piece of advice.

Not that it had sounded as such at the time…

"While you are not the woman I would have chosen for Robert he has chosen you and thus how you succeed and fail will forever shine upon this house. That is why I want you, when searching for your lady's maid, to find one with experience and ignore all else about her."

"But shouldn't there be a connection between us?"

"Oh my no. In fact, if there is one that seems as if she were the last woman you'd ever be friends with select her!"

"But why?"

Violet shot a level stare at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. "People are going to look at you and expect you to fail. They would have done this with any wife Robert chose, as it is in our nature to want to see ourselves rise while others fall, but you being an American, the daughter of a businessman and a Jewish one at that? Oh, they will quiver in anticipation. Don't be shocked when you receive not a single rejection for a dinner party… but understand they are only accepting because you are an oddity. Like some strange jungle cat at the London Zoo to be gawked at. They will be looking to see how you fail, what mistakes you make, and that is why you must find a lady's maid who seeks to do her job properly and not be your friend. One wanting to confide in you and gossip will allow you to get away with errors so not to upset you. One who sees her job as one she must do will not, as you Americans say, 'pull her punches'." Violet sighed, waving her hand. "Later on, when you've had proper British children and all have forgotten that you have been anything but Lady Cora Crawley… then you may find one who is kind and gentle and who you can share silly secrets, if that is what you want. But for now? Pick one who is stern. Who is tough. Who will refuse to stand down."

And so Cora had chosen O'Brien and soon seen the wisdom in Violet's words. The woman was dour and she knew she tended to stir things up downstairs (especially in the last few years when Thomas had come on board) but she knew what needed to be done and could do it quick and efficiently. Cora also found that, as mad as it sounded, she could ask questions to her she'd never be able to utter to a maid she was close friends with. Had she someone like how Mary had Anna Cora would have been too embarrassed to ask about certain social expectations. But with O'Brien she knew the woman would answer her truthfully; she might whisper it amongst the staff, of course, but Cora knew that was true with any servant. Better that than being revealed to be a fool. O'Brien was rather like a dry book that Cora could reference whenever she needed too.

Yes, she wasn't surprised that O'Brien had talked as she did. And while upsetting it wasn't all because of her disrespecting the family. What shook Cora was that O'Brien's words and attitude so reflected her own.

As she made her way up to her room, thankful that there was no one to see how flush she was, her mind went to another memory, this one further back, to the days when childhood had passed her but womanhood seemed out of her grasp. An awkward time, when one could not decide if they wanted to put away the toys of their youth or cling to them one final time. Her mother had taken her to a restaurant during a visit to their New York house, she forgot the occasion and perhaps there had been none, but they'd had the misfortune to end up with a terrible cook. The bread was too salty, the fish dried out, the sauce clashed with the meat. Cora had seen her mother's eyebrows twitch and heard her muttering under her breath only to pause when another woman at a table near theirs began to cry out over the same offenses that Martha had been annoyed by. Cora had watched the waiter try and make amends but the woman continued to mock him and everyone who worked at the restaurant.

"Oh, leave the boy alone," her mother said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "It isn't his fault and you aren't changing anything acting like that."

"Who… who do you think you are?" the other woman snarled. "I'll have you know I am Lillius Grace, wife of Mayor Grace!"

"Well, I'm Martha Levison, the woman who will be making sure your husband's rival for his position receives a very hefty donation. Now please shut your mouth, it reminds me of a sow's." She then pointedly turned away and gestured to the waiter. "Tell the cook that I appreciate what he is trying to do. We all have bad days."

Cora stared at her mother in shock as Mrs. Grace stormed out of the restaurant and the waiter went to relay the message. "Why did you do that?" she whispered. "You were complaining about the same things she was."

"Yes. And then I got to see my own words and thoughts coming from another person and I found myself disgusted."

Cora had never really understood what her mother had meant… not until this day. Hearing O'Brien's comments about Mathew, about how he was "Mr. Nobody from Nowhere" and how she wouldn't bow to him had struck Cora. Not because it insulted a member of the family. Not because it insulted Robert's heir. It struck her because she had held the same thoughts. She'd questioned the wisdom in allowing a middle class lawyer to be heir of Downton. She had thought Robert mad when he'd proclaimed Matthew to be perfect for the role. She'd scoffed at his suggestion that Matthew would be a perfect fit for Mary, better than Patrick had ever been. Even though Matthew had proven himself during dinner to be polite and considerate and to know far more about how to behave than Cora had her first time eating at Downton she'd still looked down at him and found reasons to look at him as an intruder.

Yet hearing those same words and thoughts spoken so cruelly by O'Brien…

She tried to tell herself that it was different. That she wasn't like O'Brien and when she said things it was less to do with ego and pride and more about wanting what was best for Downton. O'Brien lashed out out of pettiness while she grew concerned in the face of this potential disgrace for the family.

But then she remembered another man she'd mocked and scorned and how Robert had looked at her. How he'd asked if she heard herself speak as she belittled his old batman Bates. They had fought plenty of times, that was marriage after all, but she'd never seen him utterly disgusted like that before. And she'd felt herself making the same face and thinking the same words when she heard O'Brien in the servant's hall.

"And then I got to see my own words and thoughts coming from another person and I found myself disgusted."

Those words stayed with her the entire day, whispering in the back of her mind as she went about her tasks. Like a horrid perfume worn by an old duchess trying to hide the scent of death that clung to her bones, the words lingers long after the source of them had left. Even hours later, as she approached Mary's room where the girls made final preparations for their second dinner with Cousins Matthew and Isobel, the words haunted her.

"Why are you so against him?" Sybil asked, her voice muffled by the door but still discernible. "He hasn't done anything wrong."

"You mean aside from the fact that he is planning to steal our inheritance?" Mary asked sharply.

"Except it isn't ours, is it?" Edith asked. "Sybil and I would have never gotten it. We're left on our own."

"And it isn't yours either," Sybil pointed out. "You act like Matthew is a thief who has snuck during the night to rob you of your jewels, only they never belonged to you at all and he has not stolen them but been given them legally. You were only going to get it because you were going to marry Patrick."

"Which you made quite clear you were quite again," Edith pressed.

"Don't try and be smart, you fail miserably at it," Mary retorted. "He isn't one of us."

Sybil chuckled at that and Cora leaned closer to the door, curious what her youngest would say. "And what would make him 'one of us'? His birth? If that is the case then none of us truly matter. We deserve all of this only because Mama gave birth to us. Why bother bettering ourselves then? Why learn French or how to ride?"

"You've being absurd," Mary groused. "It is how we hold ourselves, our respect for tradition, our understanding of the world that makes us who we are… and his lack of it makes him who he is."

"How we hold ourselves?" Sybil asked. Cora was startled that Sybil was still fighting this; she knew that her youngest had the fieriest temper of her children but she'd never seen her to go at Mary the way Edith did. "We are taught to show respect and nobility to all… you snipe at Cousin Matthew in front of everyone and disgrace yourself in front of our family." Mary made a choking sound but Sybil wasn't done. "Respect for tradition? Tradition states that Matthew inherit and you are throwing a tantrum over it. Perhaps you meant 'Respect for traditions that benefit only Lady Mary Crawley'? Our understanding of the world? If I were to drop you and Matthew on a London street and commanded neither of you to use your titles he would be back here in a day. You'd be dead in an hour after you called a chimney sweep an ignorant little gutter snipe." Sybil scoffed. "Yes… he isn't one of us… he's clearly better."

Cora blinked at that. 'No… not like Edith. Edith makes snide remarks and insults, same as Mary. The two of them launch their stones and hope to hit the battlement. Sybil is attacking like a swordsman, using facts as her blade, each one a lethal blow.'

"Better?" Mary growled only to calm herself. Even with Sybil coming at her from all sides Mary couldn't attack her baby sister. She wasn't Edith, who seemed to be locked in battle with her, the two like falcons tearing into each other even as they plummeted to mutual destruction. "So now you subscribe to his theory that the middle class is better than us? I suppose next you'll be saying that we should all get jobs as well? Edith could be a secretary, you a nurse, and I would drive trains?" Mary let out a snort. "That is why it is dangerous to dine with these people. They put mad ideas in your head. Papa should be keeping them at a distance from us instead of making us dine with them."

"And if anyone thinks I'm going to pull my forelocks and curtsy to this Mr. Nobody from Nowhere…"

Cora entered the room, forcing a smile on her face as she saw Anna, who'd been making ready to leave, standing before her. While she forced herself to wear a mask of calm inside she recoiled. Mary had once more acted as if Anna would hold all her secrets or had simply forgotten she was there… but Cora felt dread slither through her chest as just what the servants would be talking about at their meal. 'First Thomas and then O'Brien… Anna may hold her tongue but how long before Mary slips in front of the wrong person and the entire staff believes it okay to revolt against Matthew?'

As she dismissed her youngest daughters Cora was suddenly struck with a horrifying vision of what could come. The servants turning openly hostile towards Matthew until Robert was forced to do something. But by then it would be too late. Word would spread, it always did, of what had happened, how even his own servants cared not for his heir, and Robert would become a laughing stock. Cora could see the offers for Mary's hand wither like a strawberry in a drought, the old families seeing how bitter she was and how she wanted to break with tradition and would fear allowing her to pollute their houses. Mary thought herself a traditionalist but Sybil had hit it on the head: Mary only cared about what aided her, damn the rest. And while there were plenty of women like that (Violet Crawley came to mind), Mary did not have the subtly they had gained through time and wisdom. No, Mary would drive away everyone and possibly everyone for Edith and Sybil, forcing the girls to either marry into a lower station… or be at the mercy of a now bitter and embarrassed Matthew who had been treated cruelly by the servants and the family and expected to simply accept it.

Cora remembered Robert telling her a few years back about a similar case. An earl or a duke, she couldn't remember which, had two sons. The oldest had been born handsome and was favored, seen as the perfect heir. The younger had been born short, almost a dwarf, and the earl had seen the child as a mistake, an embarrassment. He made it clear his hatred for him and thus bred scorn among his other children (including his two daughters, born after the ill-fated second son), their friends and neighbors, and their servants. Finally, on his 18th year, the younger son left with merely a suitcase and nothing else, not even a farewell from anyone in the house. The only regret they'd had was that they were no longer able to mock him to his face, as watching him seethe impotently was always such fun for them.

And then the elder son had died in a riding accident, the father gravely injured and not long for the world himself.

The scorned second son had waited until his father was breathing his last breath to enact his revenge. He fired every servant and swore none would receive reference, ensuring that even their butler who'd served for decades would struggle to find work. He made it clear he would pay no dowry for his sisters and they would receive no aid from him; according to Robert they had died in a workhouse but Cora sensed their fate was even worse than that. And finally the second son had burned their ancestral home to the ground and plundering every coin the family had once had to their name, using it to set himself up in America.

It had been a horrid story and now Cora could see it happening again with Matthew. He was smart and being a lawyer meant he knew his way around the law. All he'd have to do is wait for Robert to die before he used the power of Downton to destroy everything. He could crush the servants, ruin the girls, and leave herself begging for charity or fleeing to America. Alienating and insulting him so openly would not make him go away… it would create a monster that Cora could not see them stopping.

"Making you dine with whom?" Cora asked, forcing herself to sound cheerful when she was anything but.

"Mary doesn't care for Cousin Matthew," Edith said.

"That is an understatement," Sybil stated, an odd look crossing her face. "Though if she got to know him better-"

"That will never come," Mary said. "His mad idea of us having tea and chatting… who would do such a thing?"

"I did," Sybil said. "This morning."

"That is where you were?" Cora asked.

"Indeed. I found him… refreshing."

"Ah," Mary said with a triumphant smirk. "That is why you are acting out of sorts. The jumped up lawyer has put thoughts into your head."

"…Sybil be a dear and fetch my black shawl." Cora shot Edith a look and, cluing in that she wasn't really interested in the shawl, Edith joined Sybil in making a hasty retreat.

Cora watched Mary tense up. 'Good… she knows she's in trouble.' The question was, of course, would Mary's anger and pride allow her to hear what her mother had to say or would she react first and deal with the damage later?

"My dear… I don't want you—any of your—to feel you have to dislike Matthew."

"You disliked the idea of him," Mary retorted, standing up and moving away from her.

'Anger and pride it is,' Cora thought with a sigh before continuing. "Yes but that was before I got to know him. Now that he's here I simply see no way around it. What good will it do to antagonize him?"

Rather than answer Mary chose to ignore the question and just rant. "I don't believe a woman can be forced to give away all her money to a practical stranger."

"It's not just 'my money', my dear. It is part of the estate."

"I was referring to me," Mary said snidely. "It is rightfully mine and this usurper will need to learn-"

"For once in your life would you please just listen!" Cora snarled. She fought to reign in her temper as Mary recoiled in shock; Cora had never snapped at her before and it was clear from the look on her face she hadn't expected that. Taking several calming breaths Cora finally felt as if she could talk to her daughter without wanting to take hold of her shoulders and shake her. "It was never your money." Mary opened her mouth but Cora just stared her down. "Sybil was right. It never belonged to you. Your father and I made a match between you and Patrick so you might be settled but now I see that was a mistake. Rather than seeing it as making the best of the situation you saw it as you getting what was your birthright when that was never the case. In another time and another age you might have been the heir but this is the world we live in. It is my fault… I sheltered you and allowed you to develop these… feelings," she'd wanted to say 'avarice desires' but bit her tongue, "so you are not entirely to blame. But I will not allow this to continue on a second more. Matthew is heir and has proven himself kind and proper-"

"He insulted us!" Mary bemoaned. "He has Papa twisted around his little finger, giving him the son he always wanted! Sybil has her head full of nonsense thanks to him and I imagine it will be only days before Edith begins to make cow eyes at him. And now you? Am I the only one to see him for what he is? A man who should never have been allowed at our table, a fraud who tries to dress as a gentleman but can't even hold his knife properly-"

"You see him for what you want him to be. It's easier to see him as some horrid monster that has come to steal what is yours than to see him for what he truly is: a man who, due to a twist of fate, has become heir. A role that was never yours… despite what you believed."

Mary just shook her head. "I don't intend to stop, Mama. It isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair." Cora let out another sigh. She knew what she'd say next would go over badly but felt it had to be suggested. "But there is a way to once more make a bad situation better. A way to secure your future and give you a position."

The only reason Mary didn't rage was due to her shock. "You can't be serious."

"Just think about it."

"I don't have to think about it!" Mary turned and grabbed her gloves, tugging them on. "Marry an arrogant, puffed up know-it-all who only gained his power due to his birth and a twist of fate?" Cora stared at her and Mary huffed. "And don't bring up what Sybil said because this is entirely different."

"Is it?"

Mary could see that she was losing this argument and grasped at some way to win Cora over. "Have you told this mad idea to Granny? I hope you did… I'd love to hear how much she laughed."

"Why would she laugh when it was her idea?"

Cora watched as her daughter was once more rendered speechless.

"I'm not saying you must marry him. You have a choice there. But I am telling you that you will be polite to Cousin Matthew. You will show him the respect he deserves." Mary features twitched. "The respect your father and I feel he deserves," Cora amended, cutting off that avenue. "No more sniping at him, no more mocking and prodding him at the table. You will hold yourself as a woman worthy to be called the daughter of the Earl of Grantham."

"…very well," Mary said, shoulders squared and jaw set. "If that is what you wish."

Cora watched her eldest march out and had a sinking feeling she'd just made things worse.

~A~O~O~O~F~

The conversation flowed about her, light and friendly like any family dinner should. It wasn't the stilted conversation that came from strangers who were trying to determine what ulterior motive had brought them to the table or were doing their best to wheedle some favor out of the Lord of Grantham. It was casual talk, concerning their general lives, interesting events they had heard about, opinions on the actions of this person or that. The awkwardness of their first dinner had been replaced by a settling of sorts. Oh, Granny still sparred with Cousin Isobel, but that was the worst of it. Chuckles and quick comments darted about the room.

And through it all Mary schemed.

She had heard her mother's words, her pleas for her to try and get along with Cousin Matthew, and realized that her mother had the right idea but the wrong application. While she could have gone after the usurping little lawyer with knives sharpened it would only make them see her in a negative light while allowing him to paint himself as the wounded victim, gaining more sympathy from the family and allowing him to wiggle and worm his way further into their good graces. She only had to look at how Sybil and Mama had reacted to her version of events concerning Matthew and her first meeting to see that.

(And she ignored the small voice that nudged her and pointed out she'd called it 'Her version' and not 'what had really happened')

No, going on a full attack would never work. She'd made the mistake the first time of trying to needle him and he'd turned her attacks back on her. Worse, he had robbed her of the chance to be insulted by being 'oh so polite' about it. You couldn't continue attacking someone when they made it seem to others as if they were complimenting you.

'That's my trick,' Mary thought sullenly as she nibbled on her food.

So she sat and ate and spoke at the proper moments and waited for an opening to try again. But this time she wouldn't attack or snark… she would use knowledge as her weapon. What she possessed… and what he lacked. She would show the family just how wrong it was to have Matthew Crawley happily sitting here as heir and why Downton would be better served in her capable hands.

"By the way if you ever want to ride just let Lynch know and he'll sort it out for you," her Papa said to Matthew, breaking through her thoughts.

In another time and place Mary might have laughed right there and mocked the idea of Matthew riding. But with her family already seeing her as the bully she found a much better way to remind them that Matthew wasn't of their ilk.

"Of course, if you need some lessons I'll be happy to assist myself," Mary quickly added. "I'm an old hand at it and could easily help you get started. Make sure you don't embarrass yourself."

"That would be lovely!" Matthew said with a surprised but pleasant grin. "It's been a while since I've ridden so I might need a refresher. You won't be dealing with some rank amateur, however, so you can breathe easier on that score. Be a nice ride through the country once I'm get back in the saddle." He chuckled. "Quite literally."

Granny raised an eyebrow at that. "You managed to ride in Manchester?" Mary smirked at the way her grandmother said the word 'Manchester' like it was the punchline to a bawdy joke.

"Not there but at school," Matthew said, unfazed. "I haven't had a chance recently but it would be rather fun."

"You could make a day of it!" Sybil said with a smile. "Mary could show you some of the lesser seen areas of Downton, places most don't even know exist."

"Splendid," Matthew said. "Would three days from now work for you?"

Mary blinked, quickly replying the conversation and trying to figure out how her insult had resulted in her agreeing to spend the day riding with him. "I… suppose…"

"Then, as the Americans say, it's a date."

She nodded, forcing a smile on her face even as she tried to ignore the pleasant smile on her Mama's face and the way her father beamed ('And did Sybil just WINK at him?')

"It will be good of you to get some practice in," Robert said, taking a sip of wine. "We can plan a hunting party. We haven't had one in a while and it would be good fun and allow us to better introduce you to some of the neighbors. You'd like that, wouldn't you Mary?"

"Do you hunt, Mary?" Matthew asked.

"Of course," Mary said, feeling as if she were on stable ground once again. "Families like ours are always hunting families."

"Not always," her father cut in. "Billy Skelton won't have them on his land."

Annoyed at her father for cutting in Mary replied while staring directly at Matthew. "But all the Skeltons are mad." In her head she snarled, 'Like you!'

"Then I'm glad that I have you and not Billy Skelton to teach me," Matthew said with a smile before turning to Papa, leaving Mary once again wondering how her veiled insults had turned to her spending time with him. "When do you think the hunt will take place?"

"Not till after the new year. I don't like sending the dogs out in the cold if I can help it and it sounds like we are going to have a bitterly cold winter this year."

Granny chuckled. "Robert, you treat those dogs as if they are your babies."

"You act as if that is a bad thing," Papa retorted before focusing on Matthew once more. "Perhaps in mid April. The fox hunting season will be coming to a close so we can give everyone one final grand hunt."

"And by that time Mary will have made sure I'm not an embarrassment to the family," Matthew joked.

"Oh, I don't know about that…" she said.

Matthew merely chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short. I think you'll make a lovely teacher."

'I was insulting you, not being humble you miserable…' Mary's jaw worked in frustration before she forced herself to, once more, adopt a mask of pleasant composure.

Dinner moved on to different topics, with her mother discussing a charity she was assisting while Edith prattled on for a good 5 minutes about some boring topic that only she would care about. The entire time Mary sat and waiting, patient like a wolf stalking her prey, waiting for another opening so she might engage Matthew once again. She should have suspected that being a lawyer he would be cunning and he was giving her a rather vigorous challenge but she was sure that she'd be able to score a few blows before dinner was done. She found it utterly invigorating, to tell the truth; it had been ages since she'd had a proper sparring partner. Edith used to entertain her but her sister was like a trick shot that only had three moves. The women of her age that she'd been with during the Season couldn't match her and the men that sought her hand were too busy bowing to her and humbling themselves to give a good fight. The lawyer was challenging her and she loved it.

'No,' she thought quickly, 'I don't love it. Love? And Matthew? They are the complete opposite. Like Edith and… not being a whimpering bore! Love! Ha!'

Her mother and Isobel tried to engage her in conversation and while she was polite she never allowed it to evolve into anything more, as her primary focus was on Matthew Crawley.

"I simply don't know what I'd do in a place like Manchester," Granny said, taking a bite of her meal. "Don't misunderstand, I am sure it is lovely enough for those that live there… but it sounds to me as if it is stuck between two worlds. It lacks the quiet charm of Downton but does not have the multitude of interests London is known for. It seems like it would be dreadfully boring."

"It can be," Cousin Isobel admitted. "Even for those seeking a quiet life it can be rather dull. But of course for many it is the only life they know and thus they don't realize what they are missing." She paused, serving herself from a plate William presented. "We did find ways to entertain. We had dinners, though not as grand as this, a few clubs, and of course one could always read."

"One of my favorite pastimes," Mathew admitted before turning to Papa. "I am waiting with anticipation to begin exploring your library."

Robert grinned. "Perhaps tomorrow after our walk I can make a few suggestions."

"Papa has a wide collection," Edith said. "We all make use of it."

"Indeed," Mary said, smirking slightly as a new opening presented itself. She turned to Matthew and asked, "I've been studying the story of Andromeda, do you know it?"

"Remind me," Matthew said.

"Her father was King Cepheus, whose country was being ravaged by storms, and in the end, he decided the only way to appease the gods was to sacrifice his eldest daughter to a hideous sea monster." Mary pointedly ignored the sour glare her mother was sending her way or the way her Papa flinched. Instead, with a smile still plastered on her face, she continued, "So, they chained her naked to a rock..."

Granny chuckled weakly, casting an eye at papa as if silently asking 'Are you going to stop this at any point?' while all he could do was grimace. "Really? Mary, we'll all need our smelling salts in a minute."

If Matthew was uncomfortable he didn't show it. In fact he leaned toward, locking eyes with her and said, "Ah yes. I remember this one now. But the sea monster didn't get her, did he?

Sybil was looking at the two of them with a bemused look while Edith was trying to grasp just what Mary was doing and why. "No. Just when it seemed her death was the only solution to her father's problems, she was rescued."

"By Perseus," Matthew said.

"That's right. Son of a god. Fitting, isn't it?" She smiled smugly, her point clear.

"I can see why it would appeal to you," Matthew said casually. "Though I do find it interesting that you have forgotten a key aspect of the tale." Mary frowned at that, hurriedly trying to remember the tale so she might clue into what Matthew was getting at but the lawyer was far too fast. "Andromeda wasn't sacrificed purely because the gods were cruel. Like many Greek tales her family committed the single sin that always ensures punishment from the gods."

"And that was?" Edith asked.

Matthew paused to take a bite of food, swallowing before dramatically saying, "Hubris. Andromeda's mother-thank you Carson," he said as the butler filled his wine class, "-declared that her daughter was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, who were daughters of one of Poseidon's friends. The lord of the sea did not take kindly to this insult and requested that his brother, Zeus, punish Andromeda's kingdom by unleashes a monster; not a storm, by the way." He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin while Mary fumed; she remembered now that it was a monster and hated that he'd correct her. "So, as you can see, Andromeda's fate was not brought about at random but because of hubris… by believing one better than all else in creation."

"A lesson we should all take the heart," mama said, shooting a glare at Mary who promptly ignored it.

"But it wasn't Andromeda's fault that her mother made such a foolish choice. Yet she was punished all the same, sent to be sacrificed to the monster that threatened her father's kingdom."

"Quite right," Matthew said, surprising Mary that he actually agreed with her. "Though I for one am drawn to Perseus' side of the tale." It was Mary's turn to be confused; she didn't get what Matthew was playing at. Neither did anyone else, for the entire family (save Sybil who was merely grinning at the interplay) were looking at Matthew in confusion. "Perseus was of royal blood. But his grandfather feared him, as he had been told by an Oracle that Perseus would lead to his death. Now, if you know your Greek literature, you know that prophesies always come to pass and fighting them never does any good. It is better to accept what fate has dealt you than to fight it; doing so only results in more pain. Try to prolong something or prevent it and you only make the situation worse."

Matthew took a sip of wine before continuing, though Mary saw both her mother and grandmother flinch at Matthew's last comment. "But Perseus' grandfather couldn't accept this. He had lived his life a certain way and the thought that he was no longer in control set him on edge and when his daughter came to him pregnant he knew he had to do something. But to kill one of your own kin is to bring down the rather of the gods."

"As it is now," Edith said dryly.

Granny let out another chuckle. "Women chained to rocks, the murdering of babies… I must say, this reminds me of a ball I attended during my first Season."

"So he decided, since he couldn't eliminate this threat, he would cast them out. Locking mother and child in a chest and tossing it out to sea, the King decided to let nature take its course." Matthew paused again, and Mary opened her mouth to speak only for him to cut her off. "They were rescued by a fisherman who raised the boy to manhood. He would later marry Andromeda and together the two of them would create a great kingdom. Her royal heritage and his understanding of the common man made them perfectly matched to aid their people and see them prosper. Meanwhile, the king and those like him who fought fate and scorned their own blood were left in ruin." Matthew took a drink of wine. "A very good message, in my opinion."

The family was silent after that for several moments until Mama broke the quiet and the family began to chat once more. Only Mary didn't participate, for she was left contemplating Matthew's words and wondering how once again he'd managed to twist her attack into something that complimented him. She hadn't missed both his veiled message. He was a challenge and forced her to think on her feet and made her heart race with the thrill of battle every time he opened his mouth. It was aggravating and annoying and she truly hated him for it.

And that would be the reason she'd give later when Sybil asked why Mary kept staring at Matthew all through the rest of the dinner, a look that certainly wasn't disgust on her features.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: So… I have a BA in communications with a minor in writing (Both business and creative). And one of my favorite subjects is Greek Myth. And Matthew's argument against Mary has been in my friggin' head for YEARS and I am thrilled I finally got to point out all the little things in the story of Perseus that fit towards what is happening at Downton.

We also get here another dinner table scene. These are always interesting because I need to juggle having the story continue on with the POV character while also giving everyone a chance to speak.

Not much else to say so it is PLOT BUNNY TIME!

This idea I've had for ages and is very loosely inspired (or the beginning of it is, at least) by a story whose title escapes me. If someone recognizes it from the beginning of this plot bunny, please let me know so I can give credit.

Basically it starts when Mary is around 18 years old. Patrick is in love with Mary but when he asks for her hand in marriage in this story Mary tells him no, unable to marry someone she doesn't truly love just for a title. Patrick though is livid and wants revenge, feeling embarrassed by Mary's rejection. He goes to Robert and his father after a long talk Mary is summoned. Robert states that Patrick claims that he caught Mary engaged in relations with the new maid, Anna, which is against the law and Patrick is demanding Mary be cast out of Downton. Mary denies this but it is here Patrick reveals his trump card: days earlier he went to Edith and, knowing her crush on him, tells her that he will marry her but only if Mary is gone. Edith, her jealously over Mary coloring her good morals, agrees. And thus Edith comes to the study and claims that Mary has been with Anna many times and threatened Edith if she said a word. Mary is enraged but James and Patrick force Robert's hand: the police have been called and Anna will be arrested for being a homosexual and if Mary doesn't want the same fate she is to leave at once, to journey to New York. Mary, heartbroken, does so but swears that she will never forget this. She doesn't even have time to say goodbye as the police have already arrived to arrest a sobbing Anna and Mary flees from her home with a hastily packed suitcase.

A year later news arrives that Mary died in a carriage accident and Robert and Cora are basically spiritually broken, both regretting what happened with Mary and Cora especially believing that Mary was innocent. But there is little they can do about it now, though needless to say their relationship with Edith is destroyed beyond repair.

Fastforward to the end of the first World War. James is dead, having gone on the Titanic on his own. Robert, heartbroken over what happened with Mary and wishing he'd never cast her out, is a shell of his former self. He gave up the title of Earl to Patrick and he and Cora now live at Crawley House, with only Carson and Mrs. Hughes to serve them (the two refusing to work for Patrick). Edith is married to Patrick and his cruel way of dealing with people has rubbed off on her, making her just as wicked as he is and the tenants live in a state of fear, knowing that one wrong move will see them driving from their lands (this happened with the Drakes, as with Mr. Drake sick in the hospital Patrick forced his wife and soon to be widow to give up claim to the land). As for the house staff they are watched by Thomas, who was promoted to Butler but serves as Patrick's spy. Mrs. Patmore was sacked when she began going blind and now relies on the kindness of the Mason family (with William siding with her and leaving to return to the farm, unable to be under command of Thomas) while Daisy is the new cook, also influenced by the darkness of the house into being a bitter and vengeful task master to her kitchen girls. Sybil was shipped to a convent when she spoke out against how Edith had lied about Mary.

In this darkest of timelines there comes one day a letter for Patrick and Edith, announcing their new neighbors. Count Donavan and his with have bought Haxby Park and wish to know those around them. Patrick and Edith at first do not attend the first dinner party but then word begins to reach them about the Count. He is insanely wealthy, to the point that some whisper he could rival the king in riches. He is handsome… a stunning aristocrat with blond hair, a sharp goatee, noble figure, and dressed in only the finest suits. But he does not like to discuss his past and prefers to listen to others. His wife is even more odd… a dark haired beauty who prefers to wear veils and shows a sharp mind and a sharper tongue.

At this point I will reveal the twist, if you haven't figured it out: Count Donavan is Matthew Crawley and his wife is Mary. After Mary was exiled to America her grandmother, Martha, raged at what had happened. Never one to give up a fight, Martha discovered who was next in line for Downton and contacted Matthew and Isobel, bringing them to America. Originally the plan was for Matthew to just help them but Mary and Matthew fell in love and decided to get revenge on Patrick and Edith together, inspired by Matthew's favorite book, the Count of Monte Cristo. They faked Mary's death while Matthew also got in contact with some of the less savory elements of the London criminal scene, arranging for Anna to be freed from jail, her own death faked with the aid of a military man turned thief who agreed to help smuggle Anna out: John Bates, who in this reality never got the chance to come to Downton and thus allowed his darker instincts to lead him to become a bit of a small-time crime boss. Anna came to America and quickly agreed to the plan and Bates was brought onto the team as well, as he saw this as a way to make some good money and have some fun… plus he is rather interested in Miss Smith.

Martha used her own fortune to invest in some oil lines and with Matthew and Mary's cunning and a bit of luck the investment hit BIG, with Matthew and Mary gaining enough money to rival Downton's fortunes in a few years. The war further helped things, with Matthew using it to increase his fortune while also quietly gathering a group of men and women that could assist him and Mary in getting revenge.

Finally, when the time was right Mary and Matthew returned to England, creating with their wealth fake European titles and buying Haxby Place with Anna as head housekeeper and Bates as their butler. Anna and Bates, having both been in prison, now both have connections to the criminal underworld and are able to assist Mary and Matthew better in their plan. Anna, in fact, is so jaded by the betrayal, her feeling that no one stood up for her other than Mary and Matthew, and her harsh time in prison… that she basically becomes a happy little cut throat. She is still Anna… it's just as Mary removes her jewelry and discusses her day Anna polishes knives and thinks about all the people she wants to stab them with. Basically, imagine Anna if she was a sociopath. Luckily Bates, having never decided to get into service and battle his own demons, is about as broken as Anna and the two make quite the twisted little pair (I imagine in one scene Bates sat by and watched Anna happily take her rage issues out on Vera before remembering that Mary had asked for some silk from London and they really should be going and "Anna, don't step in the blood, you'll ruin your shoes"). As I said, Bates would have become a criminal and while able to serve Matthew as a butler he also serves as his connection to thieves, murderers, and other sinister men and women who Matthew will happily use in his plot.

What would follow would be one of my favorite types of stores: good people doing terrible, evil, sinful things to people who utterly deserve it. It would be a revenge story, with Mary and Matthew being delightfully wicked (I have an image in my head of Matthew, after a plan succeeds, sitting at an empty dining table, Mary coming in and sitting on his lap, stabbing a cherry with a sharp nail and asking him if he is enjoying himself before nibbling on the fruit. Basically, make Matthew and Mary into Lucifer and his Demon Queen, ruling over a house of thieves, criminals, and other dark characters who are all loyal to them and their cause for getting revenge on Patrick and Edith).

There are a few final points that I would like to see, if someone picked this up. First, that Robert begins to get his spark back when Mary sends him a secret note promising to return him to power (as she knows he had no choice and Patrick and James forced him to exile her… it would have to be clear in the writing that Robert was basically blackmailed into this and while Mary is angry with him that it happened he won't be a focus of her revenge). Two, I would love it if Sybil, while at the convent, met a certain Irish radical and ran off and is now in Ireland acting as the head of an Irish Liberation group, going by some fun alias like Queen Mab with Tom as her loyal second (think Amy in Rory in the altered timeline in 'The Wedding of River Song'). Sybil, just like Matthew, Mary, Bates, and Anna, is now fully on the Dark Side and seeks to destroy the English aristocracy, seeing it as the reason she lost her sister. And how better to do that then BLOW THINGS UP! Double points if Matthew and Mary go to recruit Queen Mab to assist them (as you know what would really screw with Patrick? A few firebombings of his property like Downton Place) and at first the sisters don't recognize each other but then one of them lets slip who they are and there is a joyous tearful reunion… before they go about getting blood fun revenge.

And finally, if you didn't figure out it out from Anna being a helpful Lady's maid who also didn't blink at stabbing people and Matthew lounging about like Lucifer on his throne, this would be a story where one could take the characters, twist them about, but they are still basically the same people. Just… a bit more deranged. Mary is still Mary… she just is looking forward to ruining Edith and Patrick's lives. Matthew is still Matthew but he's gotten a taste for the darkness and he likes it. Anna is still Anna… smiles and 'yes my lady' but she's doing it as she is beating up the guy that tried to rob her and then steals his wallet. Just a chance to take the characters and have them do delightfully evil things.

Chapter Text

"Anything of interest, Papa?" Sybil asked as she entered the dining room and began to fix her plate for breakfast. Robert was seated in his usual spot, going over the newspaper. Outside a light late November snow had begun to fall; nothing to be concerned with but enough to already get one in the festive spirit.

"Nothing of much interest," Robert said, turning the page. "The normal concerns on the continent." He could tell that Sybil wanted to know more but in his opinion she was far too young to worry about such things. Even ensuring he picked up only the more proper papers, and avoided the scandal rags, there was no telling what one might find and he didn't want or need his youngest hearing about the vileness of the world. He knew one day she would learn but he wanted to keep her his little girl for just a bit more.

Edith, who'd entered as Sybil asked the question, glanced over his shoulder. "Albania is interested in independence?"

"It appears so," Robert said. "Will take a while, to be sure. These things always do, despite how quickly people want them wrapped up." He gave the paper one final glance but other than an article about some newspaper owner named Gregson being knighted and the reporting of Robert Scott's diary and body being found in the Antarctic there was little of note. He sighed and set the paper aside. "The Americans had their Thanksgiving holiday yesterday and that always seems to cause news to dry up from their side of the pond."

"I've always found that holiday so odd," Edith said. "Christmas and New Years make sense but Thanksgiving... having it in the middle of the week and always changing days? Seems needlessly confusing."

"Better than their Independence Day," Sybil said with a grin. "With Thanksgiving we don't have to hear Granny ranting about 'Those foolish rebels showing no sense of grace'."

Robert shook his head, a smile on his face. "She takes it as a personal offense. Doesn't like it that they rub it in our faces that they broke away from us."

"Maybe Mama could have fireworks next year," Edith said.

"Please don't even jest about that," Robert moaned. "Your grandmamma gets even a hint of that and she'll be decked out in a red coat and passing out muskets."

The girls laughed and even Carson couldn't help but smile at that.

"Where is Mary?" Robert asked.

"Here, Papa," his eldest said, breezing through the door. "Terribly sorry, I had to take care of some things."

"What things?" Sybil asked.

"Nothing of any concern," Mary said.

"Nothing of concern?" Edith asked. "is that what we are calling Mr. Napier now?"

"Mr. Napier?" Robert asked.

Mary sniffed, shooting a cool stare towards Edith even as she addressed Robert. "The Hon. Evelyn Napier, the son and heir of Viscount Branksome. We met him at the Doncaster races."

"Ah yes," Robert said. "The charming fellow. Bet on the white bay, if I remember correctly." Honestly Robert had no recollection of the man, let alone what horse he'd wagered on. Robert hadn't even wanted to go but he knew Cora had had her heart set on it and he didn't want to disappoint her by bowing out. It might have been fine if Matthew had gone, as then at least he'd have had another man around, but he'd already made plans to talk with Jarvis to learn more of the estate and simply couldn't break his commitment. Robert had thought such a meeting would have been far more interesting than mingling about waiting for hours for only a few minutes of excitement but knew that the girls and Cora would never accept such an excuse.

He hadn't realized until Matthew had come into their lives just how outnumbered he was when it came to the women in his life and having at least one more man around made life a touch less lonely. He loved his family, all of them, but there were simply things one couldn't do with a wife or daughters or (Heaven forbid) their mother. In the past he'd gotten by on their dinner parties but now with Matthew in the village he had at least chances twice a week to simply enjoy the company of members of his own gender.

"Mary has been writing to him," Edith supplied. "It's like something out of Victorian novel, really."

"You would know, as that is your only chance at romance," Mary snapped back.

"Girls," Robert warned, his two oldest going silent while Sybil merely smiled and focused on her meal. "So, what are your plans for this morning?"

Sybil spoke up first, as Mary and Edith were both still stewing. "I was thinking of remaining inside today. This weather makes it feel like it was made for curling up by a window with a good book. Cousin Isobel suggested a few to me the other day and I'd like to give them a read."

"Oh, should we be frightened of what rebellious novel she will put in your hand?" Mary teased.

Sybil laughed. "Nothing of the sort. It seems her late husband was an avid reader of fiction from around the world and she had his collection brought with them. I thought I'd give 'The Time Machine' a try."

"I've heard of that one," Robert said. "A rather strange tale though… someone traveling forward and backwards through time… it sounds positively impossible."

"Well, that is why it's called fiction," Sybil said.

"True enough, I suppose. So long as it doesn't put any thoughts in your head about traveling through time yourself."

His youngest merely smiled at him and said, "And what makes you think I haven't already? Maybe I'm not the Sybil you knew but a Sybil from 10 years in the future, here to change Downton's fate and ensure we all live better lives."

Robert rolled his eyes. "Well, if that is the case go back 6 months and stop your mother from reading that Stoker man's work. She was frightened to sleep alone for a month after Lady Tromwell suggested it."

"Well, I for one plan to get some fresh air before we are snowed in completely," Edith said. "Matthew is off and mentioned that you weren't going to walk with him today, Papa, so I thought I would stop by and see if he wanted some help picking out some Christmas gifts for everyone. Perhaps drive into Rippon."

Robert nodded. He personally planned to look at some papers Murray had left him and then go over some plans with Carson and Cora for the dinner they were planning for after the Christmas holiday; Lord Merton and his sons would be visiting and Cora was interested in making a match between one of Richard's sons and their daughters.

'Good luck with that,' he thought, mentally rolling his eyes. 'Larry is a weasely little prat and Tim is hardly better. Mary would mock us for suggesting it, Edith would sulk, and Sybil would probably smack them till they fled.' Of course he couldn't say that to Cora so he'd let her make her plans and just hope they didn't blow up too badly. Perhaps it was just him being a worrying father but every time Cora or Mama got it in their head to set up Edith or Sybil it always seemed to end badly. 'And now Mary has been included… now all my nightmares have come to pass.'

"Mhmm," Mary said, looking anywhere BUT at Edith.

"What?" Edith asked.

"Nothing."

"Not nothing. If it weren't nothing you wouldn't have made a sound."

"You're overreacting," Mary said… before her lips twitched ever so slightly into a smile.

Edith glowered. "You obviously wish to make fun of me yet again so why not? Can't be miserable yourself you have to make everyone else feel the same way."

Robert knew he should open his mouth and tell the two to stop. He also knew that after that retort from Edith there was no way Mary would let go without firing back.

"I merely think you are being a bit too… desperate."

'I hate being right all the time,' Robert thought.

"And what is that suppose to mean?"

"I think you do," Mary said, taking a sip of water. "If you don't-"

"Oh, would you two just bloody spit it out! We're all sick of you dragging these stupid games on! Other people have lives you know and the entire universe doesn't center around you two and your constant bickering!" Sybil snapped.

Everyone slowly turned and stared at the young woman in shock.

Thomas, who'd entered moments earlier to bring some tarts Mrs. Patmore had forgotten to send up, muttered, "Glad someone finally said it."

Even as Carson hissed at the footman Robert made a note to tell the butler to go easy on him. Maybe even give the young man the day off for having the courage to say what he himself was thinking.

Mary opened and closed her mouth a bit before finally saying, "I merely feel that… in your attempt to win the heart of Cousin Matthew… you might wish to be less… obvious." It was clearly that Mary had intended her comment to be much more biting but the wind had gone out of her sails after Sybil had broken all the tension with her demand. Robert knew he shouldn't have found humor in it but it was rather interesting to watch his daughters try to continue on with their normal sniping when they'd been thrown for such a loop.

"I.. don't know what you mean," Edith said, glancing at Robert still, as if waiting for him to do something instead of just sitting there after Sybil's outburst. "This will be Matthew's first Christmas at Downton and I imagine he'll want some help selecting gifts for everyone. And you know I like to shop early…"

"Yes, but this is your fifth time seeing him this month."

"I am merely friendly."

"Is that what they are calling it now?"

"And what does that-"

Sybil cleared her throat.

Mary and Edith's mouths shut.

Robert bit down a laugh. 'If Mama were here she'd have a fit that I allowed Sybil to do that… but if she can keep the girls in line more power to her!' He paused, pursing his lips. 'Of course, it is just as likely that she'd have privately applauded Sybil and declared her heir apparent.'

Finally Mary spoke. "It doesn't matter to me if you decide to try and court him-" All could tell there was an insult she wanted to say but a sharp look from Sybil kept it at bay and Robert had the urge to give his youngest a raise in her spending allowance, "-I only suggest you be more subtle. We don't want to scare him off."

"You have a funny way of showing it," Edith said and, before Sybil could voice a reproach, added quickly, "you treat Matthew so poorly it's a wonder he wants to see any of us at all."

"We ride together," Mary commented.

"And when you do you bark orders at him and treat him more like a servant than as your cousin. You refuse to call him anything but 'Cousin Matthew' and you still glare daggers at him whenever you think none of us are watching."

Mary shook her head. "You are allowing your jealousy to see things that aren't there. Next you'll claim Cousin Matthew and I are secretly engaging ourselves carnally when we claim to ride."

"Mary!" Robert exclaimed, horrified at how those words had slipped so casually from her lips.

She waved him off. "I would never do that, Papa, that's the point. Just Edith being silly."

"I will have no more talk about anyone doing anything… carnally… to Matthew at this table. Or this house." He grabbed his paper, ignoring the fact he'd already read it. "Or country."

He ignored Sybil as she snickered, which only caused Edith to join in, followed shortly by Mary.

He hated being outnumbered.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"You really can't blame them," Isobel said, leaning forward in her chair, staring at Violet. "I mean, it is a rather important day for them."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Violet said, clutching her walking cane, lips pressed together in a tight pucker. "I merely question the wisdom in it. There is already All Hallow's Eve and Yule… why have another holiday so soon?"

Isobal smiled her little polite smile that she thought made people believe she was being supportive but clearly told the world 'I think you are being foolish and I'm too poor of a liar to hide how I feel about that'. Violet hated that smile, as it always seemed to be a prelude to a comment that mocked tradition. "They do seem to try and force as many holidays as they can. I heard the other day that they have a holiday to remember all those that died during their civil war."

"Which just shows how foolish they truly are," Violet huffed. "When we remember the sacrifice of our brave lads we do so privately… we don't make it some grand show. Of course that is just the nature of Americans, to make things bigger than they need to do." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "It stems from having so little history. Like a man who just came into money throwing it about."

"I don't know if I agree with that," Isobel said and Violet fought every urge she had to roll her eyes; Mrs. Crawley had a bad habit of disagreeing with every view she could find. Violet sometimes considered saying something she knew the other woman heartily agreed with, just to see if the woman would flip alliances all for the sake of being contradictory. "But I do prefer that we don't have a 'Thanksgiving' or whatever we would call in. I much rather prefer having a month of peace before the bustle of Christmas comes upon us."

"Too right, too right," Violet said; she'd also found that if one let Isobel make a statement first then she wouldn't fight you when you agreed upon it. 'Of course it is so rare for her to say anything I can agree with whole heartedly. Still, small miracles.' She rang the bell on the end table, signaling for Spratt to bring in the mid-morning tea, before turning her attention once more on Isobel. "Has Cora explained to you how we do things at Downton when it comes to the holiday, seeing as you will be joining us?" There had been some question of the Village Crawleys would be the joining the main family at the Abbey but Matthew had made it clear he wanted to be part of the celebration and tradition/

"I believe so but let's refresh, just so I'm sure I have everything right." Violet nodded, glad that at the very least the woman was smart enough to want to confirm things."On Christmas Eve the family attends service. Then, on Christmas Day after breakfast, the family gathers and gives presents to each of the staff."

Violet nodded. "Usually clothing, with frocks for the ladies and a shirt for the men or perhaps a hat if Robert is feeling particularly adventurous. For the higher members of the staff they will get a second, more personal gift, or receive a larger single present instead. Mary and the girls tend to give that maid Anna something special as well, since she basically functions as the lady's maid for all three of them."

"Do Matthew and I need to attend that portion?" Isobel asked. "We can if we must but I was hoping to do the same with our own house staff."

Violet waved her off. "Go right ahead. I haven't participated in that little ritual at Downton for ages, not since Lord Grantham died and Robert became Earl. I prefer to hold my own ceremony as well here." She paused, narrowing her eyes slightly as she considered Isobel. "And… what do you have planned to give your staff?" She had a sudden fear that Isobel, being as radical as she was, would hand out the Communist Manifesto as gifts and ring in the New Year trying to tear down the government.

"Matthew and I decided I would handle Mrs. Byrd and the maid and he'll handle Moseley. I'm thinking of getting Mrs. Byrd a picture frame that she might hang in her room. It's just so natural to want to get her something for the kitchen, her being our cook and all, but that would feel like it was more of a gift for myself than for her; something to allow her to make me a meal rather than a present. What do you think?"

"Oh? I mean yes, of course," Violet said, mentally making a note to see if she could cancel to order she'd put in for a new set of knives for her own cook's gift.

Isobel, pleased, continued on. "After that the servants have their meal and we are, in Cousin Cora's words, left to 'fend for ourselves' for a few hours." Isobel grinned. "Sounds rather adventurous."

"Indeed," Violet said. "That you will need to attend. The family likes to exchange gifts during the luncheon and it will allow you to give your own staff the rest of the day off."

"Any rules when it comes to gifts for each other?" Isobel asked.

"We try not to get too extravagant." Isobel made a face and the Dowager raised an eyebrow. "You find that hard to believe?"

"Yes, I do," Isobel said. "I'd have thought you'd be given each other ponies and priceless works of art."

"Those are saved for the holidays concerning oppressing the masses," Violet said, her lips pressed into a fine line only to smile and Isobel chuckled at that. "We prefer to keep it more… personable."

"Well, I for one am delighted at that," Isobel said. "I've always found the smaller gifts that have the deeper connection to be the best of all."

"Of course you do," Violet muttered; while she agreed completely she found the way Isobel said it to be terribly middle class. 'I have half a mind to give her a pony just to see how she reacts,' Violet thought with a mental smile before another thought popped into her head. 'Knowing her she'd probably raise a fuss about the horse not having the same rights as us and demand it be given representation in Parliament.'

If Isobel realized she'd been insulted she didn't show it. Instead she continued on with the coming events. "Then we have Christmas supper with the family before retiring to the drawing room to play charades."

"Not charades… The Game," Violet insisted. "Robert's father hated it when people called it that, as he thought the name sounded silly and Robert insists that we continue with the tradition."

"Still, I rather can't wait to join in," Isobel said. "It sounds like a fun time."

"You haven't seen Mary play," Violet said. "The girl has treated The Game as the fiercest of competitions since she was five years old."

"She is that way about many things, from what I've seen," Isobel said as Spratt finally arrived with the tea.

"I sense there is more to that statement than might first appear," Violet said, accepting a cup from Spratt.

Isobel let out a little huff. "Please don't think me forward-"

'Too late for that,' Violet thought.

"-and I know that she is your granddaughter but it hasn't escaped me how she seems to always be in competition with Matthew. Thank you Spratt." Isobel took her own cup and saucer before continuing. "Every conversation makes me feel as if I'm watching a session of Parliament where the course of our country is to be determined with only a few phrases." Isobel held up a hand. "I understand why she feels as she does about Matthew; I would be upset too if in her shoes. But she has taken hold of her grudge like a pit bull and refuses to let go."

"Yes, that is rather apt," Violet admitted. She mentally debated just how much to reveal to Isobel, who seemed to be waffling between 'person she disagreed with but at least could hold a conversation' and 'the enemy at the door who will destroy Downton with her radical ideas'. The former won out and Violet said, "Cora suggested early on that Mary might put away her anger and see if there might be a spark of romance between her and Matthew… but I think you can guess how well that went over."

"Very easily, I'm afraid," Isobel said.

"I suppose there is always Edith. The girl is smitten with Matthew… then again she was smitten with Patrick when he was with Mary. The poor thing has a habit of latching onto whoever the family pushes Mary's way, as if she wants to be the better Mary, as it were."

Isobel shook her head. "She's in for a world of heartbreak. I can tell that Matthew doesn't see her that way."

"A pity," Violet said. "While it would have caused problems with Mary I wouldn't have minded if Edith and Matthew got together. Robert and Cora forget about her far too often and I fear with this chaos Mary keeps creating that all the time they would have spent on Edith will go to Mary and leave her with nothing."

"If I couldn't see clearly that nothing will come of it I'd hope for Sybil and Matthew myself," Isobel said.

"Why do you say that? And why do you believe there is so little hope? She is a bit younger than I'd hope but girls have married men twice as old during their first Season."

Spratt brought over a tray of biscuits and Isobel selected one. "You know they've been seeing each other quite a bit, Sybil and Matthew. She was the first to take Matthew up on his offer to have tea and since then the two of them have met at least once a week. Having tea, going on walks, so on. I see much of myself in Sybil and would have been happy if the two of them would have gotten together. But it simply isn't to be."

"And you are sure it can't become more?" Violet asked. She'd never considered Sybil and Matthew but she wasn't against the idea. It would be rather radical but then again she'd seen odder things. It wasn't. out of line for a man twice Sybil's age to go for a young woman's hand. She tried to visualize the two of them as Earl and Countess and found it easy enough. It would be a strong match and if they were already forming a friendship…

Isobel's next words ruined that dream, however. "Because I've seen them together and the two act more like brother and sister than a young couple feeling each other out during the first stages of a romance. Sybil sees in Matthew someone she can finally confide in who won't dismiss her outright because all they see is little Sybil Crawley, the baby of the family. And Matthew sees her as the younger sibling he always wished he had. If you can't tell Matthew has a bit of a hero complex and likes having someone he can protect. It's why he remained living with me after his father passed. Sybil fills that role perfectly. The two of them enjoy talking with each other and at times, when someone else joins in and says something it… triggers something. They don't laugh out loud but they share a look. I'm sure when you first see it you'll be struck by how to reminds you of how Sybil is with her sisters, when there is a joke only they know and all the rest of us are merely sources of amusement. That is what the two of them are like."

"A pity," Violet said with a sigh. But in her mind gears moved and thoughts were considered and examined. 'Perhaps something can be done to nudge Matthew and Sybil together. Mary is a loss cause and I do agree that Edith and him, despite how hard she tries, will never fit. But Sybil? That is a possibility… and perhaps our best option.' Violet smiled as she moved on to a new topic, though her mind was left to process the new problem that had been given to her. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Isobel giving her a confused smile. "What is it? Have I become the subject of a joke?"

"No no… just an odd thing popped into my head when I thought of Matthew and Mary being together. It will never happen, of course, she'd never allow it, but it made me remember something that happened a few months ago." She handed her empty tea cup to Spratt. "Matthew had a terrible nightmare back in the spring. He cried out so loud it startled me awake and he was half delirious when I came upon him. He thought he was wed to a woman named Mary and kept demanding to know where she and their son George was. Still can't figure out where he got that name." Isobel chuckled. "Odd, isn't it?"

"Yes," Violet said, licking her lips, an old memory of Mary, when she'd been a little girl, proudly showing her a baby doll that she'd gotten. She'd wanted a name for him and Violet had suggested Mary name him after Violet's own father, Mary's great grandfather. The little girl had agreed…

…and named the baby doll George.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"I think that I'll need to take more walks if I continue visiting you," Edith said as she and Matthew made their way down the village's main street. As was customary on the last Friday of November, before December truly came upon them, the village had set up a winter market, so that those that lived there and people from the neighboring areas could come and browse their goods, place orders for Christmas treats and presents, and sample what Downton Village had to offer. A light snow had fallen the night before, giving everything a magical feeling and all about Edith and Matthew were people selling a wide assortment of seasonal goods. Several bakers had set up tables with sweets, Mr. Groves had a book out describing in great detail what hens, geese, and ducks he'd have available for those looking to put a bird on their holiday table, and Mrs. Austin had brought out all the knitting and quilting she'd done over the year for those wanting a special cap or perhaps a blanket. Edith felt like she'd fallen into a story book and the illusion was only aided by the gallant blond gentlemen at her side.

"What do you mean? We're walking now, aren't we?" Matthew asked, stopping to look over a spread of donuts that had been placed in glass-covered containers at the stand in front of one of the baker's shops. Selecting two plain cake ones he fished out a few coins and passed them over then accepting the treats, one for himself and one for her. She'd given up trying to convince him to let her pay, as he only would claim that he wanted to repay her for helping him.

"Yes but for every bit I might take off during this walk I put on twice as much because you keep buying us treats." Of course that didn't stop her from accepting the donut and happily taking a bite of it, her need to be lady-like and her desire to tear into it like Pharaoh devoured a bit of meat warring within her. "So far you've had us try that fudge of Mrs. Bryant-"

"Which you enjoyed," Matthew pointed out.

"And then the peppermint sticks that the Bonnville family made-"

"You had three."

"To settle my stomach after you got us pieces of that carrot cake that Mrs. Mason brought!" Edith complained though she could feel herself smiling even as she did so. It was Mary's talent to be able to pretend to be angry even when she was quite pleased; Edith could never manage it. She always gave away the game, let the world know exactly what she was feeling. And at the moment, despite her annoyance at overindulging, she felt giddy and light.

"It was good cake," Matthew said, making that his sole argument.

Edith's shoulders slumped in defeat. "It truly was." The two of them continued on, munching on their donuts. "How is it you seem to know who has the best food in the village?"

"What do you mean?"

"We pass by some stalls without even bothering to look and at others you know just what you want, even if you can't see it!"

"I spend time in the village," Matthew said easily. "Unlike you and the rest of your family I'm not trapped in the Abbey, unable to truly just go off and have an adventure because of what society says is right and proper. And because I was once like them and still am like them in many ways they don't feel the need to act differently."

"You mean that people lie to me when I visit their stalls or go to their places of work?"

"Not so much lie as put their best foot forward." He held out his hand, forestalling her protest that she didn't want them to act that way, that she wanted them to not feel the need to lie to her. "Don't get me wrong, that is a very good thing."

"I don't see how," Edith complained. "I get enough of people putting on a mask at home. If it isn't all the guests who put on grand shows and 'play the game' as Granny calls it then it's the servants feeling like they can't be honest with me and that they must be like actors in some play where every line is rehearsed and to deviant is death." Edith shook her head in frustration over that; unlike everyone else in the house it seemed as if none of the servants would ever trust her to truly be themselves around her. She knew, despite Anna supposedly aiding all three of them, that the maid was firmly Mary's and always would be. Edith knew that no matter who married first Anna would become a lady's maid for Mary and Mary alone. Sybil seemed to bring out the inner light in all that saw her though recently Edith had caught her talking with the other maid, Gwen, and she wondered if her sister was preparing for when Mary took Anna with her. Of course Sybil could talk to anyone and get them to offer a warm smile or a thoughtful word; she'd even managed to warm up Thomas, who for all he tried was much like Edith and unable to truly hide his emotions and thoughts. Her father had Bates who had started as a friend and Carson (who divided his loyalty between her father and Mary) while her mother had O'Brien though for the life of her Edith couldn't understand why her mother liked the company of the dower woman.

'But for me there is no one. They all see me as 'Lady Edith', Mary's younger sister or Sybil's older sister… never as just Edith or 'Edith, the one I can talk to'.' She mentally sighed. 'And now it seems the people in the village are doing the same thing.'

"I know it might seem that way but believe me when I say there are things the lower classes say and do that… well…"

"Well what?" Edith asked. "I know they can be vulgar."

"And how do you know that?" Matthew teased.

"I just do," Edith said primly. "I know they are like that so I don't see why you think it is a good thing they hide that from me."

"Mostly because while I think you can handle it I'd rather you not for a bit more," Matthew finally said. "Think of me like a big brother trying to protect his sister from the harsh world."

'But I don't want to think of you as my brother,' Edith thought. 'For if I did they would lock me away for the other thoughts I've had concerning you.'

She didn't say that, of course. Rather, she asked him, "I thought we were gathering gift ideas, not overindulging ourselves."

"Helpful then that doing one allows us to do the other," Matthew said. Edith raised an eyebrow at that and after a few moments Matthew finally relented. "I already have ordered several items for the family, but I was inspired by how your family gives gifts to the servants: something practical and something personal for those close to you. I have decided to do something a touch different, to make my own spin upon it." They turned a corner and nodded to Mr. Travis as he walked by. "I've thought hard about what to get each of you as your main present and think I've done quite well. It can be hard to shop for all of you, when you can simply purchase what you desire and what you can't I'd never be able to afford, but I managed. Sybil was a big help there." Edith felt a slight flash of jealousy at that but tapped it down; Sybil had made it clear early on she didn't have any feelings for Matthew other than the ones that came from being family. "But for the second gifts I want to give a…" he waved his hand about, "…taste of Downton. A sweet or a treat that one might not have or know could be found in their own village. Except your father; I have something very special in mind for him to show that I have accepted Downton as my new home."

"That sounds lovely!" Edith said, truly liking the idea. It just screamed 'Matthew' and she couldn't see anyone else coming up with an idea like that. "And I will be happy to help pick out some things that I'm sure Mama will enjoy." She waited a moment before adding, "And if you have any second thoughts about the other gifts you may see me as well. No need to trouble Sybil."

Matthew nodded and motioned for her to follow him. "Let's sit down, shall we?"

That was the last thing Edith wanted to do.

He hadn't realized he'd done it but Matthew had gotten the same gleam in his eye so many men did when they asked her for a private word. And every time they did what followed was the same: Have had a lovely time, you are pleasant, we aren't a good fit, you'll find someone else. Of all the things in the world that could happen the one she prayed didn't would be Matthew uttering those words. And yet despite how much she wanted to fight his suggestion she only nodded and allowed him to lead her over to a bench, his gloved hand sweeping away the snow so the two could more easily sit.

With how her mood was she'd rather have sat in a muddy puddle.

"I want to thank you for coming with me today," Matthew said with a smile. "I've enjoyed your company-"

"Please don't," Edith said, cutting him off. When he stared at her she let forth a barking laugh. "I know what you are going to say. 'It has been lovely, Edith, but I feel that you want something I can not provide. I simply do not see you that way but I do so ever hope we can be friends'." She shut her eyes so he wouldn't see the tears gathering. "Of anything you could say to me I beg you… don't say that."

He was silent for far too long.

"Would it help… if I were allowed to explain why?" he finally asked.

"I don't need to hear it because I already know it. I'm not beautiful enough, I'm not interesting enough, I bore you to tears or make you feel awkward when around me-"

Matthew grabbed her hands and held them tight. "Don't ever think that about yourself. Never." She was utterly startled by how fiercely he gave that command.

And yet…

"How can't I when the evidence is clear?" She opened her eyes, her vision blurring for a moment as she stared at his handsome face, wishing against all that he would just smile and say that he loved her.

"And I disagree," Matthew said. "And this isn't what you think. I am not rejecting you for such petty reasons… in fact I hardly think 'reject' would be the right word. More that I see we aren't a good fit… and the blame for that lies on me."

She wanted to grab him by the lapels and shake him hard, screaming 'We could fit perfectly if you just gave us a chance! If you let yourself love me!' But even in her emotional state she knew that wasn't proper and thus she said, "It is rather clichéd for a man to claim it is his fault to break things off with a woman. I thought you better than that."

"But in this case it is true," Matthew said. "The truth of the matter is that you deserve more than I can ever provide."

Edith snorted at that. "If you are going to insult me by claiming I should be of a higher standing then I will leave now." She found herself hating him in that moment… or rather hating how he was so pathetic in trying to spare her feelings and not seeing how he did just the opposite. It would have been better if he had just do it clean, kept it simple, but lying to her like this-

"That's not what I was going to say," Matthew said, refusing to let go of her hands.

"Then what were you going to say?" she huffed.

"I am trapped by Downton. I know that I should be grateful, and I am, by this gift I've been given but the fact of the matter is that I am trapped. My life is now laid out for me and for the woman that becomes my wife her life will be preordained as well. Managing the estate, have a few children, and grow old and fat as the world passes by." He shook his head. "There are a few things I can do, to force Downton to plod towards the current age, but that won't be much. I will be stuck in this world and my life will be determined by it."

"I… don't understand," Edith said, her anger turning to bewilderment at his odd comments.

"I see in you the making of a truly modern woman," Matthew said, his smile growing all the more bright. "The world is changing and in a few years that which was thought to be madness will be the norm and I believe that you will be at the forefront."

"You're confusing me for Sybil," Edith said.

"I don't think so," Matthew said. He released her hands but where with anyone else it would have felt like a heartbreaking gesture Edith found with Matthew it was decidedly not. "Please understand that I've grown to care for Sybil very deeply. I see her as a little sister. But that doesn't mean I am blind to her flaws and her greatest is one that so many revolutionaries suffer from."

"And that is?"

"Control. She becomes so passionate about a cause that she does not see that she turns more people off than she brings to her side. She is always fighting, like a boxer waiting for the bell to ring, and that simply doesn't do with some people." Matthew paused. "Mary has the opposite problem."

Edith's hatred of everything circling back to Mary warred with her desire to hear Matthew speak of her faults. The latter won out.

"Mary has incredible focus but it is always turned inward, towards herself. Whenever something new arises, some political upheaval or social cause, her first question is 'Does it affect me?' followed by 'must it affect me?'. And if it doesn't matter to her or won't affect her greatly then it is brushed off. Please don't misunderstand… I believe Mary does have a heart and she cares more than she lets on but she's allowed so many walls to form up that it is hard to pierce her. Pity what does though, and pity her because I believe it will shatter her, good or bad.

"You are a fusing of their best aspects. You care for others but don't let it consume you. You can talk of a topic and not alienate those around you or only focus on your own selfish desires. If Mary is a mirror that only reflects what is shown to it and Sybil is a war hammer forever laying waste to what is placed before it, you… you are a thin blade, able to move swiftly and easily, cutting through all that stands in your way."

Edith smiled at that. "No one has ever spoken about me like that before."

"That is because they don't understand you. You're ahead of the curve, Edith, and right now that is painful but soon enough the world will catch up and suddenly you, who was seen as so strange and different, will be the norm and the rest of them will be the outsiders." He paused, looking off towards the village. "That is why it can never work between us. You deserve a modern man who can stand beside you. Someone who earned his place in the brave new future that races towards us; not one who only holds his place due to birth. I see you not with a lord or an earl but some grand master of business, who has made his fortune and can now look down at estates like Downton from his higher perch and spit on their heads." Edith laughed at that, the mere image of her Papa being spat upon by some railroad master tickling her. And yet she sensed the wisdom and truth in Matthew's words. She'd have never considered such an option for herself before but now that Matthew had set it out so plainly it was like her eyes had been opened for the first time and she could see the sun and the stars. She could see herself not destined to merely run her husband's estate but to bring to a marriage her own strength and power and together create something all the brighter. It was well and good to be part of a dynasty… but what if she were to be the creator one of? "In another life I could have been that man… and I think then we'd have been a grand fit. But now I am happy to be your champion and help you as a brother would… if you will have me be such."

"Of course I will," Edith said, Matthew standing and offering her his hand. "I will need your help when I bring my paper-owning husband to Papa." Matthew got an odd look on his face and Edith frowned. "What is it?"

"Paper owning? What makes you say that?"

"I… I don't know. It just popped into my head. Why?"

Matthew shook his own head, as if banishing whatever thought had startled him. "It doesn't matter. Now come on, we have more stalls to visit."

"My stomach hates you, brother dear," Edith said, linking her arm in his as he led her back to the village.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: So I know that in the fanfiction community there is some debate about when events in the show occurred. I've seen some people place the Fox Hunt before New Years, after New Years, so on. I think the thing people miss though is that the first season actually covers a TON of time. Series 1 takes place over 2 years, starting April 1912 all the way to August 5th, 1914. I've seen too many writers condense the events of the show down into little less than a year when they go MUCH longer than that.

As such, I am going by the Downton Wiki timeline that places the Fox Hunt after New Years and into the spring of 1913. Thus allowing me to focus on things we didn't see in the show. That said, there was always something that tickled me wrong about Downton's second season when we saw the New Year's party/Servant's Ball.. Matthew clearly has no idea how it works which makes no sense: I know Robert mentioned that they didn't have one during the war but that wouldn't explain not having the 1912 or the 1913 New Years parties. Saying that they didn't do the first one because of Patrick makes no sense as they were out of mourning at that point but lets say they didn't do the 1912 party… why not 1913?

My only conclusion is that Matthew as still stuck in his "I'm a prat" phase and didn't allow himself to be invited. But even then that doesn't add up. Episode 5 and 6 represent the time jump, as far as I can tell: 5 takes place in the summer of 1913 (as this would fit there being a hay wagon for Bates to ride in and the flower show) and then the 6th episode takes place nearly a year later. No way would Matthew remain that much of an ass for two years that he wouldn't come to Downton for a New Year's party/ Servant's Ball. It feels like a case of the writers forgetting their own timeline, in my opinion. Thus, we get mention of the Servant's Ball/Christmas party here.

It is very interesting to try and find novels for the characters to read in this series. Luckily it seems like many of the classic works were made in the 1890s, so I can pull from them.

Not too much else I want to address so let's move right into the plot bunny!

This one is based on something from this very story. When Mary was a little girl and Edith was just a baby Cora receives a note from America, learning that her uncle left her, of all things, a cattle ranch in the American West. Seems that he had made his fortune in oil left not only the entire business but the ranch as well to Cora, but only if she came for a visit after his death to sign the paperwork. Robert, learning that the ranch and company is actually worth more than Downton, decides they will visit and the family packs up and heads across the pond.

After a month or so of traveling the family arrives at the ranch and its mansion-like estate house. Originally the plan was for them to stay only for a few weeks then head back to New York and Downton but Robert begins to find reasons for them to stay longer. Finally Cora confronts him and Robert reveals that ever since he became Earl he has been utterly stressed. But… he's found himself loving the ranch. It is peaceful, quiet… and he doesn't have to constantly put on an act of being the Lord everyone wants him to be. He likes feeding the horses and talking with the ranch hands. He likes not having freezing winters and stuffy dinners with boring old men. He… likes this life. And Cora admits that she likes it as well.

And thus a decision is made: the Crawleys will remain in America and James named the new Earl because Robert gives up the title. Of course Violet is enraged but Robert refuses to listen, resulting in a falling out. But it matters not and the Crawleys settle into their new life.

Then, in 1912, James and Patrick die on the Titanic, coming over to visit Robert and family at the ranch. Violet learns that Matthew is the heir but doesn't tell him, instead claiming she is hiring him to go get Robert to come back to England.

Thus we get a Downton Abbey where Matthew travels to the American West to meet a decidedly different Crawley family. One where Mary, Edith, and Sybil have grown up to be decidedly American (with only Mary retaining her English accent while her sisters have a Texas drawl thanks to all their friends and the farm hands talking that way) and don't play the games English ladies do. I see Matthew arriving at the ranch only for Mary, wearing pants of all things(!) racing up on her horse Diamond, performing some tricks before coming to a stop and welcoming him to the ranch before Sybil asks "What'cha doin' here, city slicker?"

How much of the original staff came with them is up to you. Especially because in this new wild world their lives could be altered. For example, Carson and Mrs. Hughes came with them and this new reality saw them realizing their affection sooner and they now run the hotel/saloon that Matthew stays at in the town that has grown up around the ranch. Anna showed skill with the horses and Robert, deciding to really shock his mother (as he now would have a rebellious streak, fully deciding to be a cowboy America) made her in charge of all the animals on the ranch and when Bates arrives to be Robert's new valet she is a fast talkin' woman who plays poker with the boys and will tell someone she thinks they look nice. Maybe even Thomas gets a romantic interest in the form of the post master who lives in town. It would be up to whoever picked up the story.

Chapter Text

Mary sighed as she looked at the letter before her. Evelyn Naiper had sent her another of their usual correspondence, detailing what he was doing over the dreary, wet, cold, miserable winter they were all suffering through. He'd done his best to make even the most mundane pastimes seem exciting but had admitted, in the end, that he had very little to say and that he'd sent the letter to her more out of a desire to talk with her than needing to convey some piece of information. He had begged her to write back, even if it was to talk on about helping a maid organize her gloves, and that he looked forward to hearing from her.

That had been nearly a week ago.

She stared at the empty wire bin that sat next to her writing desk. Though it was emptied daily Mary could see the ghosts of all the half finished letters and discarded notes that she'd tried and failed to write in response to Evelyn's letter. She idly wondered what it would have been like to let them all gather up, so that they spilt from the basket and fallen to the floor, covering her bare feet when she got up in the morning and obscuring everything on the ground till she could not take a dainty step without hearing the crinkle of paper under her soles. She'd even tried to write of such a scenario but soon discarded it as she had every other note.

It had been one of many attempts to try and find something to write. She'd tried to do as he asked, to make the mundane sound exciting, but found it was too silly and couldn't bear to even finish. Later on she'd tried to claim in jest that she had nothing to write that was real and instead would write of fake things, creating from whole cloth fantastic fantasies and intrigue. But Mary knew that she was no writer of fiction and found her attempts to be rather pathetic and torn them up in a huff. She'd tried to be playful but it came off as young, like the ramblings of a 10 year old, and then sought to be bland but honest and shuddered in disgust when it became clear to her she sounded like a spinster maid whom all her relations dreaded talking to.

The entire affair had Mary worried, though she did her best not to let her fears show to those around her. Each unfinished letter seemed a failure, a red mark upon her that could not be removed no matter what she tried. No matter what she did, what she tried, she could not bring from pen to paper the words that she knew had to be said but could not find the ability to write.

"Milady?" Anna asked, opening the door enough so she might be heard. "Are you ready for me to help you dress?"

Mary fought the urge to throw the pen at the wall and instead laid it down before turning to the housemaid, a bemused smile plastered on her features. "Yes, of course. I simply lost track of time. Please." Anna quickly hurried in and thus began to long process of removing one dress only to put on a different one. Not for the first time she heard echo about her Matthew's teasing words, of how being of the upper class was to put one in a cage of their own making and that despite what she thought she wasn't free. She banished the words, as she had enough on her mind without adding the madness that was Cousin Matthew to the mix.

"I heard that the Grey family will be dining with you tonight," Anna said as she finished stitching up Mary's corset before moving to retrieve her dress for the evening. "It's been a while since they were here last, hasn't it?"

"Just over 20 months," Mary said. "Not since Lady Merton caught ill."

"That was a heavy blow for them, I'm sure," Anna said.

"For Larry and Tim, yes," Mary said. "For Lord Merton less so. Theirs was a marriage of expectations. Both families knew that the two of them needed to marry and that was that. Lord Merton never truly loved her and Lady Merton felt the same."

"I can't imagine what that would be like," Anna said as she helped Mary slide into her evening dress before motioning for her to sit.

'I can,' Mary thought as she took her seat in front of the mirror, allowing Anna to begin working on her hair. 'That would have been my life had Patrick lived.' She mentally sighed. 'Of course, such a fate would be better than ending up a spinster forced to live off the kindness of rich relatives.' And yet even as she thought such things Mary flashed back to the cool stares and formal words of Lord and Lady Merton. While it certainly would have been better received to be married and have a proper family she wondered if even she, with her cold heart, could have survived such a marriage. One not even built out of friendship, let alone love, but rather duty and requirement. Mary had a feeling such an arrangement would have broken her. Worse, she feared it would have broken any children that might have come. She thought of all the families she'd seen come to Downton, where husband and wife treated each other with barely held contempt, and could not think of a single one where the children made from such a union could have been considered 'happy'.

"Do you know what made Lord Grantham extend the invitation?" Anna asked, cutting through Mary's ponderings.

She let out a huff. "Matthew, of course. If it isn't Papa trotting him out like a prized thoroughbred then it is our neighbors wishing to look upon the new oddity that has come to Downton. The Lawyer Heir... it sounds like a horrid romance story title, does it not?"

"Let's hope not, milady," Anna said with a smirk. "That would make you the female lead and I your plucky assistant."

Mary laughed at that. "Yes, I can see it now. I am secretly a detective like one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's creations and you help me solve all manner of murders while we must avoid the looks and long suffering stares of Matthew Crawley as he pines for me."

Anna smiled as she considered the jest. "Though that would probably mean one of Lord Merton's sons were secretly longing for me."

"Perish the thought," Mary said in mock horror. "You can do so much better, Anna! I will not have my plucky assistant lowering herself." The two dissolved into chuckles as Anna began the final steps needed to get Mary fully ready for dinner. "Of course, if you wish to throw yourself at Larry Grey I'm sure Sybil would appreciate it."

"I've heard stories about him..."

"If they are anything good assume they are bad and if they are anything bad assume they are worse," Mary said. "Larry Grey has been pining for Sybil for years while my sister has done all she can to avoid him. Especially after he pulled one too many pranks when he was younger."

"That bad?" Anna asked.

"Worse," Mary stated before looking back in the mirror. While Anna had once more outdone herself when it came to styling her hair Mary found herself focusing more on her own tired eyes. They were the eyes of an older woman, one who had suffered too much grief and could now only look at those younger than herself and whisper 'Give it time... you'll learn.' For Mary she knew what the current source of that look was and she let out a weary breath before asking Anna, "Have you ever feared that you've become trapped?"

"I don't quite follow."

"It feels as if I have come to a point in my life where there are only two paths which I might take and both lead to misery and ruin. And because of how I came to this path I can't turn around and go back the way I came." Mary reached down and began to pick at the fuzz on the padded chair she was sitting on. "I know that I have done little to win over the men of the world. I believed early on that Patrick was mine and that Downton would come to me and thus saw no realize to show kindness to those that came seeking my hand. But now Patrick is gone and Mr.,. Crawley will inherit and I am left on my own, forced to fight for even a shred of happiness while knowing that it won't be enough."

"I don't know if it is as dire as all that," Anna said, trying to put on a good cheer.

"Isn't it? The only man who might be interested in me is Evelyn Napier and I am destroying my chances there by the hour."

"Is this about the letters?"

"It is all about the letters," Mary said with a huff. "I don't want a marriage like the Mertons if I can help it but I find suddenly that might be where I am headed. Mr. Napier sent me a lovely letter last week and I have yet to respond. Why? Because I have nothing to say! Every attempt to put words to parchment fail and I am left asking how a marriage could ever succeed if already I find myself bored of him when he hasn't even come to a formal dinner at the house!"

"Perhaps you just need some time," Anna suggested. "Send him a letter begging him to give you a bit more time to send a true letter back."

Mary waved that off. "I could never be so bold and even if I was it would do little good. I just don't know what to say to him... he asked for something interesting but my life is rather dull; or at least it is when compared to so many others."

'That's not true,' her traitorous thoughts sang. 'There is Matthew!' As Anna left to attend to Sybil and Edith Mary tried to keep the thoughts locked away but they tumbled out like buttons from an overturned sewing box. 'You've been spending a lot of time with him,' her thoughts said cheerily.

'Only so I know what he is planning for Downton,' she thought back to her turncoat thoughts.

'Is that why you find reasons to prolong your rides with him? Or why you now ask him to walk with you about the estate? 'Oh Cousin Matthew, it is such a lovely day, let us go check out the orchard!''

'I am purely passing the time. If he weren't here I'd do the same thing!'

'And would you also get into so riveting conversations about literature, politics, and history?'

"No I would..." Mary stopped, realizing she was talking to herself. Clenching her jaw, she stood up and strode towards the door, refusing to be reduced to a foolish fictional heroine in some overly wrought romantic drama of mistaken identities and love battling confusion and misconceptions. She was Lady Mary Crawley and she wouldn't be reduced to a dewy-eyed sop just because her handsome distant cousin had made her long for their talks and rides more than she'd longed for anything in her life.

'Handsome?' her wicked thoughts asked as Mary stormed out of the room.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"I simply don't see what the fuss is all about," Larry Grey said. The Crawleys (both 'The Family' and 'The New Arrivals' as some called them in the servants' quarters) and the Greys were all seated at the dinner table, dressed in their utter finest, dining on dishes that cost more than most people made in a day, and making their opinions known on a wide range of topics. "Bad enough that they allow middle class men to vote but women? Seems ludicrous. Perhaps if they let a woman's husband vote twice, once for himself and once for her, then I'd be for it but to ask for anything otherwise is just asking for trouble."

Thomas leaned down, allowing Lady Edith to serve herself, though he kept his attention on Lady Sybil. He'd seen looks that could kill and given a few out himself but never had he seen such barely restrained loathing before. The others at the table may have seen it, or may not have depending on how blind they were to the feelings of others (something he'd found many of the aristocracy failed to notice), but only Thomas truly took in the fires that were burning in Lord Grantham's daughter's eyes.

"So you believe that a husband and a wife always agree on everything?" she asked.

"Not always… but that is exactly the point. It is up to a husband to steer his wife away from her errors when it comes to such things. It is their role in marriage: a wife provides children and a husband guides them."

"So a wife is on the same standing as a toddler when it comes to her opinions?" Lady Sybil asked, so tense Thomas was sure she'd be able to snap her wine glass in two.

"You're twisting my words," Larry Grey said, flashing a smile he thought made him look charming but instead made him look like a condescending prick. "I am merely stating that politics are simply too big and too complex for a woman's mind to handle. They easily are led astray, just as these poor suffragists have been." He took a sip of wine, missing the looks Lady Grantham and the Dowager shared (the former clearly thinking 'Please help me salvage this' while the latter thought back 'this was your stupid idea, do it yourself'). He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. "The government is so concerned with letting them say their peace so not to offend them when what they should be doing is finding men, no matter how homely or ill bred, and getting them to take those daft women by the hands, pat them gently on the shoulder, and tell them that it is okay, they will help them. Marital beds would settle all of this."

"Well, that is certainly one idea," the Dowager said with a glower.

"Lord Grantham," Lord Merton said, trying to steer the conversation away from the poor topic. "What do you think of Lord Skelton's plans for rebuilding the local church-"

"So you believe that only rich men can have a say in how the world works?" Sybil asked, dragging the conversation right back to muddied waters.

"Do something," Thomas heard Lord Grantham whisper to Lady Mary.

"I'm open to suggestions."

"Of course," Larry said, taking another sip of wine. Thomas figured that Mr. Carson would need to fill it up again soon, the way the man kept guzzling it down. He looked a bit flush but kept talking anyway. "The world runs so much better when power is kept with only those that should have it. The moment we allowed middle class men the right things began to go downhill. The mere fact that we even have a 'middle class' shows how far we have fallen." Mrs. Crawley colored at that but her son grabbed her hand to stop her from speaking.

"Larry," his brother Tim Grey hissed.

"What next? The poor? The negros? The faggots?"

"Larry!" Lord Merton snapped as the women of the table gasped and Thomas fought dueling urges: one to beat Larry Grey with a serving tray and to roll his eyes at the women, acting as if they hadn't heard those words before. He knew it just as likely that, when they thought no one was around, they had thought said things… or even said them.

Thomas truly hated Larry Grey.

It would be a shock to many down stairs but Thomas didn't actually hate that many people. Disliked? Found them annoying? Wished to be rid of them? Oh yes, all of those. But to hate someone? There were very few people that caused that reaction in him; that would require him to care enough to put in the effort to hate them. More often Thomas found himself hating situations rather than people, his anger building at how unfair life could be to himself and others (but mostly himself, he could admit that; he was a selfish bastard and didn't deny he wasn't). That made it seem as if he hated the world and all those around him but he actually did care quite a bit about some people.

Of those he worked with there were only a few that he actually liked, he could admit that as well. Anna was one of them; even now that she was making tender eyes at Mr. Bates she was a good person that had never done him wrong and was unfailingly polite. If she had been willing to reveal Lady Mary's secrets then he'd have counted her as his closest friend. He respected her choice though and didn't hold it against her. He also didn't mind the other maid, Gwen, though he talked little with her, and the hall boys were a decent sort. Mrs. Hughes was a rough one and he'd caught plenty of scoldings from her but unlike O'Brien, who refused to let go of such words and felt them to be scars on her character Thomas saw Mrs. Hughes as a heavy-handed mother figure, one who was stern but fair. Oh, she made things difficult but that was part of the fun. Mrs. Patmore he neither disliked nor liked. She was just there, like a stove or a chair. Daisy on the other hand…

''Oh, I don't know what to do! I don't like this… and I don't like that! And I have no solution so I just whine!'' Thomas mentally rolled his eyes. 'I pity the bloke that ends up with that mess of a person.'

People thought he disliked William but that wasn't true; it was merely the normal hazing that happened with all new servants. How quick the likes of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were to forget what it had been like when he started and the older footmen would rag on him. Made worse was the fact that William seemed to get overly emotional purely for the attention, lapping it up like a sponge. The boy was an attention seeking sop, that was clear.

Of those downstairs only Mr. Bates could inspire what could be considered hatred, though Mr. Carson was close. Thomas' problem with the butler was simple and it was the same problem he had when he'd first heard about Mr. Crawley: someone trying to pretend they were better than they truly were. Whenever he heard the bloated blowhard puffing hard about shame and honor, his jowls shaking at how someone had done something so wrong, unbecoming of Downton, Thomas just wanted to shake the man until his stupid slicked back hair was frazzled and scream at him "You aren't a lord! You aren't! You're a puffed up ass trapped in a system that is little more than slavery with extra steps!"

Of course that was the great irony of service: no matter how bitter the servant they all seemed to believe that they were better than those people out in the world, even those with wealth and power to break the Crawleys.

'And then there is the family,' Thomas thought as Lady Grantham tried desperately to get everyone to focus on her as Larry Grey, who seemed to get drunker and bolder with every passing moment, fought to wrest back their attention. It would have been another shocker but he actually didn't mind most of the Crawleys. He didn't LIKE them… but didn't hate them either. Lord Grantham was a decent enough man, if a bit too blustering for his tastes (the Earl could get flustered far too easily for one who'd gone to war… Thomas liked to imagine him in the middle of a battle and panicking when he found a spot of dirt on his uniform. Then Mr. Bates would rush over to clean it and get shot in the head…), and while he did steal from him it was nothing personal and Thomas would never actively try and hurt the man. Lady Grantham seemed to try a touch too hard, in his opinion, but when you had Miss O'Brien sniffing around for any sign of weakness better to be too hard than too soft. The Dowager was a tough old bird but Thomas could at least respect that.

When it came to the Crawley girls…

'Lady Mary is a bitch,' Thomas thought, then stole a glance to see if Mr. Carson had passed over in shock from someone calling her, even in their own thoughts, that word. Honestly, even if she hadn't been a horrid little ice queen Thomas would have hated her purely for the fact that Mr. Carson worshiped the ground she walked on. 'I wonder if her ass is covered in lip prints from him puckering up so many times?' He mentally shook his head, even if as he stood ramrod still, like a statue, while Larry Grey continued to embarrass himself. 'At least she is better than Lady Edith. It seems as if she and Daisy were separated at birth.'

Of all the Crawley girls it was the one that was the focus of Larry's rapidly deteriorating charm ('and he had little to start with', in Thomas' opinion) that was his favorite. Yes, sometimes Lady Sybil's rebellions could be irksome (there times when he wanted to kiss the Dowager right on her wrinkled lips for scolding Lady Sybil into quieting down after a long rant) she was truly a kind young woman with a big heart and represented all that those of her standing should be. While Mr. Carson made Lady Mary to be a saint Lady Sybil could very well end up being a true angel on earth.

"Oh yes, how terrible of me!" Larry slurred, picking up his wine glass and nearly splashing Lady Edith with its contents. "I forgot that Sybs has suddenly gotten opinionated." He let out a boorish laugh even as everyone, especially his family, stared at him in horror.

Which is why, when he watched Larry Grey, the man that was a representation of everything the world hated and loathed about the aristocracy, continually bludgeon her with his words, it took all of Thomas' strength not to grab the man and toss him out.

"Might I make a suggestion? Shut up now before I render you unable to speak."

'Though I might not need to,' Thomas thought as Matthew Crawley stood up, eyes blazing and face twisted in rage.

"And might I make a sug-gestion of my own?" Larry Merton answered, rising on unsteady feet.

"Larry!" Lord Merton snarled. "Sit down now!"

But the young man didn't listen. "Know your place, you jumped up middle class piece of-"

Lord Grantham was on his feet in an instant, face turning red and then purple with rage. "How dare you! You come into my home and speak to my family, my heir, in that tone?"

Larry looked around, his brow furrowed in confusion, sweat dampening his face and brow. "Oh, come now… we all know… know… he's only hear because… Lady Grantham couldn't squirt out a male-"

And that was when he twisted and vomited on the floor.

"Heavens!" Lady Grantham cried out while Mr. Carson just stood there, shellshocked. William looked about, wondering what to do while Lady Mary and Lady Sybil stood and each took hold of Mr. Crawley's wrists, preventing him from taking a step forward. Lady Edith was stumbling away, Lord Merton catching her before she fell, while Lord Grantham's jaw just dropped as he tried to process what had happened. Timothy Grey was the only one to move to his brother's side, the older Grey boy gagging like a goat that had gotten hay stuck in its gullet. Thomas found it rather telling that Mrs. Crawley moved to Lord Merton's side rather than moving to assist; normally someone being ill would have seen her rush to show off her knowledge. Not with that bastard, though.

And the Dowager sat at the table, eyes wide before licking her lips. "Well… I suppose that has been the most pleasant thing to come out of his mouth all evening," she said as she pushed her plate away from her.

Timothy struggled to help his brother stand. "How much did you drink before we came here?" Thomas couldn't hear what Larry said but clearly it upset his brother. "Idiot," he hissed.

"Lord Grantham, I am… ashamed is not a strong enough word."

"It is not your fault, Lord Merton," Lord Grantham said and Thomas wondered if Lord Grantham was more upset over how Larry Grey had talked to Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley and Lady Grantham… or the damage to the dining room floor.

"Yes, but that does not ease my conscious." He turned and the old man glared at his second born. "Get him to the car… now."

Mrs. Crawley might have been mad but she was still a nurse and spoke up. "If he is ill perhaps he should wait here. We could call Dr. Clarkson…"

'Telling you don't want to treat him yourself,' Thomas thought as Lord Merton said, "No… I will not inconvenience you a moment longer. He can stick his head out the window for all I care." He nodded to his younger son who began to help his groaning sweaty drunken brother to the door. Larry let out a gurgle and wretched again, everyone hissing and moaning in disgust as the contents of his stomach splashed onto the floor. Thomas hurried over and, making a snap decision, grabbing the ice bucket and thrust it into Timmothy Grey's hands. The man nodded in thanks before getting his older brother to hold it close to his face, the sounds of his gagging growing softer as he moved away.

Mr. Carson finally woke up and snapped for William to get the Grey family's car around before glaring at Thomas.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"The ice bucket?" Mr. Carson shot back.

"You'd rather him leave a trail all the way to the door?" To punctuate that point they all heard Timothy Grey curse.

Mr. Carson's jaw worked before his shoulders slumped. "An understandable point… and a smart move, I admit." Mustering his resolve he turned to Lord Grantham. "Sir, I will go get the maids and have them… clean up." Lord Grantham waved Mr. Carson away, leaving Thomas the sole member of the staff in the room.

"I am truly sorry," Lord Merton said. "I will understand-"

Before the man could finish or Lord Grantham could say a word Mr. Crawley spoke up. "Sir, I know we only just met but I want to say that in the few hours you've been here you have been a fine guest and someone I wish to talk with again. I know you're Lady Mary's godfather and I would hate for that relationship to sour because of words said by your son when he clearly wasn't himself." Matthew moved around the table, careful not to step in the puddle Larry Grey had left behind. He extended his hand. "Please… do not let what happened here prevent you from coming to Downton again."

Lord Merton was startled by Mr. Crawley's words but managed a smile. "I thank you, Mr. Crawley. And if Lord Grantham will have me again-"

"Of course," his Lordship said. "I hope that we can forgive and forget what just transpired."

"Forgive, of course," the Dowager said. "Forget? Never."

Lord Merton, Mr. Crawley, and Lord Grantham winced at that before the three made their way out of the room, the ladies taking the opposite door so not to risk getting their dresses in the puddle of sick. Lady Grantham paused, asking Thomas to please begin clearing the table as none of them would be in the mood for food for the rest of the night. Normally Thomas might have been annoyed at the thought of cleaning on his own but after what had just happened he thought it a light price for the gossip he'd be able to share downstairs.

As the ladies filed out Thomas paused as he picked up Larry Grey's drinking glass, looking inside of it. The drunken buffoon had emptied it to the drop but what most interested him was the dusty white powder in the bottom. Any other servant would have thought nothing of it but it made Thomas stop. He remembered when he'd served as the Duke of Crowborough's valet during the family's London visit, when his tryst with Phillip had begun. The Duke had liked to talk afterwards and had once shared, sensing that Thomas was one for mischief, a favored prank of his. He'd asked Thomas if he remembered how Lord Burringham had suddenly seemed quite intoxicated and been forced to leave the party early. He'd then gleefully revealed to Thomas a bottle of little red pills and explained that by dropping one in a person's wine it would give them the appearance of being drunk. He'd had a good laugh at it and told Thomas that it was a game several young and powerful members of the upper class played on those they wanted to take down a peg.

Thomas stared at Larry Grey's glass, eyes riveted on the traces of red powder, and reached down to touch it with his finger when he heard someone clear their throat. Looking up he was startled to see Lady Sybil standing there, staring at him intently.

"Thomas?" she asked. "Please make sure that glass gets down to the kitchen maids so they might wash it quite thoroughly." He stared at her and felt his mouth open in shock with the little minx actually WINKED at him before hurrying away.

It seemed the Angel of Downton had some devil horns.

Thomas found himself grinning, shaking his head, as William came back in.

"What is it?" William asked.

"Nothing," Thomas said, keeping hold of Larry Grey's glass, mentally swearing to not let it go till he plopped it in the water himself. To himself he muttered, bemused, "No one would believe me if I told them."

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: So today's Plot Bunnies are actually going to be two, one for Downton and one for a show I got into recently. Let's start with the Downton one and this time we are going to do a bunny for Edith.

On Edith's birthday (I would put it either right before Series 1 began or right during) Edith gets a package in the post from an American lawyer. Inside she finds a letter that Cora's father wrote before he died along with a package. He states that in the case of his death he asked that this package be delivered to Cora's middle child on her birthday. He states that he too was a middle child and understand how hard it can be and to help her achieve all she desires he is leaving her to tool that helped him become so rich and powerful. Edith opens the package and is confused to find a journal with the words 'Pause Menu' stamped on it. Befuddled, she opens the journal… and the world around her freezes. She herself can't walk or sit up but she can flip through pages in the journal and when she closes it the world continues on. Opening the journal again she finds that there are several tabs: Player Stats, Bios, Inventory, Map, and Quest.

If it hasn't become clear to you yet, the journal makes it that Edith's life is like a RPG (Think more Persona/High School Simulators than Skyrim or Fallout) and the journal is, of course, the pause menu.

The idea of the story would be that Edith would use the journal to begin altering her life at Downton: going on quests, leveling up, gaining allies, so on. I'll detail first the different tabs and how I would make them work if I were writing it:

Players Stats would give Edith a basic understanding of herself, her level, her health, so on. It would also use the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. perk tree that Fallout has. Each part of S.P.E.C.I.A.L. would have the basic attributes that she could put points in as well as perks that she could gain as she increased her attributes. All states would have a cap of 20, if I were writing it. They would be:

Strength- How strong Edith is, physically as well as mentally and spiritually. Yes, maxing out points in strength would make her England's strongest woman but it would also make it that she wouldn't be hurt by insults, failures, and setbacks. It also affects how much she can carry in her inventory. Edith would start off at only 2 points. Perks would include different fighting styles (such as knowing how to wield a sword, how to hunt) increase her riding skills, and control her emotions (such as the perk 'Never Let'em See You Cry' which would allow her to control when she shed tears so she could be a steady rock in times of strife). Strength would be a fun one to max out in the story as imagine her being able to wrestle down freaking out soldiers who stay at Downton or saving Matthew by lifting the car off him.

Perception- How much of the world Edith notices. This would be tied to her senses and maxing out points would give her superhuman sight, hearing, so on. Edith would start off at a Level 5 for this. Perks would include being able to recreate any recipe just by tasting the food, being able to tune out conversations in a room to focus on only two people, a form of Assassin's Creed's Eagle Vision to let her identify friend from foe, unlock the ability to see other people's stats, so on. Perception would really make parties interesting as she would be able to listen in on things, spot dangers, and of course identify who can help her and who will hurt the family.

Endurance- How healthy Edith is. Her stamina and her ability to fight diseases would be linked to this and Edith would be shocked to learn that she has a 15 in this, her highest stat (remember, she never got sick and of all the Crawley girls she never had a problem with pregnancy). Perks would include rapid healing, unlimited stamina, and even being able to breathe underwater. This would be a big one for when the Spanish flu ravaged Downton as she could easily assist without fear of getting sick.

Charisma- Affects how people see Edith. Allows her to charm people, to successfully lie to them, and convince them to help her. She would have a level 3 for this (and be annoyed that Mary's Charisma is a level 18… explaining how she can be such a bitch yet everyone loves her). Perks would focus on her ability to lie, to convince people to take commands… but it would also include perks like Intimidate, where she could threaten lower level people and Barter for her to get better prices. Charisma would be a must for Edith to survive society.

Intelligence- How smart Edith is. Both book smarts and 'street smarts' as it were. Edith would have a level 10 in this. Perks would include foreign language (perfect French, german, so on), photographic memory, so on. Maxing out would truly make her a woman beyond her time, able to invent things years before they existed.

Agility- How Edith moves. Another high one, at around 12, this is how well she can dance, run, so on. It might not seem important but Agility would tie into other perks (for example, a high agility and a high intelligence would open up Fast Travel for her to instantly warp to locations) as well as offer stuff like lock picking. Maxing would make her able to easily scale the face of Downton or dodge any attack.

Luck- How Lucky Edith is. A low one of only 1 point (and that is only because she is the Earl's daughter), it would affect random chance events and also help with other stats. Perks she could unlock would be Random Ally (when in trouble another person could randomly come to her rescue), XP Bonus (gain triple XP for performing tasks) so on.

The next tab would be Bio and allow her to see anyone she's met or heard about and read what she knows about them. It would offer a picture and some backstory but as she leveled up and got certain perks she'd be able to see their stats, their secrets, what her connections are to her, so on.

Inventory should be obvious: Edith would have a magical Inventory Box that she can dump stuff in and it remains in subspace if she needs it. Her strength would mean she couldn't carry much but she could increase it to the point that, at max strength, she could have a car stored. Inventory would also let her see what bonuses her clothing and jewelry give her.

Map would of course be the map and with perks she could track people, find quests, and unlock fast travel to even London (and no one would question her being able to fast travel). Hell, imagine her maxing out Endurance and during World War 1, while looking at the map, she'd get a quest notification that Matthew is in danger. She would then quick travel to the battlefront, save him (and no one would bat an eye) and then quick travel back! The writer could go INSANE with Edith becoming the ultimate god character.

Finally the Quests would be how Edith gains points for leveling. The quest would list the name of the quest, basic outline, and what her next move should be. At Downton there would be a TON of them and she would also be able to make almost everyone living there a Quest Giver.

A few final notes for whoever decides to take this: I would love it if, like Skyrim, Edith is eventually the most important person in Downton. Every group that exists? She is the leader of. The Hospital Board. The military defers to her when the hospital is at Downton. Robert makes her captain of the cricket team. Matthew declares her his adviser and she will help decide how he runs Downton, so on.

Also, as I mentioned in inventory, there would have to be items that offer bonuses. Dresses that increase her charm, a hat that increases her intelligence, so on.

Finally, Save Point. In her Player Stat there would be a Save Mark and she can keep up to 3 save points at any time and go back to them as needed. So you could write a chapter where, let's say, Pamuk is caught with Mary but he goes mad with rage and kills Carson. Edith instantly activates the save point and she is back to before the hunt, able to try again.

Now, the other plot bunny is for the show Lucifer, which I have recently gotten into and it is a case of, once again, me wanting to read something but no one writing anything like it.

When Lucifer Morningstar awoke one more he thought things were odd. He wasn't for sure exactly what was wrong… it felt like she shouldn't be lying in the bed he was in but that had always been his bed. And when his daughter Trixie came in to make sure he got up to make them breakfast for a moment he found it odd that she called him dad. As he made breakfast for the two of them he got a call from his ex-wife Maze… a body had been found and while he couldn't put his finger on it he felt it odd that Maze was at a crime scene even though she was a cop like him. Lucifer though shrugged it off and made it to the scene of the crime just in time to see a bunch of men and women flocking around someone.

And he'd roll his eyes as his partner, Chloe Decker, who still claimed she was the Queen of Hell and the Devil Herself, arrives and cheerfully said hello to him.

The idea behind this story is that Lucifer would wake up one morning and the world had been flipped. He is now the normal human detective who is expected to be bland and boring and by the numbers and Chloe is the vamping, vain, egotistical Lady of Hell who runs a nightclub. Maze is no longer a demon but a human cop and his ex-wife and Trixie is their daughter, with Lucifer getting custody after Maze ran into some issues after Palmetto. Dan is the demon that Chloe brought with her from hell and who advocates kill first, ask questions later. Lucifer's therapist is Amenadiel Kannan and Chloe's big sister Linda keeps mentioning that their Mother demands Chloe return to her job.

As the story would go on Lucifer would slowly realize that something is SERIOUSLY wrong and eventually regain his memories, realizing that something has altered the world. But the question would become… does he want it to change back? Regaining his memories would allow his powers to return and he'd see that things happened a bit… differently… in this reality. For example, Uriel is their forensic guy while Chloe's 'sister', Ella, is still alive, as Chloe figured out how to stop her without killing her. Lucifer's mother is alive and well and isn't nearly so controlling and while his father is dead he would see they never had a falling out. On the other hand Chloe's father, Penelope!Goddess' husband, is dead and not causing problems. And while Lucifer loves his Chloe, this new Chloe is… interesting. She is open and free and willing to have fun. And when Lucifer would get back his powers it would be very interesting to have two devils who have no impulse control dealing with each other.

If I were writing it I'd make the cause of it be one of the Endless, an original character named Disorder who basically would function like Q from Star Trek or Anarchy from Justice League: The Second Chance. Disorder would have existed before God and Goddess and is the most powerful of the Endless siblings, which is why he never comes for family reunions. Think Chaos from Aladdin… a reality warper who just wants to have fun. I had envisions an entire series of stories with him as the Big Bad, causing changes to Lucifer's life such as changing Lucifer into a woman and Chloe into a man to see if that changed their relationship or creating a reality where Lucifer never rebelled and he encounters Chloe as Samael the Lightbringer. But I have enough on my plate!

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Robert said, puffing on a cigar, Matthew beside him with his own cigar in one hand and a brandy in the other. With the maids hard at work cleaning up the Disaster (as that is what Cousin Violet was calling it and Matthew thought it a fitting title) he and Robert had been forced to go to one of the smaller sitting rooms to enjoy their customary after-dinner drink. Carson was clearly unhappy about it, feeling the room hadn't been properly prepared, but Robert had waved him off, saying that a room with a touch of dust was better than… well, what Larry Grey had left them. So the two of them sat in overstuffed chairs, much like when they'd first met, enjoying good drinks and even better cigars. "You didn't deserve it."

"No, I did not," Matthew said, taking a long puff of his cigar. "Nor will I deserve it when it happens again." He held out his hand and smiled as Robert tried to correct him. "We both know it will happen again, Robert. While you have come to accept me as your heir there will be people that will hold it against me forever that I was born into the middle class."

"I'm ashamed to admit that I felt that way at first," Robert said, swirling his drink. "But when they get to know you they will see how wrong they are to think like that… just as I have."

"And that is all I can ask for," Matthew said. "I didn't come here thinking it would be some Victorian Romance novel where I am welcomed with open arms by all. This is more Mansfield Park than that." Robert hummed in agreement and the two lapsed into quiet. Matthew had meant what he'd said but he wasn't about to tell Robert that he was handling his time at Downton better than all expected because compared to the horrors of war the limp insults of aristocrats was nothing.

"Still, it was wrong of Larry Grey," Robert said. "I just wish I knew what compelled him to say those things."

"Alcohol," Matthew said with a smirk, though he knew that wasn't the real answer. He'd quickly recognized the symptoms, watching as Larry sweated up a storm and found his tongue wagging all too easily and remembering when he'd last seen that. The bastard had been laughing the last time he'd pulled that trick but this time he was the one on the receiving end. Matthew still had no idea how Sybil had managed to get those pills, let alone how she'd snuck them into his glass, but he knew she was the source of Larry's 'binging', taking her revenge for something he hadn't done yet. 'I suppose I should scold her for that… she drugged an innocent man, after all. The Larry Grey we encountered tonight was not the one that drugged poor Tom.' Matthew considered what he'd just thought and took another drink. 'Then again, he is a bloody prat.'

Sybil had been shocked when Matthew had told her his plan to subtly nudge Robert towards inviting the Greys to dine with them. She hadn't understood it and made her confusion known.

"Why would you ever want Larry in the same room as you again?" Sybil asked in a huff. "After what he did to Tom I never want to see him again!"

"But he hasn't done it, now has he?" Matthew asked.

"He will again, or worse," Sybil countered, setting her teacup down. They'd been having another one of their pleasant tea times (which in reality was a planning session for their work to alter history and make their lives better) when Matthew had brought up the Greys and caused Sybil's outburst. "You don't know him like I do."

"No, I suppose I don't. But the thing is that he isn't the one I'm interested in."

Sybil stared at him, her eyes narrowing and the skin around her nose crinkling in thought. "Lord Merton? Whatever for?"

"Did you know that Lord Merton, when he attended Eton, was friends with Allen Lothrop? They have remained in touch and he visits quite often."

"And who is Allen Lothrop and why would he matter?" Sybil asked.

Matthew smirked. "His proper title is Lieutenant-General Allen Lothrop and he currently oversees the contracts and deals the English military has with the suppliers of their weapons, uniforms, tanks, and other equipment. As you can imagine in about a year and a half he is going to become one of the most important figures in the war effort." He took a sip of tea, allowing Sybil to slowly consider what he'd just said.

"…he's the key to keeping you off the front, isn't he?"

"Indeed," Matthew said with a grin. "I met him, shortly before Mary became pregnant, and we had a rather fascinating conversation; one that is all the more interesting now that I stand at the beginning of the war and not at the end."

"And you plan to use that knowledge to keep yourself away from the front?"

"If I do this right I will remain in England for the entire war. Along with a few… select others."

"William?" Sybil asked.

"And Barrow. We know that Tom will be safe, with his heart, though I might see if I can get him in too, though I doubt it. He is bloody impossible at times when it comes to his convictions and even if what I have in mind won't require him to pick up a gun I imagine he'll still protest."

"I know… I married him after all," Sybil said with a soft laugh. "So… the price for saving William, keeping Thomas from being maimed, and you out of that wheelchair is dealing with Larry Grey?"

"I'm afraid so."

Sybil paused. "Was the wheelchair really that bad? It looked rather comfortable…"

Matthew laughed.

"I suppose too much drink is the answer but that isn't good enough for me," Robert stated, brow furrowed. "While I appreciate what you said to Lord Merton and commend you for it my generosity will only go so far. Larry Grey will not be welcomed back to Downton until he has apologized for his actions and I deem his words to be true."

"Then be prepared for a long wait," Matthew stated, "because I get the sense he is one that won't accept blame or show humility any time soon."

"Hmmm… you're right on that part. Still, I can't allow him to act like that without some sort of mea culpa. After all, from wine comes truth or whatever the saying is." Robert sighed, tapping the ashes of his cigar in the tray. "This will ruin Cora's plotting, to be sure."

"What do you mean?"

"She has it in her head to pair Sybil and Larry Grey together."

"You mean 'had', do you not?"

Robert laughed. "You don't know Cora that well if you think this will stop her. I'm sure she'll try and find some way to spin this so it appears not as bad as it is and she can start up all over again. Perhaps try and use Sybil's desire to help others to try and convince her that Larry needs her…"

"And you think Sybil will go along with this?" Matthew asked.

"I know she won't," Robert said with a dry chuckle. "I know everyone in this family thinks I'm blind and don't see what's going on in front of my nose and perhaps they are right but even I can see that Sybil will not marry someone she doesn't love and Larry Grey does not fit that bill."

"And yet Cousin Cora will still try?"

Robert nodded. "Of course. My wife can be rather stubborn when she wants to be."

"Like with the entail?" Matthew asked. He hated bringing it up, knowing it would only cause Robert pain, but he knew that until it was fully settled Mary would not be able to move past her bitterness and see the good in him. No matter how much time the two spent together and how the fractures from their first meeting healed she would always carry that sense of injustice until the issue of her believed inheritance was solved. Even though in this new version of their lives their relationship was better, what with them going on rides all throughout Downton and being able to find things to talk about that didn't include thinly veiled insults, Matthew could see it in her eyes that she still wondered about the money. Would it be her's? His? Things could never move on between them until that issue was settled and stability was introduced.

As Matthew had predicted Robert got a pained look on his face. "She is still going on about that?"

"Not as much as before," Matthew said. "Cousin Cora has been utterly polite… but Mary has let a hint slip through several times that Cousin Cora and Cousin Violet are still looking into it and hoping to find some way to separate the money from the estate."

"Foolishness," Robert muttered. "The law is the law, it is simple as that. They only prolong Mary's pain by keeping up on this rather than accepting the fact. Maybe, in some far flung future, we'll end up like the Americans and an heiress might be something possible but we must live in the here and now." He pounded his fist against the table only to then look at Matthew, an abashed look upon his features. "I'm sorry Matthew."

"It's quite alright," matthew said. "A show of emotion is hardly a sin."

"True but that isn't what I am apologizing for." Robert stood up and began to pace, his glass clutched in his hand like a child might hold a favorite toy. "They are being terribly unfair to you. All they think about is how this has changed things for Mary, how had she married Patrick she would have been a countess, which considering her reaction to his death I honestly don't know would have come to pass. I fear she was marrying Patrick for his title and this home and nothing more and I shudder to think what her life would have been like. I've seen too many people in my circle be reduced to bitterness because they sought only wealth." He sighed. "I made the same mistake, I admit, but was lucky that Cora and I found love. I don't think Mary would have done that with Patrick. Still, Cora and mama. They act as if that will never come to pass, that Mary will never get her title."

"When it very well could," Matthew added. 'Especially when we are married.'

"Exactly." Robert sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And they are so focused on Mary that they fail to remember she isn't the only one who has had her path altered. You have radically altered your life and your only reward is for them to plot against you. Worse, they fail to see that should they manage to rip this all away from it would be forcing you to put back together a livelihood we already forced you to blast apart."

Matthew found himself speechless. In the old timeline he'd also known that Robert saw him becoming heir as a benefit with not a single repercussion. It was a blessing and should be celebrated. But Robert had never shown any sign of understanding just how much Matthew had given up, how he'd thrown himself into the deep end of the pond and been left to sink or swim. That had been part of the reason he'd been so confrontational the last time, battling them tooth and claw over every little thing. Why he'd been so stubborn and so headstrong.

"Is something the matter?" Robert asked.

Matthew managed a smile. "Just… startled. I didn't realize that you felt that way."

Robert considered this. "Yes… I suppose it would be easy to image me thinking that it would be easy for you to go back to the way things were, to put back your life after we tore it apart. Believe it or not I do have a bit of understanding of how the world works."

"No, not that," Matthew said. "Though I do thank you. I meant more that I was surprised you recognized how this altered things for me… and sometimes not for the better."

"The thing of it is that at first I didn't. Even when you came here I didn't really realize it. But seeing how you've worked to fit us into your life while still trying to ease your way out of your old has shown me that your old life was just as complex as your new one and that it would be unfair to simply expect you to go back to it."

"I… appreciate that, Robert." Matthew smiled, mentally marveling over the changes he'd already made to his life in this timeline. 'Was that all it really took? For me not to be just a blockheaded prat for Robert to see a bit of reason?' His mother had always said one caught more flies with honey but now he was seeing proof of that before his very eyes. Where beforehand Robert hadn't fought the entail out of a sense of not wanting to rock the boat now he did so out of respect for Matthew. It was a wonderful feeling… and humbling. It showed just how wrong he had been the last time, when he'd been filled with youth and vinegar rather than vigor.

Robert reached over to pluck a new cigar out, pausing to run his hand over the box's hinged lid, a bemused smile on his face. "Have I told you how much I love this?" he asked.

"Only several times already since Christmas day," Matthew said. "I am glad I picked your gift out well."

Robert eyed him carefully. "And will you not tell me where you got it?"

"Haven't you a guess?" Matthew teased. It had become a game for the two of them since that luncheon on the 25th of December, when Robert had first unwrapped the beautifully crafted cigar box. It was simple yet elegant, making it perfect for their post-meal drinks and smokes, and Robert had cooed like it was a newly born babe the moment he saw it. He'd asked where he'd gotten it but Matthew had only teased that Robert had to guess its origins. Since then the man had thrown out half a dozen suggestions only for Matthew to shut each and every one of them down.

"I admit defeat," Robert said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I wave the white flag and ask that you be merciful."

"I suppose I could ask for something you love in return," Matthew teased. "Pharaoh?"

Robert blanched at that. "Don't even kid. I'd rather you take Cora." Matthew snorted at that. "Well?"

"The box came from Smithers."

Robert leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed in thought. "Smithers… isn't that the antique dealer in London? He's partnered with Burns, isn't he?"

"No. Rupert Smithers."

"…the woodcutter who lives on the outskirts of the village?"

"The same." Matthew took a drink, savoring the taste and Robert's shock. It was hard to tell which was better.

"He… he had this? How?"

"Had? No, of course he didn't, Robert." Matthew paused, letting his class perch close to his lip, enjoying the wait he was putting Robert through. It was an innocent bit of revenge for all the times the Robert of his original timeline had looked down his nose at Matthew's suggestions and ideas. "He made it."

"No!" Robert exclaimed, his words coming out in the same startled, shocked tone one would usually reserve for hearing of the sudden death of a family member or that they'd lost the family fortune (two things that Matthew hoped to prevent this time around). "But… but look at it! The craftsmanship! The careful inlaying here," he gestured at the front, where a detailed carving of a yellow lab in light wood stood out against the dark wood that made up the rest of the box, "that is the work of a master!"

"And it seems that Smithers is that master," Matthew said.

"I can't believe that the man known for chopping wood even in a blizzard could create something like this."

"Still waters run deep."

Robert paused, looking sideways at his drinking companion. "This isn't some sort of jest, is it? Lead me to think that the local woodcutter is some master craftsman and then surprise me with the truth later on after I've made myself into a fool?"

"While that would be clever I can't claim that," Matthew said, tapping the ashes from his cigar into the tray. "Look on the inside, lower right corner." Robert began to pull cigars out till the box was empty and held up close to his face. "That's his mark," Matthew said when Robert spotted the stylized R and S cut into the wood. "I know it's more traditional to place it somewhere easier to find but Smithers is the humble sort… likes to make sure a piece is known as his but doesn't need to broadcast it."

"I am shocked," Robert said after a moment, setting the box back on the table. "Simply shocked. The idea that such talent could be hiding here so close to Downton… to be hiding in our own village! It's something I would have never expected."

"You once told me that you didn't see Downton Abbey as a building. That I saw only a million bricks that may crumble, a thousand gutters and pipes that may block and leak, and stone that would crack in the frost. When you said it was your life's work I decided to take that to heart. But I am not you, Robert, I admit that. I can not find love in this home yet, mostly because it isn't my home." He paused. "Something I hope to not discover for many, many years."

"I suppose I can allow that," Robert said with a smirk, beginning the task of placing the cigars back in the box. "If the price for you not seeing it as a home is my own life I think that a fair trade."

Matthew chuckled and then continued. "But I knew there were other ways that I could come to love Downton. If not from the structure and the lands then by its people. You know that your daughters and I have been meeting often?"

"Indeed," Robert said. "There are times it feels like they talk more to you than they do to us. And I appreciate that. I had feared that you wouldn't want to meet with them, that you would see them as rivals of sorts, especially after Mary and you… well…"

"You can say it, Robert: we did not make the best first impression."

"For once you are being more diplomatic than I," Robert said, a smile tugging on his lips. "But since then you have treated my daughters like family." He paused, scoffing a little. "Better than family, when I think of some of our most distant relations."

"They've been helping me too. Mary and I have rode to nearly all the farms and Edith and Sybil have helped me make proper introductions all throughout town. Sybil was the one who introduced me to Smithers, actually, and Edith to Mrs. Taylor; she made the preserves I bought for Cousin Cora to go along with her gift."

Robert's eyes widened at that. "Mrs. Taylor? Truly? Cora raved over those preserves, would only allow me a taste before saying it was her gift and she didn't have to share."

"Almost everything I gave you all came from the village in some way or some form. As I learned about the people who call Downton home I came to respect them and their works… and I wanted to show you all a bit of what I experienced as well. I think, and I apologize if this comes off as rude, that you understand the breath of Downton but not its depth. You see the forest… I walk among the trees."

Robert just shook his head and laughed. "My dear boy, you have humbled me and educated me."

"I'm glad to hear that," Matthew said, leaning forward. This next part he knew would be the most dangerous part of his dance. Not just of the evening but for all his plans and goals. If he did it right he would set up the first cornerstone that would build up Downton so it might stand for another century. If he failed then he would face years of struggle as Robert and his poor investment drained away Cora's fortune… and there would be no Reggie Swire to bail them out this time. "You see, Robert… I had another motive for giving you all your gifts. A plan that, with your blessing, I'd like to set in motion."

Robert stood up and walked over to the wet bar, pouring himself another drink. "Crikey, this sounds rather intense, doesn't it?"

"Not so much intense as me fearing to overstep my bounds," Matthew admitted. "What I am going to suggest might seem radical to you and I don't wish to offend."

"Normally I hate the word radical but for once I'll be willing to give it a go. What do you have in mind?"

He let out a sigh. 'Well, I survived the Somme…' Bracing himself Matthew said, "I had Murray get me the financial records for Downton."

Robert froze, staring at him hard for several moments before his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I was about to get very angry when I realized that was completely within your right. Downton is to be yours one day and I have asked you to learn all about it. Just because it isn't how it was done in my day doesn't mean that was wrong." His jaw worked lightly before he added, "And to tell you the truth I wish I had done the same thing before my father passed." Matthew knew what Robert refused to say: Lord Patrick Crawley, Robert's father, had nearly ruined Downton in the 1880s with poor management of the estate and it had only been his passing and Cora's money that had saved the day. In fact that was, sadly, a recurring theme for Downton: it's Earls leaving it on the knife point and the next in line expected to fix things, only to drag it right back to the edge. "I suppose, from your tone, you found something disagreeable?"

"Not quite," Matthew said, choosing his words carefully. He remembered how Robert had reacted when he'd talked of his bad decisions and how he'd allowed the estate to come so close to ruin. He'd only survived that time because of Mary and his union; if he tried such a tactic at this point Robert would most likely have him shown the door. "More that I found myself believe you had made things more complex than they needed to be." He could see that Robert was confused and, though the words were like vinegar in his mouth, Matthew forced himself to say, "I believe your investment in the Canadian rail line was a smart move. The returns will secure Downton for several generations."

Robert puffed up a bit at that only to deflate as he remembered Matthew's earlier words. "If you agree with it why do you seem so put off?"

Matthew sighed. "Robert, what exactly is the plan? Spell it out for me, as simply as you can."

The Earl's brow furrowed. "The investment will garner to us a large amount of capital that we might use to secure Downton."

"And how will it secure it?"

"We'll be able to pay our staff, keep the estate in line, invest in improvements-"

"That is the key, right there," Matthew said, cutting him off. "Invest in Downton. That is the goal, is it not? To gain money to put into Downton so it might grow stronger?" Robert nodded his head. "I simply don't see why we don't do that in the first place."

Matthew watched as the older man's face filled with understand. "Ah. I noble idea, to be sure, but flawed, I'm sad to say. My father thought of doing the same thing and his grandfather before him. Both times it worked in the short run but in the long run the estate was left in danger. It simply can't support itself."

"That is where I disagree," Matthew said. "I looked into what your father did, as well as your great grandfather. They bought more land, purchased houses, built things like the new church… all well and good ideas but not quite what I have in mind." He leaned forward and tapped on the cigar box. "I believe that there is wealth to be found in Downton but it must be nurtured. Plant a seed in the ground and hope for the best and it may grow. Provide it with water and care and you stand a better chance of seeing a bloom. That is what I want to do here."

Robert looked at the cigar box. "Through the likes of Mr. Smithers?"

"And Mrs. Taylor and many of the other farmers and tenants. Downton is full of creative people who hold in their minds recipes and ideas that could explode upon the country and even the world but lack the resources and means to do so. Downton could do just that."

"I just don't… no," Robert shook his head. "No, you've clearly thought this over carefully and it would be unfair for me to dismiss it outright. So please, Matthew… if you were given full control of the estates finances, what would you do?"

Not since he'd led that final charge through No Man's Land had Matthew felt so scared and yet so daring at the same time. He knew this was the final plunge and that there would be no turning back this time. Steadying himself he made his pitch for the security of Downton; not just for Robert but for himself, for Mary, for George, and for all those that would come after him.

'If I am to be damned… let me be damned for what I truly believe in.'

"The first thing I would do is pull our investment in the rail line. I discussed it with Murray and within the agreement we set up there is the right to remove our money now with nothing lost. We gain nothing but it is better than losing a portion of it." 'Or all of it.' "I would then invest the bulk of it into several smaller investment opportunities that I have found. They are shorter, provide far less of a reward, but I would feel better know the money was here, in England. With all the whispers of tensions rising across Europe it would make me feel safer to know that the money was on native soil. While I believe the Canadians would never do anything to harm us I prefer to security of keeping it close and readily available."

When Robert nodded in agreement Matthew took the next step forward. "I'm not suggesting that we dive in head first without seeing how deep the pond is. If I'm wrong, and I well could be, I admit that, it would destroy Downton and leave us all in disgrace and ruin. Better to ease into it, like sliding into a warm bath rather than leaping into a cold pond." He set his cigar down and folded his hands, righting his fingers over his knuckles. "I also understand that this is all new to you. What I am suggesting is taking what generations have done, have set up, and altering it rather radically. That is something you, and the people Downton, will need time to get used to. I want to think of everyone when it comes to this; it does no good to secure Downton's future if it comes on the suffering of the tenants, even if that suffering is merely worry about the unknown."

"Well said," Robert stated, "and something I was about to bring up. So you want to start small with this… plan of yours?"

"Yes."

"And what exactly do you have in mind? Helping the farmers buy new equipment? New practices in raising crops?"

"Or animals," Matthew said. "The farms are large, Robert, and with our modern advances and families shrinking they are producing more but obtaining less of it. We also have an aging population… too much old blood, not enough new." He held up his hand. "I'm not saying there isn't a place for the old farmers and the older families but we need to attract new one as well. People who are willing to either reclaim family farms that have been allowed to go to seed or who have wanted to leave the cities and return to the ways of their forefathers but do not believe they could fit into the structure and system as it is now."

Robert mulled this over, taking a sip of brandy and letting it wash over his tongue before speaking. "As much as I wish to disagree with you… you're right. Worse, this is a problem that has been around far too long. Longer than you've been alive, even." The Earl of Grantham got a wistful smile on his face. "I remember when I was just a boy, maybe 10 or so, I once snuck out to the Weston family's orchard and gorged myself on cherries. Got the mother of all bellyaches afterwards and they didn't taste as sweet coming up as they did going down, but I was never afraid of getting in trouble. I could have stripped a tree bare and Mr. Weston wouldn't have cared; left more cherries to fall on the ground than he ever was able to gather up."

"And that is my point. The land is being mismanaged." Matthew remembered how Robert and Jarvis had reacted to that the last time and quickly moved to stem off any complaints. "Perhaps that isn't the right word. It isn't the fault of the farmers what is happening… they simply can't manage. Once you'd have families of 8, 9, 10 people who lived on a plot of land and worked from sun up to sun down. Now you have only families of 5 or 6 and soon it will be families of 3 and 4. They still manage to get the same yield, however, because our methods of growing have improved… just not our methods of gathering."

"So we work with the farmers to help them gather more."

"Or use the land in different ways. Plant different crops that reach maturity at different points, so that you are using all the land just at different times. Convert unneeded tree groves into grazing land for pigs and sheep." Matthew took a drink. "We provide the farmers with knowledge and assistance. With expert opinions. Try new methods of farming and use our wealth as a safety net for them. The cost of bringing in a man who understands the raising of sheep would be easily met with the money brought in by the animals that would never come from untilled fields."

Robert slowly began to nod. "Perhaps create some kind of failsafe that would bolster confidence in these untested ideas. If a farmer tries out one of our methods and it fails they know we will provide for them during the winter." He locked eyes with Matthew and he could see he was winning him over. "It allows us to move forward without leaving the risk and burden solely on their heads."

"Exactly. I'd also suggest that we make offers to farmers to… buy them out." He could see Robert sour slightly on this and Matthew once again moved to ease his fears. "There are farmers who are simply too old to continue the work. They have been good tenants but have earned a rest but can't do so as they don't have the resources to pay their rent. Meanwhile we have empty cottages that gather dust and no one to fill them. Why not make, as part of a deal to take over their farms, that they are provided for life with a cottage with no rent."

"Could we afford that?"

"We make no rent off of the them now. This way we'd receive farms that we could either rent out to new tenants or farm ourselves. The old tenants are able to retire with dignity and respect and we would be able to take over lands that they can't manage."

"…what if we also put in an agreement that would allow the farmer's family first right to reclaim the land, should a son or grandson wish to claim it?"

Matthew, thrilled Robert was getting on board, quickly agreed. 'He believes in legacies and the passing of land from one to another… it will be a small price to pay to get this mad scheme started'. Out loud he said, "But I want to do more than just help the farmers grow and gather more crops. I want to help them use their skills, the ones maybe only they know of, to help build this place into the envy of all other estates."

"You mean by providing them with capital?" Robert scoffed. "I don't know how I feel about us becoming a bank, issuing loans and such."

"That's not quite what I have in mind. Many of our tenants would be willing to try their hand at business but know they can't because they have no knowledge or skill in that area. It is one thing to be able to make the tastiest jams in all of England but how does one get them on store shops? While Mrs. Taylor's name means something in the village they don't know her in Manchester or London."

"And how do we correct that?" Robert asked.

"By giving her use of a name that does carry weight." Matthew held out his hands, gesturing around him.

Robert looked at him in startled shock. "Downton? You wish to turn Downton into some… cooperation?"

"Not a corporation," Matthew said firmly. He had known that this would be the biggest sticking point for Robert. He still viewed the Estate as if it were the middle ages, when merely existing was enough and to do anything else was seen as soiling its good name. Robert saw it as being 'middle class' to see wealth as only a means to gain more and had last time bucked and fought him up to his death over his plans. This time he had to get him on board right in the beginning. "Tell me… what wine did we have with the soup tonight?"

"…a white Burgundy. I believe Carson said it was an 87."

"And how did he know that was a good wine? What was his first clue?"

"Their reputation," Robert said, confused. "Wine from-" he paused, it suddenly occurring to him what Matthew was getting at. "Ah."

"The French have been producing the finest wines for ages and each bottle bears the name of the estate that grew it. There it isn't a shame if you produce something with you name on it; in fact it is seen as something being wrong with you if you cannot. Smaller estates, not belonging to the upper class, are bought and sold less for the houses that sit on the land and rather the fields that surround them." Matthew looked directly at Robert, silently urging him to listen, to understand what he was getting at and see the logic to it. "Why not do the same for Downton? Why not use our name to help those that work for us, who depend on us? We make agreements with people who wish to set up businesses that we will help them get their foot in the door and even allow them to use our name and coat of arms on their products. In return we will receive a percentage of their earnings. Dukes and Counts already fight to see who can serve a wine from a certain French estate… imagine them doing the same with Downton Cheese or Jams? Downton Pork and Beef and Lamb? To have the crowned Prince proudly tell a guest that the jewelry box he bought for his lady love is a Downton. It will elevate us and it will elevate those that live on these lands." He held out his arms once more. "The splendor of Downton. That is what all of this is about. I merely suggest that rather than seek to just increase it we use it to our own benefit."

Robert stood up again and began to pace. Matthew knew he needed time to process all this, to come to terms with it. In his first life he'd not even told him a quarter of these plans, sticking with just the small battle of doing better work with the farm lands. He'd hoped that, in time, he'd be able to slowly introduce new modern concepts to strength Downton all the more but now, in this second chance, he had both more time and less. More to set things up, to prepare for the days of war and peace to come, and less to stop all the money from draining away. They could not afford to be meek, not now, not with what Matthew knew was coming. Strength was their only option.

The Earl's first words had him spiraling into despair. "This sounds like a mad plan." Robert sighed. "But perhaps mad is what we need." Matthew felt his hope raise once more. "I like the idea of making Downton self-sufficient. And I also agree whole-heartedly that if we can help the tenants become successful in their ventures it will help us. All boats rise in a flood and all that."

"There is also the morale aspect," Matthew said, deciding to go in for the proverbial kill. "If we can help the tenants… shouldn't we? Isn't that what God would want? He has given us so much and this would allow us to pay it back, to help our fellow man have the opportunity to have a small taste of all we have?"

"…and once again I surrender to you," Robert said, moving to grasp the back of his chair. "I'll contact Murray in the morning to see about getting our money out of the rail line; we'll arrange something in the next month so that we can go over the investments you've spotted that would interest us. Use that time to select four tenants who you'd like to do business with… perhaps two farmers and two for your Downton Label idea. I'll give you a year to set it up before we determine if we should continue it all or call it a wash." Robert paused, considering his words. "I'm putting great faith in you, Matthew… this will be your mission. I will leave all control of those four tenants in your hands and your plan will live or die by your actions. Are you okay with that?"

"I understand completely and will work to prove your trust warranted." Matthew stood, fighting off a whoop of delight as he shook Robert's hand. With that verbal agreement he had taken the first step towards saving Downton.

Now all he had to do was ensure it worked.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And so we get another hint at what Matthew plans to do to avoid the front. It is something I clued onto early in the drafting of this story as a way Matthew could be part of the war but not on the front line.

We also see Matthew's grand plan to save Downton: use the fortune of Downton that went into the rail line to instead act as basically a private bank to support small businesses and help them grow with a cut of the profits while starting up their own businesses. It isn't the full extent of his plan but it is a strong start. The idea of using the Downton name came to me from, of all things, The Witcher 3. In the dlc Blood and Wine Geralt gets an estate and while the building is crumbling the point isn't the building itself but the wine it produces. The building may fall but the name of the estate carries the weight of the brand. I thought the same thing here for Downton. Only later did I see that another author (and I forget the name of the fic… I've mentioned it before as the one where Matthew and Sybil survived) did something similar.

Let it be said that I don't borrow things without acknowledging where I got them from. Matthew's line about being damned comes from Star Trek and Robert's line about cherries is from the Mark of Zorro.

And finally let's hit our Plot Bunny. This is one I came up with rather recently and wasn't in my original list of plot bunnies when I began adding them to the end of these chapters.

The bunny begins with a change: in 1853 the law was changed so that a woman could inherit the title and wealth of her family. Thus Mary, being eldest, would be able to be the Countess of Downton without marrying anyone.

With this in mind, when Mary was a little girl, a few months after Sybil was born, Robert, Cora, and Violet went on a trip to the Highlands on their own to visit Shrimpie. Sadly, their was a fire at Duneagle and all three died in the blaze. Murray would arrive a week after the news with Robert's will and to the shock of all it would be revealed that Robert had named, of all people, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes as Mary, Edith, and Sybil's guardians until Mary came of age. Carson and Hughes would of course be stunned and frightened of the responsibility but the staff with would rally around them.

As time went on Mary, Edith, and Sybil, raised in such a way, would begin to blur the line between Downstairs and Upstairs until, by the time Mary was a teenager, she saw them all as family. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were her father and mother. Mrs. Patmore was Aunt Patmore. Servants like Anna and Gwen were treated like friends and imagine Thomas' shock when, on his first day, Sybil would proclaim him her new friend and Carson would remind Sybil that Thomas needed to get his work done… then he could play. Most shocking of all for new members of the staff would be that eventually the girls would just dine with the servants, treating Downton like a massive extended family.

We would see radical changes to the characters. Mary would be raised by Carson and Mrs. Hughes (who would end up together much earlier, pushed by Mary herself to marry) and thus while remaining like the Mary we know also have a deep understanding for the working man and be more down to earth. Edith and Mrs. Patmore in turn would bond with Edith seeing the woman as her second mother and dreaming of becoming a chef. And Sybil would bond with all the servants to the point that she would help them clean the house and no one would bat an eye.

When we would get to what would be Season 1 the drama would come from Patrick and James. They would arrive and, seeing how Mary and her sisters were so friendly and loving with the staff, feel that they had brought disgrace to Downton and begin a legal battle to rip Downton from Mary. Mary though wouldn't go down without a fight and would hire a certain up and coming lawyer to defend her.

Where the story goes from there would be up to the author. But I think showing Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore, and the rest of the staff being a second family to Mary and her sisters would be a ton of fun and heartwarming moments.

Chapter Text

"Are you ready for the hunt today, sir?" Molesley asked as he lathered Matthew's face with the white, warm shaving cream. It always made Matthew smirk when people found out that Molesley, the valet who could become so flustered by the slightest thing, gave the smoothest shaves in all of England. In his day to day life the man could be startled and shocked (even now that he'd never lost the confidence Matthew had stolen from him) but when he was on the job, and especially when he had a razor in his hands, his nerves were as steely as his blade. Robert had once expressed doubt when Matthew had told him such and he'd told the Earl to give Molesley a try.

Matthew was still unsure if Robert had been joking when he'd suggested hours later, still rubbing his smooth cheek, that they might consider swapping valets.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Matthew said as Molesley checked the razor for sharpness. "Truth be told, I'm doing it more to keep up appearances than the thrill of the hunt, as it were."

Molesley frowned at that as he began to swipe the razor along Matthew's right check. "I thought you liked hunting. You've been working with the horses up at the big house to make sure you have a steady hand for months now. I thought you were rather keen on the day."

"I think I'll rather enjoy hunting," Matthew said, mentally reminding himself that at this point in his life he'd never been hunting before. "I just don't see the thrill of the fox hunt, that's all." He paused, allowing Molesley to perform a few more passes with his razor before speaking again. "In all actuality there is so little I do. The dogs do all the work… I just sit on a horse, dressed in a silly red jacket, and then proclaim it all a 'jolly good show' even if nothing happens. I'd rather be bird hunting, as that at least sees me walking about. Perhaps stalking after a buck? But fox hunting seems like it is a lot of pomp for doing so little."

"Ah," Molesley said, motioning for Matthew to lift his chin so he could get along his neck. "So you'd prefer to be a bit more proactive. Chase the prey rather than let it be brought back to you."

"Yes," Matthew murmured, stilling the conversation until Molesley had finally finished with the trim. He took the warm towel his valet offered and patted his face while the other man got out a bottle of lotion, the strong smell that was almost medicinal in quality but that everyone, even himself, would label as a good clean scent filling the room as Molesley gathered a bit in his palms before lightly working it over Matthew's cheeks and neck. "This isn't a hunt; it's a horse ride with a lot of barking. I want to do some real hunting! Actually have a gun in my hand instead of a mug of drink and a riding crop!"

"I can see that," Molesley said as Matthew stood up, ready for his valet to help him get on the stupid jacket that made up the uniform of the day. Honestly Matthew hated the damn thing and wished he'd never have bought it but he wanted to put on a better show than he had the last time when he'd completely bowed out of the hunt. At the time he hadn't wanted to be put on show, treated like a new painting that Robert wanted to unveil. He'd also not wanted to go out with Mary watching him; not after her snide remarks about him not being able to hunt. The last thing he'd wanted was for her to see how right she truly was. But now he saw that skipping the hunt had only reinforced everyone's opinions that he wasn't quite… right… to be the future earl. Only a few of the upper class didn't hunt and they were seen as being strange and a bit mad by those that viewed the scorning of tradition as a cardinal sin. It had also led Edith on, with his act of kindness making her believe that she had a chance of him taking notice of her. She'd seen it as the first step in courtship while Matthew had seen it as a way to avoid Downton and Mary's smug face as she rode on Diamond and joined Mr. Napier and the Turkish prick (that would forever be his title in Matthew's head) in their silly little play hunt.

He had fixed part of that problem already, having made clear to Edith before the holidays where his feelings for her lay and the two had begun to build what Matthew hoped would be a strong friendship on that foundation. It helped that Sybil had been there to guide Edith in the right direction, once Matthew had told her all about her sister's failed attempt to woe him in the previous lifetime. And today he would set about fixing the second part by making a proper showing at the fox hunt. He'd wear the silly outfit and ride on his horse watching the hounds do all the work and pretend it was all oh-so-exciting.

No matter how much he didn't want to do it.

"If we are to hunt then let it be a true hunt," Matthew complained as Molesley ran his brush over the jacket's shoulders. "I want to be in the grass, stalking some true game. Let me match my wits against theirs, their skill against my own. I want to feel my heart race and the tension build. For God's sake, at the very least let me carry a gun!"

"I don't know how fun that would be for the likes of Lady Crawley," Molesley commented. "She is joining you, is she not?"

"Yes," Matthew conceded. "Still, that shows how silly this entire hunt is. It is a chance for her to wear a new outfit and ride sidesaddle. We might as well stay on Downton's grounds. We could all just sit down and drink tea and clap as she performs tricks." Matthew shut his eyes and centered himself. He knew that anger would do no good; that had always been his mistake, back in the last time line: letting his temper get the better of him. His frustrations would boil over and when he should react with calm and carefully thought-out words he'd instead lash out and say something he'd instantly regret but the damage would already be done. "I'm sorry, Molesley. I shouldn't talk like that in front of you."

"It's all right, sir," the valet said, putting his brush away and motioning for Matthew to sit so he could help tug on his boots. Technically he should have had them on before he put on the bloody crimson jacket but the things made his arches ache so bad that if he could have gone barefoot all the way up to the Abbey instead of wearing them he would. "I take it as a sign of how relaxed you are in my company. It shows I've done something right."

"You've done more than just 'something', Molesley, You've been a godsend, keeping me from putting my foot in it a thousand times."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Molesley said humbly, flashing a flustered smile as he grabbed Matthew' black hunting boots. "You've done rather well for yourself. I think you would have managed just fine without me."

"With the large things, perhaps, but there are always-" Matthew grunted as Molesley twisted his foot to force the boot on, "-little things that can cause problems, that can snowball into major issues. You've helped me steer clear of those."

"Well… thank you, though I'm not sure I deserve the praise," Molesley stated. "Do you know who else will be joining the hunt?"

"Lady Mary, of course. She loves all sorts of hunting but this is one of the few where she is on near equal footing as the men so it is her favorite. A few men from the neighboring estates. Not the Skeltons, as they aren't fans of hunting or at least the head of the family isn't. Nor the Greys… we invited Lord Merton but his sons, naturally…"

"Oh yes," Molesley said with a quick nod as he got the other boot firmly in place on Matthew's already-aching foot. "I imagine that we won't be seeing much of the Grey sons around Downton any time soon. Better for their health"

"Better for their health?" Matthew asked

"Well… a fox hunt involves some spirits and then riding a horse which is known for not being that slow or steady…"

Matthew chuckled. "Ah, yes. Wouldn't do for Larry Grey to become sick during the hunt… or on the fox." Molesley let out a snort at that before containing himself and Matthew shook his head. "Is there anyone that likes that man?"

"Himself?" Molesley asked.

"Touché." Matthew inspected himself in the mirror. "Lady Mary also convinced them to invite a Mr. Evelyn Napier."

"I don't think I'm familiar with him."

"He's the son of Viscount Branksome, I believe," Matthew said, pretending he hadn't researched the man or the prick and learned so much about them that he could have written their biographies. "If Edith is to be believed the two of them have been corresponding."

"Ah, that makes more sense then. A way to allow her family to meet the gentlemen before they formalize any relationship."

Matthew bit his tongue to keep from muttering about how there would be no formalizing of any relationships with other men when it came to Mary so long as he was around. Instead he added, "From what I hear it won't be the stuff of romances Lady Marry was hoping for; it seems the Hon. Mr. Napier is bringing a guest."

"Oh?" Molesley asked.

"Yes," Matthew said, forcing himself to keep his voice casual despite the rage he felt. He sometimes wished Sybil hadn't said a word of what she suspected had actually occurred between Mary and the Turkish Prick… and what Mary had failed to admit even to herself. It made it all the harder to play the game. Bad enough that he'd thought his wife would fancy the turk in front of him. To know how he'd violated her… Matthew forces the rage down, promising the inferno in his heart that soon enough he will feed it the Prick's blood. "A Turkish diplomat. Kemal Pamuk."

"My word. Now that is a tongue tangler if I ever heard one," Molesley said, eyebrows raised to the near top of his head. He shook his head and said in near exasperation, "I find it so hard to take foreigners seriously when they have names like that. Makes them sound rather silly, doesn't it? 'Kemal Pamuk'. Feels like I have jam in my mouth."

Matthew smirked. "I suppose they might say the same about us and our names."

"But at least our names sound normal," Molesley said, missing Matthew's point completely. "Matthew, Joseph, Peter… those names are common, simple."

"And then you have a man named Evelyn," Matthew pointed out.

"…well, still better than 'Kemal'. I'd rather be called Elizabeth than that."

"I'll remember that!" Matthew said with a laugh before rolling his shoulders and turning his back to the mirror. "Well, do I look like a proper little hunter?"

"Like you stepped out of a picture book, sir," Molesley said, handing him his hat. "And you're sure that you'll be staying at the big house tonight?"

"Indeed. I imagine the dinner afterwards will be a long one and I know there is talk of a rather elegant breakfast in the morning so I thought it best to just spend the night. I already let Carson know I'll be needing William's help. He'll be a poor replacement for you but we'll manage."

"I don't mind coming up to the house."

"But I do," Matthew said earnestly. "It won't do either of us any good if you are half asleep from walking up and down from the house. Better for William to attend me tonight, you get a decent night's rest, and then be able to come tomorrow morning to assist me before we both walk back together. Besides, I'm sure my mother will return tonight and I'd feel better if you were here, Molesley. If I can't be here to protect here then I want you ready."

"Well… of course, sir. I certainly understand." Molesley puffed out his chest a bit before hurrying over to Matthew's dresser. "Then I think while you're off I'll begin preparations myself to get everything you might need settled. I'm thinking I'll bring both sets of tails, just in case. Wouldn't do to have something happen to one and we are left in a lurch. I can bring them up while you hunt and be back here to have supper with Mrs. Bird."

"Smart thinking with both sets. Might end up in black tie," Matthew said, remembering fondly the disastrous dinner when Alfred had burned his jacket and Robert's shirts had disappeared.

The valet shuddered. "Heaven help us. Yes, the regular and the backup. And a few other changes for the morning, in case I am delayed." He paused, considering a few things quietly to himself before nodding. "I believe I will treat this as if you were off to London for 3 days."

"No need to go to that much trouble-"

"No trouble at all. In fact it prevents trouble. I'd rather lug the stuff up there and not need it than to risk not having the shirt or socks I need. I'll head up while you're on the hunt and have Mr. Carson show me where you'll be staying for the night. That will give me time to unpack and make sure everything is organized."

"Well, I trust your judgment and lay myself in your steady hands." Matthew put on his hat and scoffed in good humor. "But truthfully I'd rather send you to the hunt and I have me pack."

"Not sure that would be a good idea."

"Oh, I don't know… maybe Lady Mary would fall for you."

Molesley blushed and blustered at that while Matthew merely grinned and headed out, ready to make the long walk to the house…

…and the Turkish Prick.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"I still don't know about this."

Mary glanced over at Papa, who was watching as the horses snorted and the hounds swirled about like water draining from a foamy bath. Lynch was doing his best to keep the animals under control but when one had that many hounds it became a near impossibility to get them to all behave. As such the hunters and their mounts were left shifting, trying to avoid the canines that, honestly, knew just how close to get without truly getting in the way. Mary watched him grimace as one of the dogs leapt up onto Thomas as he was attempting to bring a drink to one of the riders; to his credit he didn't even flinch but Mary could tell that this was not a fun time for any of the footmen. She knew that her father would be having a word with Carson to see about giving Thomas and William a bit of extra time off once this was all done, in favor for their steady nerves in the face of barking dogs and nervous horses. That was his way, after all; while Carson, Mary knew, thought all duties were just that papa saw these situations as being above and beyond the call of duty and sought to reward steady hands.

While the footmen were feeling ill-of-ease, even if they didn't show it, Mary was feeling rather delighted about the outing at hand. There were so many things that she, as a woman, was simply not allowed to take part in. It drove her mad to know that if she had been born a boy her papa would be involving her in so many more events and rituals of the estate, preparing her for the day when it would be hers to guide. Even on most hunts she was little more than a source of cheer, expected to follow around this man or that and offering encouraging words and clap like a brainless beauty whenever they managed to take out a bird. The fox hunt though was different. Here she was on equal footing with everyone else. She rode with them, dressed like them, drank with them (though never as much even though she knew she could, in the words of her American grandmother, 'drink them all under the table'), and celebrated a successful hunt with them. It was one of the rare activities where she could forget that she was seen as the disappointment because of her gender and was merely Lord Grantham's eldest child.

Which was why she didn't like her father's tone when he spoke of his worry.

"Whatever do you mean, papa?" she asked him, glancing over at him; he wore his normal day suit and not a red jacket and crisp black trousers nor even a black outfit to match her own. The greatest irony was that while she loved the fox hunt and saw it as one of the few things she could do with her father in recent years he had found excuse after excuse not to participate. It wasn't anything to do with her, of course, she realized that. It was more that her father didn't actually enjoy hunting. Oh, he liked parts of it: the playing with the dogs, the gathering outside to have a meal (though with fine china and servants, of course; this wasn't the African bush), the chatting with old friends, the strolls through nature… but the actual raising of a gun and killing an animal? That he could do without. Mary had the suspicion that if her father could have had all the trappings of a hunt without actually hunting a single thing he'd throw such parties every week.

Her father screwed up his face a little as he watched several of their friends chatting to themselves. "I fear that this isn't the right way to go about truly introducing Matthew to everyone. And yes, I know that we've held plenty of dinners but this is Downton's first large event since Matthew came here and it should be a chance for him to truly shine. Making him hunt seems rather cruel."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Mary said with a slight smile. "I think it is rather smart to make him dive in headfirst. It is easy to pretend to be one of us when you are at a dinner table and can rely upon others to cover up your faults but the fox hunt will force him to show once and for all if he can show any progress in developing himself or if we are stuck with a country lawyer bumbling about."

"You rather make him sound like a dog we are taking to show," her father said in a huffy tone. "You do realize that we are supposed to be helping Matthew, don't you? Downton and him and linked; if one sinks so does the other."

"Then let us hope that he learns to swim rather quickly."

Her papa muttered to himself before stating, "I suppose it is a good sign that he wanted to participate at all. I had worried he'd find a reason to duck out at the last minute but he's approached this with an open mind."

"Yes, he has," Mary admitted. That had surprised her. She'd thought for sure that as the time grew closer to the big event that Cousin Matthew would find some reason or another to avoid the whole thing. She'd taken a bit of devious pleasure in describing all he would encounter and had been disappointed when he didn't flinch or falter in his commitment to participate. She had felt a touch bad at teasing him so but whenever her nerves got the better of her she looked at Downton and reminded herself that this was her home and he was the man trying to steal it away. That always serves to strengthen her resolve.

Her father's voice cut through her thoughts. "Though I suppose you are partially to thank for his willingness to be a part of this."

"I.. I don't know about that," Mary said, hating out her voice faltered and sputtered. "He is still a poor hand when it comes to Mercury."

"Oh, he selected a horse then?" papa asked and Mary bit down her annoyance at his pleased tone. Her father had been nudging Matthew to select a horse from their stable to call his own, thinking it would make a wonderful gift.

"No, he has not," Mary said, only to drop her voice and mumble, "I… selected it for… him." She jutted her chin out and added, "But only because I was afraid he'd ruin all the horses with his utter inability to ride. This way only one is scarred for life." She wondered if her father would buy that excuse and from the way he was smiling it was clear he wasn't.

The truth was that what had started out as a chore for Mary had actually become a touch… enjoyable. Not that she'd ever use that word, oh no. Not at all. But riding with Matthew was no longer some painful task that she had to take on out of duty, like Hercules performing his 12 Labors. He'd been polite with her suggestions but also knew how not to speak to her in such a way that he came off as a brainless cretin who meekly did exactly what she commanded. He would follow along but also question and probe why she made such suggestions and take in her answers and absorb them into his mind. And as he took in her suggestions there was less need for her to direct him. That had led to some painfully awkward and silent moments until Matthew had begun to ask her about her childhood, for he wanted to know just how different growing up at Downton had been compared to her own upbringing. Mary had been happy to tell him all about her wonderful and privileged upbringing (for she was still a touch bitter over his comment about how the middle class was so much better than her and her kind) and how wondrous it truly was. Of course that had meant learning about his own childhood, for she couldn't make him feel as if his youth was wanting when compared to her own if she didn't know what life had been like for him growing up.

'And thankfully he manages to make such tales at least interesting,' she thought to herself as she watched Lynch try and get the dogs under control. 'Too many people would have made their tales boring affairs that would have seen me falling asleep and slipping off Diamond's saddle but Matthew somehow made growing up in Manchester of places sound interesting!' She chuckled to herself. 'And it has given me plenty of gossip that would make many here salivate.' Mary paused, lips pursed in thought as she considered why she hadn't spoken to anyone yet about Matthew's tales of childhood embarrassment. 'I suppose it is because I know he has material about myself that he might use to blackmail me.'

Why she'd told him about the day when she was five and she'd decided she was going to be a footman and convinced Mrs. Hughes to help her make a tiny set of livery so she could serve Mama and Papa in the drawing room she'd never know.

'It was because he told me about how he went through his cowboy phase and used Cousin Isobel's stockings as a lasso.'

"What's so funny?" papa asked, nudging her.

Mary quickly wiped the smile off her face. "Nothing!" she stifled a chuckle (which she wanted to call malicious and full of evil intent but even she knew that was a lie). "Nothing at all."

"Hmmm," her father said, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. "Why do I suddenly have the terrible feeling that the rest of my life will be filled with women plotting all about me but whenever I ask them what they are doing they will say 'nothing at all'?" Mary opened her mouth to respond only to snap it shut when he father pointed out a figure coming towards them. "Isn't that the chap that you and your mother were keen on inviting?"

"Evelyn Napier, papa, and Mama more than me, to be honest," Mary stated. When her father glanced at her she let out a small sigh. "I was corresponding with him but I fear what mama is hoping to be something of a fairy tale has turned into a story from the Strand that tapered off without a true ending."

"And why is that?" her father asked and Mary found it odd that he didn't sound disappointed. She'd thought for sure that he'd mourn the fact that she'd turned her nose up on another potential match. But instead he discussed her failure to find a husband like one would converse about the weather. It made her both glad that she was no longer seen as a white elephant that papa was desperate to offload and mortified at the hint that her family was already coming to accept her as the spinster that never married and folded dresses for her sisters.

She didn't voice her concerns, however. It wouldn't be proper to tell her father how his mild words had sent her heart fluttering with both fear and delight. That would be positively… American. Instead she merely stated, in her most aloof tone, "I fear I mistook the interest in the new for a spark of something move."

'And because he wasn't Matthew!' a traitorous little voice in her head sang. It was a voice that had been growing in volume over the last few weeks and was annoying her to no end.

"And there is no chance that you might be wrong? You know sometimes men and women-" Papa shifted and Mary smirked slightly; it was always amusing to see how flustered he got when it came to discussing anything concerning the connection between the genders with her or her sisters. He'd get all blustery and sputtery, like Carson would if he found spots on the silverware. When she'd been younger she'd once paid Sybil a few coins to walk up to their father and, in her most innocent voice, ask where babies came from. Mary had never known a human face could turn so many colors in such rapid succession. "Well, you know… sometimes they start one way and then believe… that… the thing is-"

"Peace, papa, peace," Mary said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "And yes, I am afraid that I'm not wrong. In order to have a happy life with someone I believe they must find themselves able to talk with the person they entangle themselves with. Like you and mama."

Her father smiled at that. "Yes, that is true. And you and Mr. Napier?"

"At first I thought it possible but as time has gone on I have found that it is harder and harder to write to him."

'Because he isn't Matthew!' the voice called out again, mocking her. She mentally gave the voice a shake before continuing.

"It is nothing he has done and I do hope we can be friends but I don't want to lead him on. Mama thinks that something might come out of it this weekend but I have my doubts."

"You'll wait till the end of everything before telling him though, right? I'd hate to ruin the hunt with a Shakespearian drama performance."

"Do not worry, I'll choose my moment well. Besides, it may not matter… he invited a friend to join him, after all, so romance might not even be on his mind."

Her father didn't get a chance to comment as by then Evelyn approached them and warmly greeted them both, shaking papa's hand before taking Mary's own and kissing it gently. Mary smiled politely though she did feel a twinge of disappointment that there were no butterflies in her stomach nor fireworks going off like they wrote about in all the tales of romance. Instead she was acutely aware that she now had Evelyn Napier's saliva on her knuckles. Looking him over as he chatted with her father Mary was disappointed in how he looked, wondering how it was that he could wear such a fetching fox hunt outfit and somehow look so… plain. He wasn't ugly, by any standards, but there wasn't anything that she could latch onto that would make her heart tremble. Instead he merely looked as he always did, no different even dressed up.

She found herself all the more disappointed.

"I must thank you for allowing me to come… and allowing me to bring Mr. Pamuk," Evelyn said politely.

"Where is your friend?" her father asked, scanning the grounds as Evelyn moved to assist Mary onto Diamond. Had she been the type of woman to get all a flutter over the smallest of gestures she'd have blushed from his thoughtful nature; instead she found herself annoyed that he believed that she needed his help.

But rather than say this she focused on her father. "Oh papa, if he were here he would be easy to spot!" Mary turned to Evelyn and smiled cheerfully. "Isn't that right? A short little man with greased back hair and a thin black moustache and a wide smile?"

Evelyn turned as a rider came around the corner of the house and approached them atop his horse, leading the mare into a steady trot. "Not quite that…" he said dryly.

It wasn't only Evelyn's words that were dry, as Mary suddenly found herself quite parched as she stared at Mr. Kemal Pamuk.

It wasn't one single thing about him that made her stop in stare in shock. It was rather his entire being; every little piece adding up to one stunning, jaw dropping form that left her gaping like a dullard unable to understand even the most basic of equations. She gripped the pommel of her saddle tightly as her mind was suddenly filled with adventures in foreign lands and breathless escapades that left her panting and laughing with thrill and excitement. In those few moments Lady Mary Crawley saw in Kemal Pamuk a life of danger and exhilaration. She saw herself swept away from the home she'd always known and journeying to far flung lands and meeting exotic new people and experiencing things that no one in her family, maybe no English woman in all of recorded history, had ever experienced. She saw her and Mr. Pamuk holding hands as they fled from dark dangers, laughing as they ran from death and once more proved themselves the betters of the Reaper. A life that was never boring and never what she could hope to predict. One that left her breathless and wanting for more.

"Lady Mary Crawley, I presume?"

"You presume right," Mary said, hoping her voice didn't actually sound as squeaky to everyone else as it did to her. As Kemal went on about having to change in a shed she found herself unable to actually hear the words he was saying as his smooth voice flowed over her like a beautiful piece of music. Finally, realizing that he was waiting for her to actually say something, she managed to sputter out, "Well, you don't look disheveled to me."

"Is this everyone?" Evelyn asked politely.

"Not quite," papa said before Mary could speak up. "We are still waiting for Matthew."

"Ah yes, your new heir," Evelyn said with a slight smile. "I missed him when we saw each other in November. I've been looking forward to meeting him." He glanced over at Mary, surprising her when he said, "Everyone is quite interested to see him… he has become quite the talk at the parties I've attended."

"Is that so?" Mary asked.

"I hope nothing too dreadful," her father said.

"Quite the opposite, I'll admit," Evelyn said, steadying his horse when one of the dogs got to close and startled it. "Word has spread, as it always does, of this mysterious lawyer you've found who acts as if he were born into our society rather than the middle class. Many of the men wish to see if the legends are true about him-"

"Legends," Mary said with surprise, "don't let him hear you say that! Will give him a swollen head." In the back of her mind though she found it odd to consider that people were telling stories about Matthew… and in a positive light as well.

"-and the women… well, far be it for me to gossip, Lord Grantham, but you shouldn't fear about his dance card should he join you all for a Season."

Her father puffed up at that, as if it were him that Evelyn had complimented, but Mary merely rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid they are in for a disappointment, then. Cousin Matthew is-"

"My word!" her father exclaimed and Mary turned, as did most of them men readying for the hunt, and watched as Matthew rode towards them at a full gallop, handling Mercury like a man born in the saddle, easily moving her along the yard and around the milling dogs without blinking an eye. He just as deftly brought the horse to a stop before them, looking about him with a humble smile as the rest of the hunting party stared at him in startled surprise.

"Sorry I'm late," Matthew said, adjusting his red jacket which, Mary dimly realized, fit him perfectly and let her see his lean, trim body despite the many layers.

"Now that was an entrance," someone said to Mary's right and Matthew blushed a bit as the gathered men chortled, their laughter breaking up their surprise that the middle class lawyer from Manchester could ride like the best of them.

"My deepest apologizes," Matthew said, adjusting his top hat before stroking Mercury's mane. "I was making my way here from the Village when one of the baker's assistance was nearly run over by a carriage. She dropped her basket and was in such a sobbing state that I took her back to her employer and explained what happened. It didn't feel right for the poor girl to be blamed for the acts of a fool. I insisted on writing a note to pay for what was lost and by the time it was all settled I saw I was dreadfully late."

"A rider and a hero all in one package," Evelyn said, extending his hand. "The tales I've heard of you seem to be true, Mr. Crawley. Evelyn Napier."

"Nice to meet you," Matthew said, turning his horse to talk to Mary's father, completely missing Mr. Pamuk extending his hand to greet him.

Mary didn't hear what Matthew said to her father. Instead she had another vision, only this time it was of Matthew… and what life would be like with him. She saw herself as Countess of Downton, hosting parties and discussing matters of the estate and watching as her own sons and daughters grew up and experienced life for their own. Since she had met him she'd seen Matthew as a bother, the pretender to the throne who was seeking to take what belonged to her and acting like he belonged when she knew he did not. But now, seeing him ride and mingle like everyone else, she was struck that, had she met him at a party and only known him by his title… she would have talked with him. Danced with him.

Fallen for him.

Much as it had been with Pamuk there was no one thing that triggered it. Instead it was as if suddenly her eyes had been opened and she saw all of him at once and the annoying, mocking voice in her head crowed in victory as she realized the truth. It wasn't that she was the only one who saw Cousin Matthew for what he truly was… it was that she was the only one who hadn't been able to move past him being middle class to realize that what he had once been no longer mattered because he was something else now. Something amazing. Where Kemal Pamuk offered something new and strange and enticing Matthew offered something stable and strong. Kemal was the daring adventure one went on when they were bored; Matthew was the bed one longed to return to, that one questioned why they'd ever left it in the first place.

"Are you ready to go, Lady Mary?"

She turned to stare at Evelyn… and saw a life of them sitting across from each other, reading their separate papers, Evelyn wondering who they knew in Larchmount until she reminded him of her sister and then he'd ask her how Sybil was doing. And then Mary and he would return to their papers and wait for themselves to get fat in their old age.

"Are you quite alright?" Matthew said, touching her arm.

She forced a pleasant smile on her face, startled and a little bit scared of how he'd done that so many times… and suddenly now the tips of his fingers made all the hairs on her arms stand on end. She turned to glance at Mr. Pamuk but he merely gave her a look that made her squirm like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. "Perfectly fine!" she said, sounding much to chirper to her own ears. "Shall we go? I think we shall go!" She spurred her horse on, not bothering to look back even as the others moved to join with her.

Maybe, if she galloped hard enough, she could outrace her conflicting feelings.

~MC~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Author's Note: So only one piece of information to share before we get to the plot bunny: Matthew riding in at a full gallop? That is based on how my material grandfather rode up to my grandmother for their first date. She came to the farm, wondered where he was, and he came racing from the barn on his horse, performing a few tricks before trotting over to greet her. My grandfather longed to be a cowboy and when he passed my grandmother gave me his cowboy hat, the only one he ever owned; it now hangs with my own cowboy hat in my apartment.

Now then, let's move on to my plot bunny. This one even comes with a suggested title: Tea Cups and Warp Cores.

Stardate 44002.3. Captain Robert Crawley of the USS Downton (a galaxy class star ship) has just received the dark news of the Battle of Wolf 359. It was a battle that cost the Federation much but at the very least Robert can breathe easy that his daughter, Lieutenant Mary Crawley, second officer of the USS Titanic, was one of the lucky survivors, though almost her entire crew, including Captain James Crawley and his son Patrick (no relation to Robert), were unable to escape and are listed as killed in action. Mary has returned to Downton with a cold, seemingly unfeeling shell about her, but Robert knows that she is clearly in pain, as does the Downton's Councilor, Lt. Anna Smith. Still, Mary assures her father that she is fine and makes it clear that she wishes to continue her childhood goal of being made Captain of the Downton, just as Robert took over for his mother, Admiral Violet Crawley. She has already put in to replace the Downton's former first officer, Commander Panswick, who has been selected to captain the USS London.

Star Fleet though makes a bold announcement that rocks Mary's hopes: despite Admiral Violet Crawley's own politicking, it has been decided that a young up-and-coming Officer will be transferred to the Downton as Robert's new First Officer. Matthew Crawley, a distant cousin of the illustrious Crawley family, had been at that point the first officer of the USS Manchester and during the Battle of Wolf 359 took command when his captain was killed, buying time for the crew to escape before Matthew himself was forced to abandoned the bridge seconds before the Borg were able to capture and assimilate the Manchester. Though the Manchester was a small ship that hardly holds a candle to the likes of the Enterprise or the Downton, Matthew's actions at Wolf 359 ensured that nearly 90% of the crew of the Manchester survived. Futhermore, he drew Borg attention away from ships such as the Saratoga, allowing their own crews to escape destruction and assimilation. All told, Star Fleet estimates that Matthew's actions saved the crews of 8 star ships and he has been hailed at the Hero of Wolf 359.

Thus the stage is set as the USS Downton prepares to begin exploring unknown worlds once more, with a brewing power struggle between its second officer and its first… and the family drama that comes from so many Crawleys in the same ship.

Yes, this would be a crossover with Star Trek, which would see the drama of Downton take place on a star fleet vessel. With some barriers ripped away but better chances for fighting, feuding, intrigue, and romance, it would lead to quite a bit of fun.

As for the officers, I see it working out like this:

Commanding Officer- Captain Robert Crawley, who comes from a long line of captains and took over for his mother, Admiral Violet Crawley. Robert loves how Star Fleet currently is, with focus on exploring, and fears that the events of Wolf 359 will spell doom and turn Star Fleet towards war.

First Officer- Commander Matthew Crawley. Formerly the first officer of the much smaller Manchester, Matthew is used to a much more lax ship and thus causes friction with the more rigid command structure on the Downton as he is much more personable with the men and women under him. But Matthew hides a dark side as he is still haunted by the events of Wolf 359 and with a mixture of Survivor's Guilt and PTSD hates the focus that has been placed on him.

Second Officer/Science Officer- Lt. Commander Mary Crawley. Former Second Officer of the USS Titanic, Mary spent several of her formative years studying on Vulcan as part of a cross-schooling program and thus tends to take a Vulcan mindset when it comes to emotions. She comes off as cold and unfeeling but does have a heart.

Chief Engineer- Lt. Tom Branson. Formerly one of the engineers on the Manchester, he was one of the few people brought over by Matthew. He clashes with the older crew members due to his dislike of the Prime Directive and quiet support for the Maquis.

Chief of Security- Lt. Charles Carson. A carry-over from when Violet commanded the ship, Carson feels Star Fleet has become too liberal when it comes to those that work on their ships and how they socialize. He frowns on how officers mingle with lower ranking members and feels that a ship should be run like the great houses of old.

Tactical Officer- Lt. John Bates. Many have said that Bates could have been a captain by now but has never taken up command out of loyalty to Robert. He and the captain are best friends and often spend time together in Robert's quarters discussing the workings of the ships. Bates has a robotic leg (which he gained saving Robert from some Romulans) and purposely lips to trick people into thinking he is weaker than he is.

Councilor- Lt. Commander Anna Smith. She joined the crew a year before Wolf 359 and suddenly finds herself dealing with more problems than she ever expected. A captain whose daughter has returned to the ship, said daughter hating the new first officer, a first officer with PTSD from Wolf 359 and who fights with his mother… and that is just the top three members of the crew!

Chief Medical Officer- Commander Isobel Crawley. Matthew's mother and the former CMO of the Manchester, she was the one that dragged Matthew from the bridge of the Manchester during the Battle of Wolf 359 and this has caused some issues between them as Matthew his haunted with those he could not save.

Flight Control- Ensign Thomas Barrow. Thomas desires to move up in the world and fears that he will never be able to do so on the Downton. He becomes an early ally of Matthew, seeing him as the right man to shake things up. Thomas just got out of a long relationship after finding out his boyfriend was cheating on him and this has left him bitter.

Navigator- Ensign Sarah O'Brien. Her family has a long running hatred of Klingons after her grandfather was killed by a Bird of Prey attack and she tends to be a bit xenophobic all around.

Communications Officer- Lt. Junior Grade Edith Crawley. Mary's sister, Edith had attempted to get a position on a different star ship before Wolf 359. Now she feels overshadowed by Mary once more and with Star Fleet wanting to keep the crawleys together she seeks to establish herself.

Transporter Chief- Chief Elsie Hughes. The woman that Robert calls 'The glue of Downton', she is the one the entire senior staff turns to in times of need, even Anna.

Notable other members of the crew:

Cora Crawley- Robert's wife and a famous Holodeck program designer. Her most famous works are a series of Holostories taking place in the early 20th century at an English estate. While never having been a member of Star Fleet she understands what it means to her daughters.

Ensign Sybil Crawley- A recent graduate of the Academy, Edith works under CMO Isobel Crawley in med bay. She is a propionate of AI rights.

Mrs. Patmore- She runs the favored bar on the Downton, The Abbey. In a world of replicators, Mrs. Patmore (don't ever call her by her first name!) specializes in using raw replicated ingredients to create fully made dishes. Legend says that her food actually made a battalion of Klingons settle down, eat in peace, and then offer her several marriage offers.

Chapter Text

"Home is the hunter, home from the hill!"

Sybil hid her smirk as she followed after her parents, Edith at her side. "Do you think anyone will realize he spent the last hour searching for the perfect quote to greet everyone?" she asked her sister, Edith biting her lip so not to laugh. The last time she'd been through all this Edith had been out with Matthew looking at churches; Edith had thought that Matthew wanted to get to know her better while Matthew had admitted to her the other day he honestly just was interested in architecture. Sybil, for her part, couldn't remember what she'd been up to but knew that she'd pretty much avoided much of the events of that weekend. This time, however, she refused to be cooped up and it wasn't just because she was now nearly 10 years older and more sure of herself. The time when she'd been awkwardly trying to figure out who and what she wanted to be had long past and with her new maturity came a feeling of being comfortable in her own skin. There was no need to hide herself away because she didn't know how to be a part of the events of the weekend.

'And,' she thought, glancing at her mother and smiling slightly, 'I don't want to waste a minute of being with everyone.'

She couldn't quite call it a cliché as the knowledge had come about from her dying and then her soul traveling back into the past, but she'd still come to realize just how precious every moment of life was and she didn't want to waste it. Despite what her and Matthew were attempting (or perhaps, more accurately, BECAUSE of what they were attempting) at any moment any of them could die. Mary could slip from her horse and crack her head open. Her father could have a heart attack. Her mother could die to that horrid flu. The only one she didn't fear for was Granny and that was only because Sybil was convinced if all the Heavenly Choir came to collect her soul Granny would tell them to be quiet and their wings were gaudy and the Angelic Host would look down at their sandals and mutter apologizes before flying off. As such Sybil wanted to spend as much time with her family as she could and thus why today she'd sat with her parents and Edith (who she'd roped into joining them) while waiting for Matthew and Mary to return with their guests. They hadn't even done anything special, just been in the same room together, papa searching for a good quote to use to impress everyone and make them think he was more well-read than he was (oh, he was well read but not enough to, as Tom would have said, 'pull quotes out of his arse'), her mother had been working on some sewing project, and Edith had been reading up on, of all things, the history of London (apparently Matthew had talked with her and used his future knowledge to give Edith's confidence a bit of a boost and now she was determined to live up to the person he said she could be) while Sybil herself had merely pretended to read while soaking in the normalcy of it all.

She'd thought it to be bliss.

Not that it had all been wine and roses for Sybil (and ironically at her new young age she was getting neither of them to begin with). She and Matthew had discussed how annoying the family could be at times when it came to change, the two of them having remembered what papa and Granny could be like but not just how extreme it could be. It had taken Sybil by complete surprise when Gwen had told her a week earlier about O'Brien discovering the typewriter and revealing it to the entire staff, embarrassing Gwen and forcing her to tell them of her dreams. It was the first time since she'd realized that Matthew had also traveled back to the past that she'd been startled by an event, for she remembered that Evelyn Napier and Pamuk had been at the dinner where Gwen's desires had been discussed. She didn't quite know how the timeline had become so altered that Gwen's secret had been revealed a week early… and yet revealed in a similar way. Sybil had cornered Anna while she'd helped her dress and forced the maid to reveal that several in the staff had, just like in the previous timeline, taken wicked joy in making Gwen feel bad for her choice and fill her with doubt.

While Sybil Crawley had never been known for being able to hold her tongue when she was passionate about a cause... Sybil Branson was the wife of an Irish Radical and seeing Carson whispering to her father as she and her sisters had joined mama, papa, Granny, Matthew, and Isobel in the drawing room had set her off with rage that had never been seen from her in Downton before.

"How could you, Carson?" Sybil exclaimed. While she didn't raise her voice she did glare at the butler with a look so fiery that it was by the grace of God he didn't melt. She knew that she was making a scene but she honestly didn't care, nor that it would be, to an outsider, quite humorous to see a girl who hadn't even had her first season brow beating the butler of Downton like she was mistress of the household. "How could you allow that to happen to poor Gwen? Do you have no heart? No soul? Who are you to judge her so harshly? To allow others to do so without stepping in?"

"Sybil!" papa sputtered in surprise, the rest of the family looking at her. She felt Mary go to grab her arm but she shook it away, moving towards Carson and jabbing her finger into the bewildered butler's chest., not in the mood to be restrained.

"Carson?" mama asked. "What is this about?"

"Yes, please tell them, Carson. Tell them what you did to poor Gwen."

Carson stared at her, wide eyed, and stammered out. "I'm... I'm afraid I don't quite know what you are talking about, my lady."

"You broke her spirit!" Sybil practically snarled. She trembled, forcing herself to calm slightly, before deciding finally to focus on Matthew. He had been through this incident before and she knew how he would fall in the matter. While not as much of a radical as herself or Tom Matthew was a good man who did care for the staff and wasn't like the rest of her family were currently, seeing them as little more than decoration. Oh, in time they'd come around to realize that Downton and the name Crawley were built upon just as much the servants as they were the family members proper but at the moment she didn't trust a single one of them. "Our maid, Gwen, wishes to become a secretary. She has been taking lessons in her free moments, mailing them out and such. And today O'Brien," she shot her mother a dirty look, "decided to steal her typewriter and put it out for the entire staff to see." She turned as Matthew gave her a look that screamed, 'What the bloody hell is going on?' and leveled Carson with a dark stare. "And rather than defend Gwen and punish O'Brien for sticking her crooked nose where it didn't belong-"

"Sybil!" her mother exclaimed, deciding it was her time to be scandalized.

"-Carson here decided that it was his right to torment poor Gwen for daring to dream. Isn't that true?"

"My lady," Carson said, trying to get control of the situation. Sybil knew that he'd never faced her fury; no one had, not really. Not until Tom. They all just thought of her as a silly little girl who got passionate about foolish things and would mature and marry a duke and become a perfect little wife who set aside her ideals like a child did their dolls. It was time for them to learn how foolish that thought was. Time to mean the woman Tom has nicknamed Queen Mab after one particular row with a neighbor back in Dublin. "It is one of my many duties as butler of Downton to ensure that the staff is protected. This means not just from physical threats but ones to their standing and character. When someone as young as Gwen makes a mistake like this-"

"A mistake?!" Sybil exclaimed.

"Oh Carson," Matthew muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Now you've done it."

"So it is not a mistake to dream? To wish to better yourself? Is this true for all the servants?" She gestured at Thomas, the footman's eyes going wide and the smile he'd been wearing as he watched the spectacle falling from his lips when he realized he was now the focus of Sybil's tongue lashing. "Does that mean Thomas here can never hope to be a valet or a butler? He must forever be a footman, never hoping to move up, because it would throw of kilter how you deem the world to be? Or what if he desires to leave service, to become a doctor or a lawyer? Do his dreams not matter? Are all who live downstairs little more than slaves, patted on the head and told to never hope for something more?" Before the butler could comment Sybil added, "Or perhaps it is because Gwen is a women and dreams are only for men?"

"That is enough!" her father bellowed, cutting her off before she could say something vulgar. "We are not barbarians and we do not behave this way! Sybil, you will apologize to Carson at once for this... this... foul display."

Sybil licked her lips, her head drooping. "Carson, I am sorry... for Gwen and how you treated her." Her head snapped in her father's direction, defiance written on her features.

"Sybil, to your room at once-" her mama had begun only for Granny to hold up her hand.

"A moment, Cora, a moment. It is clear that this is more than dear Sybil latching onto a new crusade and nothing will be solved by locking her away so she might fester in her indignation." Granny looked at Sybil, her gaze hard, and Sybil realized that even with an addition ten years to her life she was still a touch frightened of her grandmother. And with good reason. "Now, if you could without acting like a madwoman escaping from the asylum, tell us why you have such a personal stake in what the maid does?"

Sybil took a breath before holding her head up high and proud, her voice calmer but no less passionate. "I bought the typewriter for Gwen. I've been assisting her for nearly a year. I have made her dream my own."

It had been a chore to convince Gwen to let her help her. In her first life Gwen had only told her about her dream after buying the typewriter, using every penny she had to buy it and pay for the mail-order courses. This time Sybil had gotten Gwen to tell her of her plan months earlier and then told the startled maid that she wanted to buy the typewriter for her. Gwen had been fearful of such a gift, trying to argue that Sybil couldn't do such, but Sybil could not be deterred and in the end Gwen had agreed, thanking her over and over for the gift. She then assisted her with her courses, checking over her work and mailing them out herself when Gwen was disposed.

"Why would you do that?" Edith asked.

"Because I believe it is the right of every person to strive towards happiness."

"And you're saying that Gwen isn't happy here at Downton?" Robert asked. "If we are that cruel of task masters why doesn't she simply leave?"

"Because she isn't unhappy here, papa, but that doesn't mean that she couldn't have more happiness." She looked about, seeing that none of them were getting it and she felt like screaming in frustration. Why did they all have to be so stubborn and make any small change a massive fight? Why couldn't they-

"I think, if I might interject, that this is a question of settling for something decent and moving towards a chance at greater happiness."

Sybil forced herself not to cry even as she mentally called out, 'God bless you Matthew!'

"Yes, Gwen could be happy here all her days…she could become like Mrs. Hughes and run all of Downton and know a peaceful life. But she also believes that there may be more happiness to be found out in the great world. It is the same reason that we strive to make Downton better and simply not settle for it being merely an 'average' house."

"But is it worth the risk?" Granny asked even as Carson gasped in horror at Downton being seen as 'average'. "Here she has steady employment, she knows who she works for and what we are like, there is little danger of harm coming to her… why toss herself into the fire when she could be comfortable here?"

"That was my opinion on the situation as well, my lady," Carson said, piping up and making Sybil silently call him a few names that weren't fit to be said in decent company. "It is something I have seen time and time again, where a younger member of the staff who is, well, naïve to the world, believes that they might go out to conquer it without realizing the danger they are putting themselves in. All I wished to do was ensure that young Gwen did not throw away the opportunities that have been given to her on some… flight of fancy."

Before Sybil could snap about that last comment (or complain about how Carson continued to talk of 'young Gwen' like she was an infant), Cousin Isobel rallied to the cause. "But who are we to tell someone not to take a chance?"

"People who are wiser?" Granny asked dryly.

"But that's just it. Sometimes we aren't wiser, not when it comes to matters of the heart." She looked about the room, her eyes steely and hard and Sybil fought back a grin, delighting in having Cousin Isobel in her corner. "Is there a single one of us who can say that we did not listen to others when we were told not to do something and enjoyed the sweet taste of victory when we were proven right?"

"But we've also faced the pain of defeat," Granny interjected. "Is it not our duty to ensure the maid and others like her do not suffer needlessly? That they learn from our mistakes?"

"Of course," Isobel said, "but there are times when we all must leave the nest and the safety it provides."

"I agree with Cousin Isobel," Edith said and Sybil mentally danced about as she scored another to her side. Rapidly she was seeing this as a true debate where winning meant swaying more to her side. She had Cousin Isobel and Matthew, as well as Thomas as he was once more nodding ever so slightly to their arguments. Edith made four. "It is fine to want to protect her but we can't lock the servants away… they aren't our slaves as Sybil pointed out. If Gwen wishes to explore a new aspect of her life is it not our duty to allow her to do so?"

Papa merely shook his head. "I can't believe we are discussing a maid wanting to become a secretary before dinner."

"It is something to consider, Robert," Matthew chimed in. "After all, would you not rather have Gwen leave thinking us so kind for allowing her to pursue her dream rather than waste away here, bitter at us stifling her hopes?"

"Well, of course not," papa blustered. He paused for a moment, mulling things over before speaking, "I suppose no harm has come of any of this. Sybil, so long as you apologize to Carson-" she opened her mouth but her father held up his hand, "-apologize for airing this all out like this rather than in private I believe we can all move on."

Sybil though shook her head. "I'm afraid I can not do that, papa."

"And why not?" her father asked, his voice taking on a mixture of weariness and annoyance.

"You are asking me to apologize to Carson for doing this out in the open and I am sorry for that," she turned and looked to the butler, "and I truly am. However, that does not excuse him doing the same thing to Gwen."

"Well now, Sybil, it wasn't Carson who brought young Gwen's typewriter out for all to see," Granny stated.

"That's right," Sybil agreed. "It was O'Brien and from what I've heard Carson did little to reprimand her for her actions. O'Brien had no right to expose Gwen like that."

"I'm sure O'Brien was concerned for Gwen, that is all," her mother said.

Mary, for the first time since the argument began, huffed in annoyance. "Oh come now, mama, you can't believe that! Even I know that if a servant wishes to address an issue they should see Mrs. Hughes or Carson. Dragging the maid's property out for all to see is hardly a good way to help them, now is it? Sounds more like O'Brien was looking to make a jest out of the maid." Mary turned to Carson and looked at him. "Don't you agree that there would have been a better way to handle this?"

There were few true facts in the world, Sybil had found, but before her was one of them: Carson loved her sister and would always side with her, even when she argued against a point he'd just made. "You are correct of course, my lady. I will take Ms. O'Brien aside and explain to her how we do and do not deal with concerns at Downton. I should have done that sooner." Sybil merely continued to stare at him and finally the butler added, "And I will apologize to Gwen for my actions."

"There, is it all settled? Can we eat?" papa asked in annoyance.

"Will you allow me to continue to help Gwen?" Sybil asked.

Her father let out a moan but Matthew cut him off. "I don't see the harm in it, Robert, so long as Gwen doesn't neglect her duties. It shows the staff that we care for them and it will help Sybil see a bit more of the modern world; she'll need to know about such things when she is Countess of her own estate. Gwen can educate her on how things are run downstairs and then, when it is her time to help her husband select new staff, she won't be caught on the bad foot." Matthew smirked. "Think of it as lessons from a private tutor."

"Oh Robert just say yes so we can eat," mama said with a tired smile.

"…alright, fine. So long as it does not detract from her world or cause any problems for the house of for you… you may help the maid become a secretary."

Sybil's face burst into a smile and she rushed over, kissing him on the cheek. "Oh, thank you, papa, thank you!"

"You can thank me by allowing me to finally dine," he said in a grumpy humor.

Still, despite the bit of unpleasantness that came with family Sybil had enjoyed being with them again and wanted to spend as much time as she could with her family.

There was another reason, however, why she'd wanted to be waiting with her father for Mary and Matthew to return and it was in the shape of the Turkish rapist that was trying to shift so he was standing next to Mary only to find Matthew forever blocking his path. As her father mentioned that the riders had truly been in battle ('how did they get so dirty? Did they all roll about in the mud instead of ride in it?') and Mary made a joke about the hunt Sybil forced a smile on her face while repeated a calming mantra to herself.

'You can't kill him here, you can't kill him here, you can't kill him here, you can't kill him-'

Sometimes she wondered if Tom's gentle teasing that she was secretly an Irish baby that some radical had slipped into Downton as the ultimate revenge on the aristocracy was true. A proper English lady didn't have to remind herself that she couldn't murder guests in the main hall.

"And this is my mother. Mama, Mr. Kemal Pamuk," Mary said.

"Charmed," the diplomat said, leaning down and kissing her mother's hand, his eyes drifting up so he could gaze at her, a flame of desire flashing in his eyes.

'You can't rip out his intestines and strangle him with them, you can't rip out his intestines and strangle him with them, you can't rip out his intestines and strangle him with them-'

"And aren't you going to introduce us?" Edith asked even as Sybil wanted to do nothing more than to grab both her and Mary and drag them far away from the leering deviant standing before her. The way he was looking at her made her skin crawl and she didn't get how anyone in the room could stand it, let alone find it attractive. Sybil didn't find Pamuk's gazes enticing or inviting; they made her want to throw her arms up over her body to cover her form even though she was wearing modest clothing. She tried to remind herself that he hadn't done anything yet and that it wasn't fair to judge a man for a crime he committed in another time and life, but as the Turkish Prick, as Matthew was fond of calling him, took Edith's hand and kissed her knuckles all Sybil could remember is Matthew's story of Mary's encounter with the man. Sybil could almost hear her sister's weak pleas, begging him to leave her room and him forcing her to submit, threatening her reputation in order to sully it anyway. It made her stomach curdle like she'd eaten bad cheese and all she wanted to do was flee.

'No, all I want to do is tear off his manhood and shove it down his pompous throat,' she thought to herself as Pamuk focused solely on her. She glanced up at Matthew, his face a cold mask as he fought not to react to Pamuk's actions, but then her gaze was dragged away from her friend/brother-in-law-from-an-alternate-future as the Turkish Diplomat moved towards her, a smile tugging on his lips.

"And who might this be?"

"My sister, Sybil," Mary said.

"You know," Pamuk said as he took Sybil's hand, his thumb running along her palm, "when Evelyn told me that I must come to Downton to truly experience the beauty of England I did not see the point. What could such a far off manor offer that London could not? Now I see what jewels have been kept hidden-ACK!"

"Oh," Sybil said, pressing her fingers to her mouth in her feigned surprise as the diplomat ripped his hand away, clutching it to his chest. "Are you alright, Mr. Pamuk?"

Kemal took a moment before nodding. "I'm find, Lady Sybil. I believe your nail has done a bit of damage to my finger, though." He held up the bleeding digit, a thin red line weeping blood that oozed down his hand and towards his wrist, one drop swelling and growing before falling to the hardwood.

"Are you alright?" Mary asked, rushing to his side. Sybil fought the urge to roll her eyes and she could see that Matthew was barely managing to avoid doing the same himself; one would think that the Turk had lost his hand rather than get a cut on Sybil's admittedly sharp nails (which she may or may not have filed to sharper-than-normal points just in case the diplomat tried something). Mary took his hand in her own, running her fingers along his. "Do you have a handkerchief?"

"It is all right, Lady Mary," Pamuk said smoothly, though he did not act to pull his hand from her. "Just a scratch is all."

"I am terribly sorry, Mr. Pamuk," Sybil said with false sweetness. "I am used to dealing with men with much stronger hands. Carson!" She waved towards the butler, who raising his eyebrow in question. "Could you please have Thomas fetch some bandages for Mr. Pamuk? And do tell him to be gentle… I would hate for anything to hurt his delicate skin." From the corner of her eyes she could see that the Turk didn't like that affront to his manliness but he couldn't call her out on her 'kindness' and thus could only stand by as Thomas came over and moved to show him where his room would be.

"What was that about?" Mary hissed as their parents and Edith moved on to chat with Matthew and Evelyn Napier, being the odd man out, ambled over to Carson to weakly ask him where his own valet was so he might change.

"Whatever do you mean?" Sybil asked with all the sweetness she could muster.

Mary glared at her sister for a moment before letting out a huff. "I don't know what your game is but if you wish to be cunning you should be more subtle. Now, let this be the end of it. I won't have you ruin tonight pulling pranks like a child."

"You are ruining things well enough," Sybil stated, nodding towards Evelyn. "Wasn't he the one you invited to visit and not Mr. Pamuk? You are being such a gracious hostess, ignoring a man you've corresponded with for months for some random forgeiner."

"I… don't know what you're talking about," Mary said quickly, trying to hide how flustered she was by Sybil hitting the mark true. "I will keep this between us but no more games or I'll ensure mama knows all about what you are doing." With that she turned, walking off with as much dignity as one could muster when they were splattered with mud, asking Carson to send up Anna to draw her a bath before making her way upstairs.

Sybil wanted to talk with Matthew but her father and mother were dragging him over to make their goodbyes to the hunters that would not be staying for the evening dinner, Edith deciding to head upstairs herself so she might begin getting ready. That left Sybil by herself with only Carson remaining in the room.

"If I might be bold… is everything alright, my lady?" Carson asked, still remembering the tongue lashing for the week earlier but doing his best to let it move past them.

She debated lying but decided in that moment that in this moment she needed another ally. Pamuk had proven to be even more charming and forceful than she remembered and she was concerned that Matthew's plan for dealing with the Turkish Prick wouldn't work out as he hoped. "I don't trust that man, Carson. Not in the slightest."

"I must admit he isn't the first person I would want staying at Downton but he seems harmless enough," the butler stated.

"That's just it, Carson… he does a good job of making people think he is harmless. And if there is anything I've learned in my 25 years, it is that those are the people one should fear the most." She moved away, deciding that after that confrontation she needed time to gather herself before Anna arrived to assist her in dressing.

She did not hear Carson murmur "25 years?"

~A~O~O~O~F~

"Are you alright, Matthew?" Robert asked, sipping on his drink. The two of them were standing by the fireplace, watching as the rest of the family and their guests milled about, enjoying a post-dinner drink and the conversations that such always brought about. "You seem a bit out of sorts. You aren't coming ill, are you?"

Matthew blinked, realizing that he had been wool gathering and failed to listen to Robert. The two of them had been discussing Dr. Clarkson's request for some new equipment when he'd spotted Mary chatting with Evelyn Napier and the Turkish Prick. He remembered idly that in his first life he'd stood with them, not contributing much to the conversation but honestly feeling too awkward to be around anyone else. Robert hadn't grown close to him yet in that previous life and their conversations had been filled with the lazy small talk men made when they honestly don't know what to say. His mother and Sybil had been discussing something, he had no clue, but it hadn't felt proper to join in with them, while Cousin Violet and Cora had been scheming; most likely it had been their final talk before requesting him to look into the entail.

He couldn't remember exactly when they'd asked him but he knew it was around this time of year. 'I wonder if they will try again?' Matthew pondered. 'With Robert and I getting along much better this time and my charm offensive on Edith winning her to my side… and Sybil and I already united in working together… I suppose it is possible that they won't even attempt it. I have tried to show Mary I won't be a disaster as Earl and our friendship has grown quicker than it did last time, so perhaps she'll ask them to set aside their attempts and accept things.' He watched as Mary laughed at something Pamuk said and he clenched his hand into a fist. 'But curse it if I've done all this only to make her more receptive to that bottom feeder's advances-'

"Matthew?" Robert said, touching his arm and making Matthew jump.

He ran his fingers through his hair before taking a sip of his brandy, settling his nerves. "I'm sorry, I've been terribly rude, haven't I? What were you saying?"

"It can wait for tomorrow. It isn't anything life threatening." Robert pursed his lips together, brow furrowed in thought. "At least I don't believe it is. Clarkson tried to explain what he wanted but I'm afraid it all went over my head." Matthew managed a chuckle at that. "Mama would think Cora had corrupted me with her American sensibilities but if something is bothering you would it not be better to talk it over with someone rather than to allow your mind to wrap about itself?"

"Hmm… you're right, of course," Matthew said. "I was watching Mary talk with our guests."

"Ah," Robert said with a slight smile. "I should have known." He turned his gaze towards his daughter, watching as she talked with Pamuk. "Cora had hoped that bringing Mr. Napier here would spark something more between him and Mary but it seems it has only ensured nothing will come about it. She's more taken by his friend than she is with him."

"That's what worries me, Robert," Matthew said.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Matthew sighed. Sometimes it was just so hard to have so much future knowledge and not be open with it. He'd wondered early on if he'd ever reveal the truth to the family, that for him this was his second time living the events at Downton, but he'd reasoned that at best they would be angry at him using his future knowledge to his advantage and at worse have him committed. It was a secret only he, and now thankfully Sybil, could be privy too but that meant that at times like this were all the more difficult. All he wanted to do was grab Robert and demand he throw the Prick out of his home before he took advantage of Mary. Because of his secret, however, he had to find a way to hint at the danger without coming out and stating it. He could practically hear Robert scoffing at him if he came out and just told him of the danger.

"Come now Matthew, don't you think that is a bit much? I admit that he is a bit different but he seems a nice enough chap for a foreigner. Oh look, Mary had decided to take him on a tour of Downton! Let's not bother them, as I would hate to prevent her from telling the long history of her bed. It was bought by my great grandfather, you see…"

No, he had to dance about the issue carefully if he hoped to prevent tragedy.

"When I met you I knew instantly that we would get along famously," Matthew said. "I didn't even need to hear you speak and by the end of the night I knew that we would have a friendship that would last a lifetime."

Robert, though confused by the odd change of topic, smiled at that. "I felt the same way, Matthew."

"But have you ever had the opposite feeling? That someone you've met is a danger and that nothing good can come from their presence."

Robert mulled this over. "Yes but it has been years, honestly. I get the feeling I won't like someone but I dare say the last time was during the Africa Campaign. You feel that was with Mr. Pamuk?"

"I can't explain it, Robert," Matthew said, jawing working slightly as Mary once more laughed at another one of the Prick's little quips. "I look at him and I fear that people are too captivated by his looks and his smooth words to see what type of man he truly is."

Robert murmured slightly at that. "Matthew… are you sure that your dislike with Mr. Pamuk isn't coming from another source?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mary and you have been spending a great amount of time together, have you not?"

"She has been teaching me to ride-"

Robert held up a hand. "Matthew, I will never claim to be the type of father who understands what goes on in his daughters' heads. Trying to read Mary is like trying to understand the thoughts of a stone or a piece of glass. Edith is like a bird that can be still only to burst into flight without notice. And Sybil is like the sea; just when I believe I have a grasp of her she changes. But I do know Mary's patience and I doubt she is such a poor teacher and you are such a woeful student that it would take you this long to learn the basics of riding." He sipped his drink. "Your time together has evolved into something more than just lessons, hasn't it?"

Matthew glanced over at Robert, as hard as it was to tear his eyes away from Mary and Pamuk. "We've become friends, Robert, I'm happy to say. It hasn't been easy, of course, but Mary no longer looks at me as one would a thief who was caught stuffing silverware into their sack."

"That is how she sees you, I agree. But that isn't how you see her." Matthew turned to stare fully at Robert and the older man smiled slightly. "You love her, don't you?" Matthew's mouth opened and closed for several moments as he tried to figure out how to deny it but Robert cut him off. "It is no use to claim otherwise. It is clear to me that you've grown to love Mary."

"…I have," Matthew finally admitted, feeling that it would be useless to try and put Robert off the truth. He smiled sadly as he spoke, speaking both of what Robert knew and what he never could, the truth the same for both. "God help me but I have. It feels like I've loved her for years."

Robert smiled, not realizing that Matthew was speaking literally. "There are people, when they first meet her, who don't understand how anyone could care to be around Mary or how she could inspire such loyalty in people. I'm sure you'd thought the same thing. But when one gets past the mask she wears for the world and truly sees who she is… it is hard not to love her."

"Yes," Matthew said with a sigh.

"Have you told her how you feel?"

"No. It… would not end well," Matthew said.

"I suppose it wouldn't. I think Mary could never handle a man who loved her before she loved him. I fear that is what has happened with Mr. Napier. Mary needs to feel as if she is the one in control, that she is deciding when love must bloom. You're wise to hide your feelings for now." Robert placed his hand on Matthew's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "But you can't let how you feel color your thoughts. If you aren't willing to let her know how you feel then you must accept she will be around others like Mr. Pamuk… and you can't allow that to taint how you see them."

Matthew nodded even as he mentally disagreed with Robert. He didn't blame the older man, as he didn't know what Matthew did, of the pain that Pamuk would cause. He had been the reason Mary had been so unwilling to wed him the first time when all else believed it was because of the baby that had never come to be and the loss of the role as heir. Pamuk's death had led her to be in Carlisle's grasp and the stain on her reputation had haunted her for years. Mary had admitted that it had been Edith who had leaked the story to the Embassy and as revenge Mary had ruined her relationship with Sir Anthony before the war. One dark night, when Mary had been pregnant and wracked with emotional upheaval, she had admitted that Pamuk's death had been also learned by Vera Bates who had sought to use it as a weapon against Anna and Batesand when Carlisle had prevented her from revealing the tale for a quick buck the vile woman had killed herself and framed the poor valet for it.

It seemed that Pamuk was the reason for so many of the tragedies and pains at Downton. Matthew wouldn't have been surprised to learn at this point that the Turk had been best friends with Archduke Ferdinand.

Needing a breath of fresh air Matthew excused himself and made his way out of the drawing room. But his feet took him not to the main entrance but down the hall, slinking in the shadows like a thief as he heard Mary's voice echo softly. He measured his steps so he might not make a sound, hiding behind a corner as he listened in.

"Is this picture really a Della Francesca?" he heard the Turkish Prick say, Mary's answer cut off with a muffed gasp. Matthew dared to peer around the corner and saw red as he watched Pamuk grasp Mary's face as he kissed her, forcing her against a wall. He grabbed his left wrist with his right hand, squeezing so hard he lost feeling in his fingers as he witnessed Mary ('My wife! That is my wife you bastard!') struggle against his grip. He didn't know what he'd have done if he had seen her melt into Pamuk's embrace but that never came to pass as just as fiercely as the kiss had begun the Turk ended it, breaking away and leaving Mary red faced and wide-eyed.

"Let me come to you tonight, please," Pamuk whispered, as if adding a 'please' would forgive his actions.

Mary shook her head and Matthew silently cheered her on. Her next words though chilled his heart. "I can't think what I have said that has led you to believe-"

'Nothing!' Matthew screamed in his own head even as the bastard continued to pressure his wife to let him… Matthew didn't want to even think about it. Sybil's words of how Mary had placed all the blame on herself when it had been Pamuk who had been the guilty party rang in Matthew's head and he felt such shame for not assuring Mary the winter night she'd told him all about Pamuk that she was blameless. For she had colored the tale with her own guilt, leaving out how the vile man had pressured her and made her feel as if she had led him on when it was clear to Matthew that the man was little more than a sex-crazed cad who used his silver tongue to trick those who drew his attention into not just giving into his desires but also believing that they were the ones to allow it to come to pass.

Even as Mary told Pamuk that she would not inform her father of his hideous actions Matthew pulled away, his thoughts going to, of all things, his military training at the start of the war. One of his commanders had once given a speech where he stated that he understood that the young men would not want to kill. They would do so to save themselves or because it was ordered of them… but there was a difference between committing the act because it was needed to survive and wanting to kill another human being. Matthew had not truly understood until he'd killed his first German, a man a year older than him with a chipped tooth and eyes that were set slightly too close together. The brave bastard had charged at him while he'd been out on a patrol, stabbing Perkins with his bayonet before letting out a war cry and charging at Matthew. He'd reacted without thought, drawing his service revolver and emptying it into the charging German, sending the man flopping bonelessly to the ground. As Matthew had looked down upon him, wondering if he had a mother at home who wondered if he were warm, a woman that he'd loved and lost because she too couldn't decide if she wished to marry him, and if somewhere in Heaven there was a dear little chap who wouldn't be born because the man that should have been his father had died… Matthew had understood what his commander had meant: he'd killed the man but not wanted to see his death.

But as he neared the drawing room and heard Pamuk, who'd arrived before him, now chatting with Edith while Mary stood off to one side, trying to strike up a conversation with her grandmother, Matthew knew only one single truth: He wanted the Turkish Prick dead. He wanted his revolver and he wanted to unload every bullet ever made into his body. He wanted to hang him from Downton's high ceilings and watch as he gasped his last breath. He wanted to plunge a blade into the man's stomach and as the Turk's eyes dimmed whisper "You shouldn't have touched MY WIFE!"

But rather than marching over and strangling the forgiven bastard that had dared to kiss his Mary Matthew walked over to Robert, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Matthew?" Robert said, setting down his drink. "Are you alright? You're pale as a sheet, man!" He leaned in and whispered, "Did you confront-"

"No, of course not," Matthew said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his forehead. "Robert, it seems as if my breath of fresh air has only made matters worse. Would you mind terribly if I called it an early night-"

"Think nothing of it," Robert said quickly, motioning for Matthew's mother to come over. "Isobel, Matthew has come down with something and will be going to bed early."

"Do we need to call Dr. Clarkson?" his mother asked and Matthew hated causing her fear. "You look so pale and her hand is shaking…"

Matthew shook his head. "No… I think I merely overdid it today. Too much riding and too much of a fine meal… I think all I need is a good night's rest. If you could call for William? I'm sure he could handle helping me tonight. I would hate to have Molesley rushing about at this hour. He can come in the morning and hopefully a good night's rest will have righted me."

"If you are sure, Matthew?" Isobel asked. "Moseley might be better, if you are out of sorts…"

Robert smiled slightly. "It will be fine Isobel. William can handle Mathew finely enough. Carson?" The butler nodded and came over. "Mr. Crawley isn't feeling well; I fear he has taken ill. Is his room read?"

"The maids turned it down this morning, my lord. Mr. Crawley will find it perfect for his needs."

"Very good," Robert said.

"Do you wish to go now, sir?" Carson asked. Much to Matthew's surprise the butler, in a softer voice, asked, "Can you manage on your own, sir, or should I assist you?"

"If you would have William help me I would be all right," Matthew said. As Carson called William over to explain the situation Matthew glanced at Sybil, who gave only the barest of nods.

He'd done his part… now it was up to her.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Note: Before we begin, I want to let you know that over on Archive of Our Own Rmlohner took up my Chapter 8 Plot Bunny. It is called Best Served Cold… please read and review it!

So, let's get this out of the way: while I wish I could claim that Gwen's secret being revealed early was some major hint about time being altered or Sybil and Matthew screwed up history or that next chapter Booster Gold would arrive with Ted Kord, Doc Brown, Sam Beckket, and Kagome to fix time… yeah, there is a more mundane reason.

You see I normally write these chapters by watching the episode, taking notes on what I want to focus on, and then writing out the chapter. But here I made a bit of an oopsie. I hadn't watched Episode 3 in a while… and in fact believed that the events with Pamuk took place in Episode 4. Then, as I was reading the fanfic 'If Things Were Different' and it got to the part with Gwen's typewriter being revealed and Sybil, Tom, and Matthew defending her at the dinner table, I thought I'd screwed up and skipped that scene in the show, believing it happened in Episode 3. And it was a thing I wanted to cover. But I knew I couldn't just make a whole chapter about that scene so I decided to make it a flashback (a trick I have used in A Man of Iron when I want to show a scene that is important to cover… but NOT important enough to make it its own chapter that breaks up the flow of the story). It works well as a way to cover both events that happened in the past and how they affect a current chapter; here it let me show Sybil is different from how she once was, being more bold and willing to fight for Gwen and Matthew more supportive.

And then, as I was reading the wiki for Episode 4… and realized that NOPE, it occurred in Episode 3… and Pamuk was there. As was Evelyn. After I'd already written over 2000 words. Worse, this wouldn't be a minor edit to insert them, as that scene is supposed to show that Sybil is more bold (and bolder than Matthew, actually) and thus explain why she would risk hurting Pamuk as she does here. Removing it and shifting it to AFTER Pamuk's greeting of Sybil would mean rewriting Sybil's thoughts… and then almost entirely rewriting the scene to take place at dinner, include Pamuk and Evelyn, change Sybil's reasoning for bringing it up then, and worst ruin the flow of cutting to Matthew dealing with Pamuk.

The only other fix would have been to make it it's own chapter… but the problem is it doesn't work on its own as I would have nothing to add to it to make it the proper length and it would mean taking the next chapter, Pamuk invading Mary's room, and putting it here when that is such a long chapter already that it would make this a monster.

Thus I decided to use timey wimey stuff to say that Matthew and Sybil's actions have caused time to flutter a bit and O'Brien found the typewriter sooner. But, as we've already seen, time is mirror and if you alter something it still will occur but in a new way. So things basically happened the same but one week sooner.

This has been your peak behind the curtain!

Now then, time for another plot bunny. So this is an interesting one from my original plot bunny notes that I wrote up when I first decided to include a story idea at the end of each chapter.

The year is 1947 and for the most part the world is very much the same as our world. WWII happened. We are moving out of that dark time and into an age of stability before we enter the chaotic 60s and 70s. There is only one difference: ten years earlier, in 1937, Philo Taylor Farnsworth revealed that he had finally perfected the Television, so that (in this world) they resembled our modern TVs. WWII actually saw the United States work to improve tv technology, seeing the benefits of it, and by the War's end TV was exactly like it was for us now, able to beam shows across the globe thanks to Tesla getting involved, the mad genius himself, and getting us 2018 tv systems in 1945. There is only one problem… there is nothing to show on the devices. Networks are forming but have nothing to air.

More on that in a moment.

The post-war world has brought big changes to the Crawley family. George Crawley, the heir of Downton, is a war hero and one of the most famous men in Britain for his daring rescue of pinned down British soldiers who were stuck behind enemy lines and being one of the first to march into Berlin. But he remains unmarried and much to his mother Mary's consternation he spends more time with his cousins than he does seeking a bride. George knows that his mother wants him to marry but he hates how women just want him for his title and fame; he also hates how he's been glorified in the war. See, WWII was his chance to live up to Matthew's legacy and even with all he did he still feels like he failed. Worse, the trauma of what he went through has affected him greatly… he spent the end of the war liberating concentration camps and the images of the poor souls, the smell of the ovens burning the dead… George has placed his room in the Abbey in a deserted wing so no one wakes up to hear his screams. The only ones he can talk to about this are his cousins as the girls are the one ones willing to listen. And the only woman he sees on a regular basis that isn't family is Rebecca Bates and their arguments and debates are the stuff of Downton legend (more on that in a moment).

Meanwhile, Sybil Branson is about to pull her hair out. She worked in a factory after the war but now that the men are returning home it is seen she should go, get married, and be a good little housewife. Her father encourages her to do what she wants but Sybil can also tell he is worried. Worse, Sybie knows that she doesn't act like a lady should. Despite Cora's attempts to make her into a proper lady Sybie is the daughter of an irish radical and as such is a radical herself. What's worse is that Sybie has so many questions about life and love and sex… but she has no one to talk to. She has no mother to turn to. And just like George add in that she's heard stories of Sybil… and feels as if she lives in her shadow.

Marigold Pelham has come down from her home to take over her mother's magazine officially, as Edith has decided to finally retire. Marigold is a determined woman who constantly works to prove herself, secretly knowing the truth of her birth (having learned about it when she turned 18) and feeling that it is forever a stain on her. She is determined to not let being a bastard child keep her down. Furthermore, her and Edith no longer get along as Marigold feels that Edith doesn't understand what it is like to struggle… that she has wealth and power and a grand title and thus doesn't understand the struggles of real life. She sees her mother as out of touch and it was only Bertie suggesting she take on the magazine that got Marigold a chance to slip away from her mother.

As for Rebecca Bates she, despite having spent her younger years in the Downton Nursery, finds the whole estate eye-rolling. She is friends with George, Marigold, and Sybil but that doesn't stop her from arguing with George about it, complaining that his whining of "oh, I'm famous, boo hoo!" is pathetic (as George doesn't tell her the truth of why he hates it). Her little brother, Matthew Bates, meanwhile is off like his namesake to be a lawyer and Rebecca finds that a more noble life. Rebecca has a good relationship with her parents but also feels that still see themselves as servants when, thanks to their hard work rebuilding the Grantham Arms, they have become upper middle class and John is actually preparing to open a second hotel… and Rebecca believes that soon the name 'Bates' will hold more wealth and power than 'Crawley' ever has.

Our first chapter would open with some shocking news: Robert has managed to save Downton! See, WWII hurt the great estate, as did the depression the entire world went through, and it appeared it would once more collapse. But Robert for once came up with a brilliant money making idea: at his club he met with a man in this new television business, a Julian Fellows, who commented that he was looking to produce a show for tv but just didn't know what to air. He and Robert would talk about the silly, sad shows that aired and how none were entertaining. When Robert mentioned that his outlandish life could be a show it suddenly struck Lord Grantham… why not? He and Julian wrote up a contract and Robert signed away the story of the Crawley family to Fellows, with the residuals ensuring Downton will get a cut of the money for years to come.

While much of the family has no interest in watching this show, this 'Downton Abbey' series, as Robert told them it would be a documentary and they all think it will be boring, Sybie is interested. So she calls George, Marigold, and Rebecca and suggests over dinner that the four of them should watch the show together each week, just for a laugh.

The story would deal with the four youngsters watching their parents on Downton Abbey. But it wouldn't be a react fic… not entirely. Instead we'd see their lives and how events in the show affect them. Marigold, who doesn't have the greatest relationship with her mother due to her knowledge of her birth, seeing her mother not as the perfect daughter of an earl but as a woman who fought for all she has and thus coming to understand her better. Sybil connecting with a mother she never knew, to the point that when they get to the episode with Sybil's death Sybie is screaming at the tv to not let it happen, as the character has become her mother, the only one she's known. George and Rebecca, meanwhile, would see how their mutual parents caused themselves pain by being pig headed… and eventually realize they are making the same mistakes.

Chapter Text

Mary sighed as she ran her brush though her hair, her eyes half closed not because she was truly tired but so she didn't have to look at her own reflection. She knew if she did she would see disappointment reflected back at her, the same that she'd felt in everyone's eyes as the night had gone on and it had become more and more clear that her and Evelyn Napier would not be seeing more of each other. Her mother had been especially disappointed, taking her aside at one point and practically begging her make conversation with the man. But whenever Mary had tried she'd found herself losing interest, her thoughts drifting away and losing track of the conversation. She hadn't thought much of it until after Kemal had kissed her and she'd realized just how poorly she was treating the man she'd invited to visit. She'd asked Evelyn to visit, to see if there was a connection, but she hadn't even tried to determine if there was one. She'd felt ashamed at how she had ignored him but by then it was too late. That kiss had ruined any desire she had to play the social dance that those in her circle did and things had only gotten more awkward until finally enough time had passed that she was able to gracefully beg Evelyn's pardon and escape upstairs. In her wake she knew she left a man feeling as if the entire trip had been a waste and a family who watched her go with annoyance and disappointment swirling in their minds.

She'd allowed Anna to help her undress but had begged the maid to let her be by herself rather than help her undo her hair and remove her makeup. Mary needed to be alone, to let her thoughts coagulate. She'd never understood those that needed to talk to others in order to work out their concerns and thoughts. It was so much better to be by one's self, left alone to reflect on one's mistakes and victories and determine what needed to be done to continue down the path one wanted. The entire family knew how she was and how unwise it was to intrude when she just wanted to be by herself-

"Mary?"

Which of course was why Sybil had decided to enter her room wearing her robe and nightgown.

"No Sybil, I'm really Edith in disguise. I finally decided that I wanted to be Mary so much I'd change my appearance to look like her." Mary shut her eyes and let out a sigh, not even turning to see Sybil's reaction. "I'm sorry, darling, that was rude of me." She turned and gestured for her baby sister to come in. "What can I do for you?"

"It's more of what I can do for you," Sybil asked. "You looked rather ashen before you turned in and with Matthew taking ill-"

"Matthew took ill?" Mary asked, startled by the news. "When?" She tried to think back to when she'd last seen Matthew and was startled to realize that she couldn't remember. She knew he'd gone with them on the hunt and that at one point he'd cracked a joke about how she should have convinced him that everyone rode sidesaddle just so she could see him embarrassed, but after that… nothing. She couldn't remember seeing him in the drawing room, nor at dinner. Her mind began to race and she wondered if he had been hurt while on the hunt and she'd missed it while, distracted by Kemal. 'Surely that can't be the case, papa and mama would have been more worried… yet what if I missed that too? What if I was so focused on Pamuk-'

"After dinner," Sybil said, cutting off Mary's panicked thoughts. "He went out for a breath of fresh air after you and Mr. Pamuk stepped out and when he returned he asked Robert if he could turn in early, as he wasn't feeling well." Her little sister shot Mary a look. "How did you miss that?"

Mary licked her lips, trying to put some steel into her voice. She hated how frazzled she felt; she was Lady Mary Crawley and she wasn't the one that fell to pieces. She was the one who mocked others for falling to pieces. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure Cousin Matthew is fine and I am not feeling ill."

Sybil narrowed her eyes and Mary was suddenly struck with the thought that little sister suddenly looked much older and Mary at once felt like a child. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Mary asked, struggling to stay aloof.

"That. You always do that when you think someone is beneath you and doesn't need to know what is going on in that head of yours. I've known you all my life so don't think for a moment I don't recognize that trick. And don't-" at that Sybil marched forward and leaned down, making Mary lean back a touch, "-try and push me away, Mary. Don't you dare. Our entire lives are going to be filled with people that want to use us for our titles or want to see us thrown into the mud because they hate us simply for who our father is. We need each other. So don't you dare shove me away like a doll you don't want to play with just because you want to keep pretending you are Lady Mary Crawley, the Heartless Daughter of the Earl of Grantham!"

Mary took a deep breath and, as much to Sybil's shock as her own, felt her mask crack and tears to gather in her eyes. "Oh… oh Sybil…I'm so sorry." She grasped her sister's hands and gave them a squeeze. "I would never… I mean…"

Sybil squeezed back, pulling Mary up out of her chair and guiding her towards her bed. "Something happened last night, didn't it?"

"Is it that obvious?" Mary asked, hating the tears that were clinging to her eyes. "Everything has just gotten so mixed up and twisted around."

"Then talk to me about it," Sybil said, motioning for her to sit down on the bed. Mary, after a moment, did so, and Sybil snatched a pillow and placed on the floor before sitting down near Mary's slippered feet. Mary shook her head, not wanting to discuss her problems until she'd had time to come to terms with what had happened but Sybil merely shot her a glowering look. "And don't you dare try and stonewall me. I know you Mary and I know how you handle your problems."

"And how is that?" Mary asked in a half hiccup, half huff.

"Whenever something happens that doesn't fit into your carefully constructed model of how your life should go you seal yourself away in your room, thinking that you are working through what happened when in reality all you are doing is repressing the pain and confusion, letting it fester in your heart till all you can do for the next few weeks is snap at people with cutting little insults, questioning their intelligence and claiming that you are nothing like that."

"Oh, now you are just being silly," Mary grumped. "If you think that I do that then…I…" Mary blinked, realizing how she was behaving. "Ah. Quite." Sybil smirked in victory. "When did you figure that out?"

"Quite a while ago. You seem to forget that I am around when you and Edith snipe at each other. I know how both of you deal with pain and rejection and loss."

"And how does Edith deal with it?"

"By both playing the victim and attempting to cast others as villains like we were performing the works of Shakespeare. Now don't change the topic." Mary frowned but found herself unable to stop a tiny smile from gracing her lips at just how easily Sybil was able to read her. "What happened today to throw you so off-center?"

Mary looked down running her fingers along the duvet, tracing the stitching before finally saying, "Do you remember when you were four and papa took us to the ocean and you kept trying to build a sandcastle but it kept crumbling because of the waves and you began to cry?"

"Papa scooped me up and told me that I was too close to the water and he moved up the beach before he went and got buckets of wet sand. It was the only time I've seen him remove his shoes and socks!" Sybil and Mary chuckled at that, remember how their father had ignored their mother's complaints that he'd get sand everywhere when they got back as he'd rolled up his pant legs and helped Sybil build her little castle, excitedly crafting a story about the history of the castle and all the brave earls and countesses that had lived there and helping her name each tower and deciding who lived in which room. "Whenever someone tries to claim that papa is cold or didn't show us enough love I remember that story."

Mary nodded but she could feel her smile slipping as she left that happy memory and returned to the present day. "It feels as though I am now the one attempting to build something only for the sands to shift and the sea to come in and make everything come crumbling down. Yet there is no one here to pick me up and tell me 'it's okay, darling, let me show you what you've done wrong' and I hate to admit it but that is what I need and I don't understand why no one is willing to help me." She held up her hand, forestalling whatever Sybil was about to say next. "And please, don't mention Patrick. I am tired of everyone mentioning Patrick whenever I seem to be in a mood."

"But do you see why everyone does?" Sybil pressed, for she wouldn't be her little sister if she didn't press the issue.

"Because I am not wailing like a widow?" Mary asked in annoyance. She was so very weary of people expecting her to fall down in madness and grief, to allow her life to end just because someone she knew, that she was to marry, had died. She was not one of the undignified souls who fell to pieces when their husbands passed on. Whoever she married would be mourned but she would bounce back quickly and not allow herself to fall into months of despair. It would do no good to honor her late husband's memory by grieving for ages. She would not allow herself to tumble into despair. She would live, she would marry, that man would die, and she would move on. She wouldn't sob and cry. She just wasn't that type of person.

"Because it feels as if you've never truly allowed yourself to move on from his death." She sighed, considering her words carefully. "Mary, I believe you did grieve, in your own way, for Patrick. But I don't think you ever grieved for what his passing cost you. You still believe that Downton is your birthright, that something is going to happen that will allow you to be countess and rule over it… and as such you never allow yourself to move on to the next chapter of your life."

"But that's just it! I try to move on but every step I take is the wrong one!" Mary complained bitterly. "Just look at what happened with Evelyn tonight."

"I noticed you didn't spend much time with him… did you two fight?"

"No and that is the problem. I saw him today and… there was nothing. No spark. No flicker. No sign that he was the one for me. I know everyone just wants me to marry so they can focus on you and Edith…" Mary pulled a face, "and with Edith they will need all the help they can get…"

"Mary…" Sybil warned.

She let out a breath. "But I don't want to marry someone just to make it easy on the family. If I am to have a life I didn't plan for then it will be one that I want."

"And what do you want?"

"…that's just it. I don't know. I thought perhaps I did today but…"

"But what?" Sybil pressed. "Mary, what is it?"

"You'll be scandalized," Mary softly, not wanting to put to words what her thoughts were.

"I would have hoped by now you'd know just how untrue that statement is. Nothing you would do would make me gasp in shock and scorn you."

"don't make promises you can't keep, darling," Mary said with a bitter little laugh. "Today I found myself… entranced by Mr. Pamuk."

"I think everyone was. Anna asked me about him and I think Gwen caught sight of him too and got a flutter."

Mary noticed the face her sister was making when she said that, a puckered look like when one bit into a cake thinking it vanilla only to discover it was sour lemon. "And you didn't?"

Sybil violently shook her head. "He's too much of a dandy."

"If only that was his only sin," Mary stated.

"What do you mean?" Sybil leaned forward. "You left in a rush after you two left the drawing room… Mary, did he… did he try to…"

"He kissed me," Mary said, knowing her cheeks were turning red even as she said the words. "One moment we were admiring a painting in the hall and the next he was grabbing my face and asking me to let him come see me tonight so he might… I don't know what. I must have said something to make him think it was okay-"

"You did not!" Sybil exclaimed fiercely. "And even if you did that would not give him the right to… manhandle you like that!"

In the face of her sister's anger Mary chuckled softly, trying to calm her down. Sybil could be so fiery at times. "Peace, Sybil, peace. It is all right now."

"It certainly isn't all right! Why did you not tell papa?"

"I did not want to see Mr. Pamuk embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? He'd be lucky if father didn't thrash him! It is what he deserves!"

"Sybil, you are taking this much too seriously. He kissed me and I didn't expect it but… that is how men are. They can't control themselves."

"They can't- oh, that is pure and utter… shit!" Mary raised her eyebrow, startled that her sister had cursed… and let said curse fall from her tongue so easily. "Everyone keeps claiming how we are the weaker sex, prone to emotional outbursts and unable to handle the tough battles in life. Yet men like Pamuk, who are supposed to be in such control, are also so weak-willed that they can't control themselves around women and thus it is our fault when they attempt to do what they know to be wrong?" Sybil jabbed her finger against Mary's leg. "You are falling for the claptrap created by sick men who wish to absolve themselves of their failings by making women like you believe that everything is always their fault."

Mary opened her mouth to deny that but found the words would not move past her tongue. She slowly clicked her teeth shut and truly considered what Sybil had said. She thought of her interactions with Kemal and tried to find where she might have given him the impression it was okay for him to… demand… what he had demanded. And she could not find anything. She had shown him more attention than she'd normally show a man, that was for sure, but her time with him was no different than the time she spent with Matthew and he'd never attempted to kiss her like that or ask her to let him have knowledge of her in such an intimate way. In fact she and Matthew had gone on rides that had lasted the entire day and Matthew had always behaved as a complete gentlemen. It was only Kemal who had reacted as he did and the more she thought about it and his actions the hotter she became, and certainly not in a carnal way. It was just as Sybil had said: he had used her attraction to him to take liberties he never should have and when she'd tried to deny him he'd still attempted to make her change her mind. And the one embarrassed and concerned about the entire sordid event wasn't Kemal Pamuk but her!

'I doubt very much he is sitting in his room, thinking of what happened and chastising himself-'

She heard the door to her room creak open and she whipped around in time to find the man she'd just been thinking of quietly shutting the door behind him before pressing his back against it, giving her a grin that would have been well suited on Lucifer's face as he quietly locked it shut. She snatched up the duvet to cover herself, hissing in shock, "You must be mad!"

Kemal sent a smoldering look her way, his gaze never leaving her form, looking at her as if he was trying to work out why she was upset. Mary leapt off her bed, still clutching the duvet to her chest, wishing he would just go when it was clear all he wanted to do was stay.

"I am. I am in the grip of madness." He kept his hand on the doorknob and Mary felt her heart quicken with fear when he made no move to leave.

"You can't be here…"

"I told you I needed to see you tonight. I don't make such comments idly," he told her with a heated gaze. "And here you are, all alone and waiting for me."

'He can't see Sybil,' Mary realized dimly, a flicker of hope blossoming in her chest. 'She's hidden behind the bed… if I can distract him maybe she can get help.' She swallowed even as she said. "Do you have any idea what you're asking? I'd be ruined if they even knew we'd had this conversation, let alone if they-"

Kemal shook his head, clearly taking delight in her being flustered. With any other man she would have felt anger but the way he was looking at her all of Mary's fire seemed to burn out, leaving her shivering. "What? Don't worry. You can still be a virgin for your husband."

"Please… if I have done something to encourage you… to make you think…"

"If? There is no if. I can tell you want this, just as much as I do." He finally left the door but any relief Mary might have felt died when he rapidly bridged the gap between them, his strong hands grasping her arms as he guided her towards the bed.

"Don't," she said desperately, half of her praying Sybil would flee and get help and the other half so ashamed that she wished Sybil gone so she might not see her embarrassment and shame as she was thrown to the bed. Kemal straddled her body, his hands on her wrists, his face buried in the crook of her neck, not letting her even twist her body let alone her head to see if Sybil had made her move or had been rendered still from shock. "You're hurting me."

"What is pleasure without a bit of pain?" Kemal asked, tightening his grip on her wrists until she began to lose feeling in the tips of her fingers.

Mary's mind raced desperately. "I'll scream!"

"No you won't." It was clear he meant it to sound teasing but the rumble of his voice revealed the threat for what it was. "Who's on duty now? The hall boy? Will you really let him find a man in your bedroom? What a story!" He leaned down once more and began to bite at her shoulder and neck, making her go rigid. The worst part of it was that she knew he was right. Even if Sybil managed to get help the tales that would be told… "Of course, I've found some women like to scream during-"

And that's when Sybil smashed the vase upside his head.

One moment Mary was trapped beneath Kemal's body, her limbs pinned with no way of escape as he peppered kisses and love bites against her skin. The next he was rolling away, groaning and crying out in pain as Sybil grabbed Mary's arms and yanked her off of the bed and to the corner of the room, shards of the improvised weapon clattering to the floor. Mary took in the Turkish diplomat and was struck by the transformation. Gone was the dashing fellow on his horse who spoke of exotic places and new sensations. In his place was a beast, hair tangled and blood dribbling down the side of his face. His robe had loosened revealing he was wearing nothing underneath and his chest panted not from the thrill of the hunt but from pain and anger. Kemal looked up at the two of them and Mary felt herself shake harder for his eyes were blazing no longer with lust but with rage. It was a look that promised revenge for the delay and Mary knew that if Kemal had his way both her and Sybil would suffer greatly before the night was through. Yet Mary's baby sister didn't back down. Instead she merely stared him down before throwing back her head and letting rip a scream so shrill and harsh both Mary and Kemal clapped their hands over their ears.

Mary had no idea how long Sybil screamed for it seemed to last both a lifetime and a fraction of a second. What she did know was that suddenly the door of her room thundered open, the wood shattering around the lock, and Matthew raced in, still dressed in his pajamas and a firepoker in his hands as he scanned the room, the footman William only a step behind. The moment he spotted the Turk she was sure Matthew would go after him with the poker but instead Matthew rushed towards her and Sybil, moving so his body was between them and Kemal, the latter clutching his head where Sybil had struck him.

"You vile beast," Matthew snarled, still brandishing his weapon. "I knew there was something wrong with you. William, there is a poker to your left; grab it and ring the bell. If he tries to move towards you don't hesitated… you strike him down."

"Sir?" William said in shock.

"William," Matthew said, his voice harsh and hard, so unlike any other time Mary had heard him speak. There was something primal about his voice and Mary suddenly had a vision of a great wolf standing over its injured mate, snarling at a predator that had tried to make an easy meal out of the fallen one. "You have sworn to protect this family. You are a Man of Downton. Now pick up the poker and do your duty!"

William seemed to age 10 years before Mary's eyes, his back going straight as he firmly snatched up his own poker, holding it in a death grip as he moved and rang the bell so hard it was a wonder he didn't break it. Kemal glanced back at Matthew, his body tense as the blood from his head wound trickled down his neck and towards his bare chest. Matthew though merely shook his head.

"You come near them… you die," Matthew hissed.

"You wouldn't risk it."

"For them I would." The passion in his voice made Mary blink back tears; never had anyone so forcefully moved to protect her. At once she felt both comfort in having someone care so deeply for her and shame that she'd allowed herself to be in such a position and was doing nothing to help. She suddenly felt weak and helpless and she wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed; Sybil's arm was soon around her as she hugged her tight.

Mary never did get to find out what Kemal would do as at that moment papa rushed in, mama and Thomas a few steps behind. She turned her head away, heat burning her cheeks at the sight of her parents entering to see her shame.

"What is the meaning of this?" papa asked, looking about wildly.

"The meaning is clear enough," Matthew said, making no move to shift away from either of the Crawley girls. Mary heard her mother say something but it was too soft for her to make out. "I heard Lady Sybil scream and walked in to find this cretin in here, the door locked and Mary looking as if she were mauled."

"You don't know what we were doing," Kemal said fiercely. At his words Mary looked up and found herself trapped in his gaze. "I was invited in, wasn't I Lady Mary?" She tried to break away but his eyes seemed to entrance her, his words of the stories that would be told echoing in her head. She felt herself almost against her will slowly begin to nod her head, Kemal smirking in triumph.

"But I do," Sybil said, breaking the spell. "I came here to talk with Mary. I was seated behind the bed when you came bursting in! You locked the door and told Mary that you would have her, despite her repeatedly telling you no!" Sybill took a step forward but Matthew held out an arm, preventing her from getting any closer to Kemal. "When she rejected you… you threw her to the bed and threatened her with shame and disgrace if she didn't give in!"

Mary finally chanced a look at papa and nearly cried out at the sight of his face. She'd never seen him so angry before, his entire frame trembling as all the blood rushing to his face and scalp. Behind him her mother was a grand contrast, looking as pale as a specter, her hands trembling like doves as she brought them to her mouth, a silent scream forming on her lips. Mary was dimly aware that at some point Carson, Edith, and Evelyn had arrived, as had Anna and Mrs. Hughes, all of them shifting into the room and forming an impromptu audience for the dark pageant that was taking place before them. Matthew refused to move, his body still shielding Mary and Sybil, while William, even with the added numbers, refused to relax for even a moment, it clear that Matthew's command to protect the family still pounding in his heart.

"I invite you into my house. I allow you to eat at my table. And this is how you reward my kindness?" Papa took a step forward, his hands balled into fists. "I want you gone. I will not have you darkening these halls a second more." He marched over the Mary's desk and snatched up a bit of parchment, quickly sketching out a quick note. "This will inform the owner of the Grantham Arms that I will pay for your room for the night. Dress and go there at once. Your things will be brought by the morning at which point I want you to leave the village." He didn't even bother to hand Kemal the note, tossing at the man's feet. "Go. Before I call the police."

"For what?" Kemal snarled, eyes darting about like a caged and abused animal. "On the word of a wild child and a gold digging harlot? I'll ensure that the tale told of this night sees you ruined, Lord Grantham, so you best begin thinking of how to bargain with me rather than make threats."

"You were found in Lady Mary's room half undressed," Matthew snapped. "There's no way to spin this to your advantage."

Evelyn finally spoke up, making himself known. "Kemal, enough. You have disgraced you and me."

"No, not enough," the Turk ranted, a touch of madness flashing in his eyes before he focused on, of all people, Thomas. "What will the people say, Lord Grantham, when I tell them of how you harbor faggots in your home? Oh yes… you sent one to me, to undress me, to touch me…he tried to take advantage of me. I bet you sent him to me on purpose, Lord Grantham… I've heard of what you lords do to get enjoyment. Why else would you keep that cripple in your service? Whatever will the papers say when I expose your disgusting perversions!" Kemal tilted his head slightly as Thomas went nearly as pale as mama and in a sickening voice Kemal whispered. "I think that a fair trade… your silence for mine."

There was silence… before Sybil burst out laughing.

Kemal blinked, a bit of sanity returning to him as he slowly turned to stare at Sybil. Mary didn't blame him… she could feel the same befuddled look that was on Kemal's face forming on her own. Her sister was making Mary shake, she was laughing so hard, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she struggled with her mirth.

"Is that all you have?" Sybil finally hiccupped, managing to speak without collapsing into giggles. "False and baseless accusations about one of our footmen?" Mary watched as Kemal tried to puzzle out just what was going on, trying to find the trap he knew must be there. "Thomas is one of the biggest flirts in Downton Abbey. At the Servant's Ball every girl wanted a dance with him and he was happy to oblige. Even Granny danced with him! Gwen and Anna have told us of how he'll make little comments to them just to see them blush. Isn't that right Anna?" Mary's brow furrowed; she'd never heard Anna talk about Thomas like that. Anna didn't talk much about the staff and what happened downstairs. And Mary was the one who was closest to Anna, not Sybil. Why would the maid gossip with her?

And yet Anna was there, nodding her head. "It's true, my lady." She glanced at Thomas and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry to have revealed it to them, Thomas… it was only in innocent fun."

The footman nodded, swallowing before saying, "That's… quite alright, Anna." He smiled thought to Mary's eyes it seemed a bit too forced.

Sybil locked eyes with Kemal and laughed again. "Thomas? A homosexual? Now you are grasping! But what else should one expect from a rapist?"

"You bitch!" Kemal snarled, realizing his scheme had fallen apart once more.

"ENOUGH!" papa bellowed, silencing the Turk. "Mr. Napier… please help Mr. Pamuk gather his things. I will have Pratt drive you down to the Grantham Arms." For a moment he considered his words before adding, "You… are innocent in all this and I'll allow you to return, should you wish."

"Kemal… let's go," Evelyn said fiercely, his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Those in the room shifted to allow Kemal Pamuk easy access to the door, Matthew swinging his body so that he never gave the Turk an easy eyeline on either Mary or her sister. Kemal gingerly stepped around the shattered remains of the vase Sybil had broken over his head, Matthew tensing until the Turk moved passed him and continued on. Edith, for her part, drifted behind Thomas and William while mama moved to the other side of the room; it was clear to Mary that her mother wanted to rush to her but didn't dare risk doing so while Kemal was in the room. Let alone that Matthew was still brandishing the poker.

But the Turkish diplomat could not leave without one final parting shot. "You think yourself so high and mighty, Lord Grantham, but I'll still make sure everyone knows how I was treated. By the end of the week all of London will be a buzz with how your daughter teases and seduces men to her bedroom then screeches out just to cause a scene. All will know what a little whore Mary Crawley is, how she spread her legs for me-"

Once more Kemal Pamuk found himself silenced.

Only this time it was Carson's fist slamming into his face that quieted him.

There were many unwritten truths at Downton Abbey. Facts that all knew but never spoke aloud. And Kemal had just learned of one: Mary was Carson's favorite.

Unfortunately for the butler years of polishing silver hadn't given him a boxer's right hand and while his blow did knock Kemal back it didn't knock him out. Instantly the Turk rushed the butler, striking him in the gut and knocking the wind out of him. Mary heard a scream only to realize it was her own while Thomas pulled Anna and Mrs. Hughes out of harm's way while papa did the same to mama. Matthew tensed, it clear he wanted to rush and protect Carson but he did not want to leave Mary and Sybil unprotected. Evelyn attempted to yank Kemal off Carson, who had fallen to the ground as he tried to shield his face, but the man had lost all sanity and he shoved Evelyn away before moving to kick Carson while he was down.

But they'd all forgotten about William.

With a roar William rushed forward, dropping the poker and tackling Kemal, driving him away from Carson and into a wall. The Turk's head rolled about in a daze but then William was on him, punching him one, two, three, four times in the face and in the chest before Thomas took hold of his arm and yanked William away before he went too far and risked his freedom. Kemal slumped to the ground, his nose gushing blood and his hand clutching at his side while William finally realized he'd most likely just broken his hand and pressed it to his chest, Thomas dragging him back towards Anna and Mrs. Hughes who flocked around the footman.

"I've changed my mind," papa said finally, staring down in contempt at Pamuk as he held out an arm in front of mama. "I think Pratt can sleep tonight. He had a busy day. You… can walk. Now."

"Dressed… like this?" Kemal groaned.

"You're lucky I don't strip you naked and leave you in the woods! Now get out of my house!" papa thundered.

Kemal, tried to maintain dignity he did not have, slowly rose to his feet, Evelyn moving to follow him even though it was clear that was the last thing he wanted. Mary felt pity for the man, for it was not his fault that his friend had turned out to be such a monster. "I hope your daughter's virtue is worth all you have, Lord Grantham, because I'll see it all taken away from you after tonight."

"I'd burn Downton to the ground if it kept her safe from the likes of you," papa hissed, reaching down at grabbing the poker that William had discarded. Kemal, finally deciding that there was nothing left to say or do, hobbled out of the room, Evelyn a step behind. Mrs. Hughes moved and shut the door with a firm hand.

Anna, for her part, rushed to Carson's side, the butler sitting on the ground in a heap. "Are you alright, Mr. Carson?" she asked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Carson said, waving her off. Despite his injuries he was still Carson and would not allow himself to disgrace Downton by sitting on Mary's floor. "Just… need to catch my breath."

"Carson, please remain where you are, that is an order. And…thank you," Mary said, a hitch in her throat, "for defending my honor."

"That, my lady, is something you'll never need to thank me for." Carson groaned, hand rubbing his abused stomach.

"Matthew?" Sybil whispered, drawing Mary's attention to her cousin. She could see that he was still tense, gripping the poker like it was a lifeline, his body coiled and ready to spring at a moment's notice. Sybil carefully raised her hand, like one would when they were afraid the dog before them might turn vicious, and let it come to rest on his shoulder. "We're safe."

Like a puppet whose strings had been cut Matthew's entire body went lax. The poker fell from his fingers, clanging against the hardwood and making a dent but no one could muster the energy to care. Matthew trembled before whipping around and, to Mary's shook, wrapped both her and Sybil into a fierce hug. She could feel him shaking and heard rather than saw the tears that were rolling down his cheeks and though she would have normally found such displays of emotion to be undignified the trauma of the hour's events found her reaching around and hugging both him and Sybil. Edith, still trembling from the ordeal, wordlessly walked over and moved to rub Matthew's back only for him to pull her into the hug as well, the four of them wrapping their arms around each other in a tight embrace. Only then did the Crawley sisters begin to cry, the fear and the relief from what had just happened, and what might have been had providence not shined down upon them, finally crashing down on them.

Mary was struck too by how different Matthew's embrace was from Kemal's. The Turk had been crushing, possessive, holding her down with force. He had made her feel weak and small, his form crushing hers against the bed and making it so she could do little but lay there as he took advantage of her. There was no hope of resisting or breaking away, not unless Kemal allowed it. He sought to obtain, to dominate, to hold her in his embrace with he and he alone the master of when it would end and with only his wants and desires considered. With Matthew it was an embrace of give and take. She sensed all at once that he clung to her both to offer her comfort and to draw it from her. He was both trying to shield her from the trauma and pain that she had suffered through and clinging to her as a frightened child would a treasured toy. But Mary also understood that Matthew wasn't trying to entrap her and all she had to do was ask him to let go and he would do so. She dimly wondered at the strangeness of it all, that the man who wished to not release her was the one whose grasp she'd fought so hard to escape from… and the man who would, with a simple word, set her free….was the one she wanted to hold her and never let go.

It wasn't just Matthew who sought comfort and strength from her presence. Sybil had wrapped her arm around her waist and clung to her much as she had when she'd been a baby, constantly holding onto Mary's sleeve as they snuck about the Abbey. Edith had reached around and taken Mary's hand in her own and with a squeeze silently told her sister that for tonight at least there would be no cruel words and biting insults. Tonight they were sisters and that was all.

Finally Matthew got control of himself and released them, looking a bit sheepish for his emotional outburst, cringing slightly as if he expected Mary to make a snide remark of his hugging her being so middle class. She wanted to shake him by the shoulders and ask how she could ever think such a thing about her savoir but a bitter little voice in the back of her reminded her that she'd done nothing to prove that worry false. Instead Mary allowed her mother to take Matthew's place, mama running her fingers through her hair and murmuring whispered promises that it was all over and she was safe.

"Matthew," papa said, his eyes blinking rapidly as he approached his heir before clasping him a quick, tight embrace. "Thank you." Matthew was only able to nod. "Now, sit down… you look about ready to collapse." Once more Matthew could only nod, moving and slumping down beside Mary's bed, his chin falling to his breast as he panted. Mary looked at her father, watching as he struggled to contain himself, it clear that he wanted to do nothing more than join his wife and daughters in the massive hug but knowing that there was much to do. "Thomas?"

"Yes my lord?" the foorman said, straightening as a bit of color finally returned to his cheeks.

"Could you please wake up Pratt and have him drive down to the Village. I meant what I said about that…" it was clear her father wanted to say something else but with women in the room he would not curse, "…man walking but we need Dr. Clarkson to come. I want him to look over Carson, William, and Mary."

"Papa, I'm fine," Mary said, trying to step towards him but her mother and sisters kept her rooted in place. "Please, see to poor William and Carson."

"You are not fine Mary. You were attacked, same as them, and I will know that you are safe."

Mary glared at her father, a bit of her fire returning and she found herself grateful for that; she'd feared that Kemal had snuffed it all out and left her empty. "Fine but I will go last. Carson is hurt and William's hand may be broken."

The footman looked over at Mary's father, a glimmer of fear in his eye. "My lord… what about…" he gestured at his injured hand and the meaning was clear. What good was a footman that couldn't hold a tray?

"William," Matthew said, finally speaking up, "after tonight I'll carry every tray until you are healed, if it means you keep your position." He glanced up at papa. "I'm sorry Robert, I shouldn't speak out of turn-"

"But in this case you're correct." Robert walked over and pattered William on the shoulder. "You protected my daughter and saved Carson. For that I am in your debt. If I have to send you to London to get fixed up I will. We'll figure this out, William."

"Yes my lord."

"I'll go fetch Pratt now, my lord," Thomas said.

"Rouse Mr. Napier's man and ask him to gather Mr. Pamuk's things in the morning. I don't want you in his room… I won't give him another reason to drag your name into the mud."

Thomas nodded and moved to leave only to stop and look over at Sybil. "My lady… thank you for speaking up for me."

Sybil smiled at him. "You are a good man, Thomas… even if you were all he claimed you to be I would never let the likes of him ruin you."

The footman paused at that and for a moment, to Mary's confusion, she thought Thomas would begin to cry as well. But instead he gathered himself and smiled, a genuine smile for him, and left.

"I should go and alert the staff of what has happened," Carson said only for Mrs. Hughes to hurry over and force him to remain sitting.

"You won't be going anywhere till you've been looked over. I'll inform the staff… though I imagine with Thomas they will all know soon enough."

Papa nodded. "Carson, as Lady Mary said you will sit there. That is an order. I don't want you or William moving about until Clarkson has been you the go ahead. Mrs. Hughes?" the head housekeeper looked over at Mary's father. "Would you and Anna mind terribly retrieving some chairs and pillows? I dare say none of us will be retiring to our beds for the rest of the night and we might as well be comfortable."

"Yes, my lord," Mrs. Hughes said.

"Would you like me to bring something to drink, my lord?" Anna asked.

"Good thinking, yes," Papa said, Mary smiling as Carson complained about maids fetching drinks like footmen. "I think we all could use some, as the Americans say, 'liquid courage'."

Mary and her family moved towards the bed, Mary deciding to sit so that she was next to Matthew while her mother sandwiched herself between her and Edith. Sybil slumped down next to Matthew and to the surprise of all rested her head on his shoulder, a tired smile forming on her lips. If anyone thought it improper they didn't say a word and after the chaos and stress of the last hour the Crawleys found themselves honestly not caring about what was socially acceptable. Her father, for his part, kissed Mary on the forehead before walking over to check on William. Anna soon returned with chairs and papa helped William and Carson into two of them before he began to pace the room, glancing every few seconds at Mary, as if to make sure she was fine.

As her family closed ranks around her Mary shut her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. She dimly heard her mother tell her to sleep, that she'd wake her when Clarkson arrived, and while Mary wanted to fight her eyes would not stay open. The last thing she knew before sleep claimed her was Matthew's hand reaching up and taking hers.

She gave it a squeeze before drifting off.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: I'm not going to say much as this has been the chapter you've all been waiting for and for something like this I'd rather let you guys digest what occured rather than me talking about it.

That said, you guys still get a plot bunny and it is an interesting one!

It is up to whoever takes the bunny if it is placed in Season 1 or Season 2. Both would offer some fun... I think Season 2 might be better, as it would allow mre characters to be involved, but Season 1 would work too. It begins when Robert receives a rare antique that he recently won at an auction while visiting London. Known as a Liar's Box, it is a beautifully crafted box, roughly between the size of a cigar box and a breadbox, and Robert thought it a wonderful piece to encourage discussion after a dinner. He invites everyone to the Abbey but when he opens the box there is a suddenly flash of green light that sweeps over all of Downton. The first thing people discover is that all the doors and windows won't open, nor can they be broken open. What they discover next is even more startling:

None of them can lie.

That little reveal leads into the second revelation: as time goes on there is a deep need to confess secrets. Trying to not speak one's mind causes discomfort (think Steve Trevor under Wonder Woman's lasso of truth) until finally one can't help but blurt out something. Then there is relief... only for the process to begin again.

The fourth and final discovery? A deep urge to give into one's desires if one tries to fight the other curses. Because denying oneself is a form of lying as well.

Thus we have a bunch of repressed British People, servants and the rich alike, all trapped in a house that is known for secrets... now unable to lie and with the urge to reveal secrets and to do things they've always dreamed of doing but been unable to.

Now wouldn't that be fun!

I just have so many funny and wonderful scenes in my head. Mary fighting hard to resist but when she finally gives in she gives in HARD, with Matthew going to the room he's been given only to find her lounging naked under the bedsheets, confessing how she's wanted to ravage him for years. Thomas finally confessing all his dirty little secrets and the horror as people begin putting the pieces together. Anna and Bates sitting down and just making lists of all their secrets, getting it all out in the open. Mrs. Hughes marching up to Mr. Carson as he tries to maintain control and just kissing him soundly! Violet admiting that she tried pizza last year and she loves it and she goes down to the kitchen to teach Mrs. Patmore how to make it because damn it she is tired of wine and chicken dishes, she wants some pizza! Sybil and Branson just looking at each other and going "I love you!" and then spending the rest of the night commenting on what is going on. Robert seeing the benefit of finally learning what everyone has been hiding from him and running about finally learning about all the scandals and secrets they hid from him ("Cora, what happened in this room?" "That is where Mr. Pamuk slept with Mary." "He... wait, what about this room?" "That is where I caught Larry Gray sucking his thumb" "Really?!")

And if you include other characters, like the Grays or Dr. Clarkson... well, things could get VERY interesting.

Chapter Text

Anna yawned, struggling to keep herself from flopping her head down onto the table in the servants' hall and surrendering to the call of sleep. She knew she looked like a frightful mess and not just because of the bags under her eyes. She had only finally gotten out of her nightgown an hour ago and hadn't had time to get her hair in a proper bun so there were stands sticking out of it in every direction. Her uniform had been hastily thrown on too and while no one else would notice Anna knew that it was falling poorly along her frame, causing it to hitch or bunch up in odd places. She hadn't even been given a moment to splash water on her face or brush her teeth and knew that she most likely had grit stuck to her eye lashes. In a word she looked like a mess and felt like one too.

Not that anyone honestly cared. After the night they'd all gone through Anna could have strolled through the downstairs in just her knickers and Mrs. Patmore would have just handed her a cup of coffee and asked her if she wanted a spot of cream.

It had all started when, just as Anna had gotten changed, the bell in Lady Mary's room had begun to ring so violently that Anna had thought it would shatter. While the Crawley could be a handful at times they were good people to work under. Even Ms. O'Brien admitted that Lady Grantham was, to borrow an American term, 'low maintenance'.

"I've worked for some that would ring at all hours, demanding this and that and the other thing without hardly a thank you and then wonder why you weren't in your uniform even if it were 2 in the morning. More often than not they'd smack your hand because you didn't already know what they wanted," O'Brien had once confided to her when she'd been in one of her more talkative moods. "Her ladyship and the girls have a sense of kindness and decorum. If they ring for you… you know it isn't for some frivolous desire."

So when Lady Mary's bell had begun ringing like mad Anna had leapt to her feet, telling Gwen to stay there even as she rushed out the door, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson quickly joining her, all three of them dressed in their night clothes, all three of them knowing something was wrong. Later, when pressed, Anna wouldn't be able to explain what made her know that this wasn't some normal call; it had been a sixth sense that warned her of danger. Her fears had been confirmed when she'd heard the shouting and arrived at Lady Mary's door to find the family already gathered inside, Mr. Crawley shielding Lady Mary and Sybil with his body, both he and William brandishing fire pokers, and Mr. Pamuk half dressed and looking crazed. What had followed had been a nightmare and her heart still mourned for Lady Mary and what she had gone through. It had only been through the grace of God and the quick thinking of Lady Sybil that had seen Lady Mary spared the worst of fates.

Once the vile cad had been driven off Anna and Mrs. Hughes had worked to get chairs and blankets and pillows for the family before moving to comfort William and Carson. Thomas had arrived shortly after and with barely a nod to his lordship taken up Mr. Crawley's firepoker and moved to stand guard over them, lest Mr. Pamuk return and attempt to attack once more. Time had flown by after that, Anna moving in a daze as Dr. Clarkson had finally arrived and looked over his three new patients before delivering his diagnosis to his lordship and Mrs. Hughes; the head housekeeper had made it clear to Mr. Carson that until he was better she would manage the staff of Downton in his stead. Anna remembered at one point leaning against a wall only to find, of all people, his lordship placing a glass of his own brandy into her hands.

"We've had a rough go of it and I think we all need something for our nerves," he said quietly. Anna had licked her lips nervously and his lordship, with a soft smile, had added, "Just don't tell the Dowager." That had broken the tension and Anna had sipped on the drink, not liking the taste in the slightest but welcoming the warmth it returned to her limbs. Finally her ladyship had thanked the servants for all they'd done and told them to get some rest; Mr. Carson and William left behind to be looked over by Dr. Clarkson and receive their directions from him.

By then it had been near dawn and Anna, despite her exhaustion, had dragged herself to her room to change, Mrs. Hughes passing the word along to the rest of the staff that she would be delivering 'an address' downstairs in 30 minutes. If she hadn't been so tired Anna would have found it amusing how confused and befuddled the rest of the servants were; apparently Thomas hadn't been whispering to one and all about what had happened and all they knew was that something had occurred and that several people were missing. She'd heard, passing by the various kitchen girls, hall boys, and other members of the staff, a wide range of strange and for her hysterical rumors.

"Lord Grantham is going to announce that he is stepping down as lord and Mr. Crawley will take his place! He's decided that it is time for a young buck to shape things up!"

"I heard that Lady Mary broke it off with Mr. Napier and is going to marry an oil tycoon from America. She'll be moving by the New Year."

"Mr. Carson wishes to relax and Mr. Bates will be the new butler and Mr. Carson will be his lordship's valet."

"They have to sell Downton and we're all moving to North! This is when they are going to fire some of us!"

"Lady Edith and Dr. Clarkson are getting married!"

"Mr. Crawley is a German spy! They caught him going through his Lordship's files!"

"Her ladyship is pregnant… with twin boys!"

"Lady Sybil ran off with an Irish revolutionary!"

"They are having Mr. Crawley commited. Seems he suffers from multiple personalities. I hear some are quite beastly."

Anna had been stopped several times by people wanting to know if she had heard any news but Anna had managed to wave them off and get to her room, eyeing her bed with longing before reluctantly dressing in the first uniform that she could find (and she had a feeling it might have been Gwen's, which would explain why it didn't seem to fit quite right) and hurrying downstairs to join in for breakfast, which she half ate and half thought about using as a pillow.

Luckily for her she wasn't the only one that looked like they had spent the night fighting with a banshee. Thomas' face was gaunt and his face was pallor looking while Pratt, for a rare visit to the downstairs hall, was nursing his coffee cup, having already requested two refills. Other people who hadn't been a part of the night's events but had clearly been awakened by them were also mulling about: Daisy looked like she'd been dragged through one of the chimneys rather than cleaning it, a few of the hall boys were half asleep in their chairs, and even Mr. Bates had his eyes half open, managing only the weariest of smiles when Anna glanced his way. Those that had gotten a regular night's sleep saw that the others obviously had had a rough night but any attempts to get information out of them failed, with Thomas in particular only muttering that Mrs. Hughes wanted to handle it. His desire to defer to her silenced the staff and they waited, chatting about inconsequence things until the head housekeeper entered, the staff rising as one (though not as quickly and sharply as they normally did with Pratt himself not even bothering as he was so focused on his coffee) as she made her way not to her normal seat but Mr. Carson's.

The table went deathly silent.

"Sit," she commanded. "I won't mince words with any of you, because you don't deserve that. But I am only going to tell as much as you need to know, out of respect for the family and the horrors they and some of us just faced. Last night… Mr. Pamuk entered Lady Mary's room unannounced and unwanted and… attempted to take advantage of her."

"…that foreign bastard," Ms. O'Brien spat, rage flickering in her eyes. While the lady's maid was a sour woman who didn't like anyone that much she did have a sense of honor and decorum and the idea that a guest had attempted that on one of the family clearly burned her fiercely.

"I don't understand," Daisy said, Anna grimacing at the kitchen maid's voice cut through the murmur of the startled and worried servants. "What do you mean?"

"It means he tried to do something no man should ever do to a woman," Mr. Bates said as kindly as he could. Anna mentally thanked the valet for stepping up as she honestly didn't have the patience to deal with Daisy. At times she wondered how the kitchen maid had managed to make it through life, being as naïve as she was. She'd have thought it an act but no one, not even Thomas, was such a sneak as to maintain such a performance for so long.

"But what did he do, exactly?" Daisy said, ruining at once Anna's hopes that she'd stay quiet.

"Not now," Mrs. Patmore said sternly.

"But I don't understand. Can't someone explain-"

"I'll explain later, now shush," Mrs. Patmore hissed.

Once Daisy had folded into herself from the scolding Mrs. Hughes let out a sigh before continuing. "Thankfully Lady Sybil was there and prevented the worst from happening."

"Is she alright?" Gwen asked, interrupted. "Lady Sybil and Lady Mary, I mean?"

"As well as they can be, all things considered," Mrs. Hughes said. "Lady Sybil struck Mr. Pamuk with a vase and when he was down she screamed for help. William had been assisting Mr. Crawley as he had, according to William, begun to feel better after his brief feelings of illness when they heard her scream and the two of them broke down the door and kept that… vile man… away from the girls."

"Is that why William isn't here?" someone asked; Anna wasn't sure who.

"Yes and I'll explain that in a moment."

Daisy though blinked, tilting her head in confusion. "Why did Lady Sybil hit Mr. Pamuk? What did he do that was so wrong?"

"Quiet you stupid girl," Ms. O'Brien snapped.

Daisy though had allowed her confusion to outweigh the normal timidness that kept her in line. "But I don't understand! What could he do that was so bad in Lady Mary's room? What would deserve Lady Sybil attacking him? I just don't know-"

"Of course you don't know because you have no brains between your ears you daft girl!" Mrs. Hughes finally growled, her fraying patience shredding to pieces. Daisy leaned back, eyes wide, but to Anna's horror the kitchen maid opened her mouth once more, setting off Mrs. Hughes again. "Get in the kitchen, now! If you can't hold your tongue then you can wait for Mrs. Patmore to explain it to you, the good that will do! Get, and don't let me hear a peep from you for the rest of the day you daft girl! Go before I decide that this is the last day you spend in this house!"

Daisy, shivering and with tears in her eyes, rushing out of the room. Normally at least one of the staff would feel sorry for the poor girl when she got a verbal scolding like that but on this day her usual heroes simply didn't have the energy to bother.

"I apologize, Mrs. Hughes," Mrs. Patmore said, her tone weary. "I'll have a talk with the girl… make sure she understands when it is best to shut that mouth of hers."

Mrs. Hughes waited until the sounds of the girl's crying faded away before taking a breath and addressing the cook. "Thank you. Now, if everyone else will kindly let me finish I will then take questions." The rest of the staff nodded silently, not wanting to be on the end of Mrs. Hughes' wrath. "Now then… Mr. Crawley and William-"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Bates said, raising his hand like a school boy. It would have been funny if Anna wasn't so tired. "They broke down the door? Did I hear you right?"

Mrs. Hughes looked as if she were about to get upset only to stop herself; Anna had to admit it was a good question. She hadn't realized the door had been damaged either. She'd been too busy to notice. "Aye, that's what Mr. Crawley said. He and William found it locked and had to break it down together. Luckily the lock was older than me and shattered quite easily." There were some chuckles at that; less because of the humor and more to just break the tension. "The two young men used fire pokers to keep Mr. Pamuk contained until the rest of the family, Mr. Carson, Anna, Thomas, and myself arrived. Mr. Pamuk tried to… claim that Lady Mary asked him to come but that was quickly proven to be a lie. When his lordship demanded he leave Mr. Pamuk tried to make up some horrid lies about the staff but the family would not hear of it. Seeing he was outnumbers and out of options Mr. Pamuk made to leave but decided to insult Lady Mary one more time. Mr. Carson didn't take kindly to that and… well…" Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "He struck him."

"Blimey," Gwen whispered in surprised.

Mrs. Hughes licked her lips. "It was unexpected, to be sure, and I wish I could say that was the end of it but Mr. Pamuk did not take kindly to being hit and he struck Mr. Carson right back."

"Is he okay?" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, fear in her eyes. "I heard Dr. Clarkson was here… is that why he isn't here telling us? Is he hurt?"

The staff talked over each other for several moment before Mrs. Hughes finally got them to settle. "Mr. Carson was hurt but not as badly as he could have been."

"What do you mean?" someone asked.

It was Thomas though that answered, his voice surprisingly soft. "William. He didn't take kindly to Mr. Carson being hurt. While the rest of us men protected the ladies he… he rushed Mr. Pamuk, striking him several times and keeping him from hurting Mr. Carson any further. He may have saved his life."

"Well," Ms. O'Brien said finally, the hall having fallen into utter silence with that revelation, "that's not what I expected to wake up to hear."

"None of us did," Mrs. Hughes said. "After that his lordship revoked all signs of kindness and honor towards Mr. Pamuk. He cast him out, telling him that he could stay in the inn for one night but after that he had to be gone. I've had Mr. Napier's man gather his things and take them down to him, thus why he is not here."

"Will Mr. Napier be leaving too?" Gwen asked.

"That will be up to him. His lordship understands that he was not at fault for Mr. Pamuk's actions."

Ms. O'Brien shook her head though. "If I were him I'd never show my face again. Not after what he brought. Can't see him and Lady Mary hitting it off now."

"That isn't for us to discuss," Mrs. Hughes stated firmly, gripping the back of her chair. "Dr. Clarkson came and examined Lady Mary, Mr. Carson, and William. Lady Mary is fine but is obviously shaken up and her ladyship has demanded she stay in bed for the rest of the day; Mr. Crawley suggested she use the guest bedroom and I admit he has a good point. Gwen, I want Lady Mary's bed stripped and new sheets and duvet put on it. We'll burn the old ones if we have to but I don't want any of the family to see them again." Gwen nodded at that.

"I'll ask her ladyship if we might have the bed replaced with another one," O'Brien stated. When the others looked at her she shook her head. "No one deserves to have a reminder of… that. Lady Mary will need to decide if she wishes to be in that room again but at the very least the bed should be removed."

"Broach it but be polite about it," Mrs. Hughes stated. "Mr. Carson is also on bedrest; Dr. Clarkson said there will be some bruising and he wants him to rest so he doesn't aggravate it. You all know he won't like that so please be kind and firm when you tell him to go back to bed. Use his Lordship's name, if needed." That earned another chuckle and spirits lifted just a bit at the idea of a hallboy giving the butler orders. "As for William Dr. Clarkson stated that he did not break his hand, thankfully, but he will need it bandaged for several days and avoid heavy lifting."

Thomas once more spoke up. "Mrs. Hughes, I'll cover for William until he is well."

That got everyone staring at the valet and for once it wasn't out of annoyance or anger but of approval. Thomas, for his part, wilted a bit, suddenly reminding Anna of the young man she'd met when she'd first started and not the scheming bitter soul he'd become. He shifted awkwardly, not quite used to everyone looking at him with approving eyes.

"Thank you, Thomas. Now, the family is rather shaken by what has happened and they also understand that many of us were up at ungodly hours of the night dealing with the… unpleasantness. His lordship has canceled dinner for tonight and asked that we serve something simple for lunch and supper."

Mrs. Patmore considered this. "What if we did like we do on Christmas day, and set up some warm dishes and some cold food so the family can pick and choose what they like?"

"Yes, I think that would work quite well. Make sure that it is food that can easily be taken upstairs for Lady Mary. I don't want her to have an accuse for getting out of bed."

"I can stand in for Mr. Carson and Thomas and William," Mr. Bates said when Thomas let out a yawn. "Once I see to his lordship I'll grab a quick bit of rest before lunch. I only lost a little bit of sleep from all the commotion. With it being rather casual it won't be a bother to me. Worst case we'll get one of the hall balls… give them a chance to practice. I can guide them through and Thomas can get some rest." Mr. Bates glanced at Thomas and after a moment the footman nodded, their feud set aside for the day at least.

Mrs. Hughes, despite being tired, was thrilled that things were falling into place. "That would be perfect, thank you. Anna, her ladyship stated that Mary is not to dress today and will be served in bed and Lady Mary made it clear she doesn't want you up and about tiring yourself. Gwen, you'll see to Lady Edith and Lady Sybil. With no dinner it should be easy enough for you to handle."

"Of course," Gwen said quickly.

"I can assist later on, once I've gotten a few winks," Anna stated.

"You'll get a full sleep, Anna, or Lady Mary will have your head, believe you me." Anna smiled slightly at that, knowing the truth of that. She wouldn't be surprised if word came down that she would get the rest of the day off, after what she had gone through. "Mr. Pratt, if you would be kind enough to drive down and let Mr. Molesley know that Mr. Crawley will be staying here for the next day or so that would be most kind. See if Mrs. Crawley could spare him… it would be helpful to have another set of hands for today, at least, until William and Thomas and Mr. Carson are back to full strength. After that his lordship said you might have the day off… the Dowager will be most likely around by lunch today and if we need a driver I am sure she can spare her's." Pratt nodded in thanks to that. Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat before looking at everyone carefully. "This house avoided a tragedy last night and we have Mr. Crawley, Lady Sybil, and William to thank for that. But that doesn't mean that we can begin flapping our lips about what happened to all that want to hear it. The story will get out, I'm sure of that, but I don't want to hear that it came from any of us. I ask that you show respect for Lady Mary… what she went through no one, man or woman, should ever face, even if Providence smiled upon her and saw her avoid the worst of it." The staff murmured in agreement at that; there was gossip and then there were situations like this. "Right… well then, off you go."

"Mrs. Hughes," O'Brien said at the servants began to break up, "after I see to her ladyship I can work with Mrs. Patmore to keep an eye on this lot. You need your rest too. I'll make it clear to them that you are left alone for a bit, to get some rest."

"Thank you for that, Ms. O'Brien. I truly appreciated it." The head housekeeper let out a yawn. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry. But I suppose that was your point to begin with."

The two moved out of Anna's earshot and she began to make her way towards the door only for Mr. Bates to stop her. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine, just tired. Lucky for me I avoided most of it. Honestly they could have managed had I stayed in bed."

"Still, it scares me that you were even in the same room as that beast."

Anna blinked at that. She wasn't feeling kindly too Mr. Pamuk either but there was an odd edge to Mr. Bates' words… that and something else she couldn't identify. A hint of rage tinted with… regret? "Well, he's gone now and I doubt we'll ever see him again."

"Hmmm… yes, I agree to that. Well, I need to see to his lordship. I imagine I'll be spending more time allowing him to vent his frustrations and fears than actually dressing him." With that he limped off, Anna watching him go with a tied smile. That was just like Mr. Bates, realizing when a person needed his help… even if he didn't need to lift a finger to do so.

As she made for the stairs she noticed Thomas staring at her and when she met his eyes he motioned for her to follow him off into one of the storerooms. Anna quickly followed, wondering what the footman was up to but knowing that at the very least she was safe around him. Thomas was a sneak and a pot stirrer but he had never caused her harm. They had an understanding that they were not enemies and while they would disagree on things the two would never come at it in battle. When she'd first begun assisting Lady Mary Thomas had only asked her once what she discussed with the girls. Knowing how he was with O'Brien she'd gently but firmly told him she would never let slip private information; she would speak with him about any other matters but she would never ask him for information and said he must respect that the same would be true of her. Thomas has smiled at that, said he respected her wishes, and had never pressured her again. Nor had he shown any annoyance at her choice. It was clear to him that he saw her as an innocent party and would never involve her in his games. Would he prefer her on his side? Of course. But he also didn't see her on the opposite side.

Shutting the door behind them Thomas turned and Anna was struck by how venerable he suddenly looked. The cool mask he normally wore was gone as was the sneering, mocking smile he'd adopt when he was toying with William or Mr. Bates. Instead he looked at her with a mixture of confusion and appreciation.

"Why… that is… if I may ask… why did you-"

Anna, feeling sorry for him, placed a hand on his arm. "Why did I lie about you flirting with me?" Thomas nodded and Anna smiled. "Because what he would have done to you wouldn't have been fair."

"You mean spreading lies… saying I was… that way?"

"No," Anna said. "I mean him using such things as a weapon against you." She felt him seize up and she locked eyes with him. "He blackmailed you, didn't he? Forced you to reveal which room was Lady Mary's? That's how he found her."

Thomas slowly, painfully, nodded his head. "I thought… he played me as he did Lady Mary and then when he had me in his power he made me a weapon in his attack upon her."

"Then he is worse scum than I'd thought moments ago and I wish him nothing but death," Anna said firmly. Thomas swallowed, struck by her words, and Anna patted his arm again. "I will never tell a soul. You have my word."

The footman blinked at that. "There… there aren't too many people in this world that I can say have been kind to me. In fact I would have said yesterday there were none. You and Lady Sybil have proven me wrong. I don't know how she knows… but she does and she moved to save me. I'll never forget that. And what you've done for me."

"I'm glad." Anna paused, a bit of mischief trickling into her next words. "If I were cruel I'd say you'd have to be nicer to Mr. Bates to pay me back."

Thomas actually snickered at that. "Thank God you aren't as bad as me then." Anna shook her head, chuckling as well. "I truly mean it… thank you Anna."

"You have nothing to thank me for, Thomas. Nothing at all. Now… let's both get some rest."

"After you, my lady," Thomas said gallantly and Anna giggled before yawning, her bed calling to her.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"'What a woman-oh what a woman!' cried the King of Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. 'Did I not tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity she was not on my level?' 'From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a very different level to your Majesty.'"

Mary snorted at that. "That is one way to put it."

Matthew smirked as he looked up from the book he was reading from. He was seated next to the bed that he'd been meant to sleep in the night before but which now contained the woman that was both his past wife and the woman he would one day marry, God willing. She was propped up with some pillows, a glass of water beside her, her biscuit jar half empty though that was from Matthew nibbling on them as much as Mary. The sun had long risen but per Dr. Clarkson's orders Mary was to remain in bed for the rest of the day and Matthew, after grabbing a bit of sleep curled up in Mary's room while they'd waited for Dr. Clarkson to look over Carson and William, had decided that today he would ensure that Mary would not go stir crazy. He knew the woman he loved and if left to her own devices she'd have gotten up, decided to start her day, only to remember that she'd told Anna to rest and thus attempt to dress herself. And while Mary was a fierce, independent woman… she was utter rubbish when it came to dressing herself. Matthew had always found it funny to watch her attempt to clothe herself; it was like watching a farce on stage. She'd hop about struggling to put on her stockings, tripping over furniture and flailing about like a drunkard before half the time ripping something. The best case scenario would have seen Mary storm down stairs wearing a dress with no corset, missing a shoe, and with her hat pinned to her hem.

Thus he'd asked Anna, before she'd left to get some sleep herself, to help Mary into a one of her most modest nightgown (and commanding her to destroy the old one; if he had to board up her room and move her to another wing he would if it meant not facing nightmares over what had nearly happened with the Prick). He'd then gotten a newly arrived Molesley to help him dress in another of the guest rooms, grabbed a few books from the library, and then marched right back to Mary, pulling a chair up to her bed and beginning to read aloud before she had a chance to complain. She'd sputtered a bit but soon quieted down, allowing Matthew to read to her while she simply relaxed.

"I thought you'd enjoy that one."

"Because a woman of talent and cunning outsmarted the world's greatest detective and the King of a sovereign country?"

"And a middle class woman too," Matthew teased. "Imagine what you could have done."

Mary leveled a dry look at him. It amazed him how her wearing a nightgown and with her hair down the look lost so much of its fierceness. "I don't know…would I have the freedom to do that? The upper class is so ruled by our structured lives."

"You'd pay someone to live your structured life so you could beat Holmes," Matthew quipped.

"One of these days you will not have the right answer, Matthew Crawley. I hope to be there to see it."

"I hope so too," Matthew said.

"So, that is your favorite mystery?" Mary asked.

"Very much so, yes."

"Hmmm."

"What?"

"I just find it… odd… that your favorite mystery is one where the great detective failed."

Matthew shook his head. "Not failed. Outsmarted. There is a difference."

"I don't see how."

"Holmes is rendered mortal here. He can be tricked, fooled… his mind isn't absolute. I like it because if someone like that can make a mistake, be outsmarted by someone… someone who he did not think his better, based on his opinion on women, it makes me feel better about my own mistakes."

Mary considered this. "…you just like it that the beautiful singer chose the lawyer instead of the detective or the king."

"There is that too," Matthew chuckled, reaching out and patting her hand before returning to the book. "Now then, shall I continue?"

"What is the next one called?" Mary asked, leaning back against the pillows but not removing her hand from his.

"The Red-Headed League."

"Crikey, with a title like that it could be anything."

Matthew opened his mouth to say something only for Bates to enter. "The Dowager Countess, my lady." He quickly got to his feet, Mary sitting up a bit straighter and Matthew figured she would have gotten completely out of bed had her grandmother not shot her a knowing look.

"Thank you, Bates, I can handle it from here," the Dowager said, her cane tapping on the floor as she made her way over to the bed. "And don't you dare get up for me, Mary. I've already talked with your father and mother and they relayed Dr. Clarkson's orders. Normally I feel doctors can be a bit too cautious for my tastes, always wanting to test this or study that… though now that I think about that it does explain your mother, Matthew." He chuckled at that, knowing that if the shoe were on the other foot his mother would have delivered her own playful mockery about the Dowager. "But in this case he is all too right. You've had a horrid time and rest is the best medicine."

"I don't like being wrapped up like a piece of fine china, Granny," Mary huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "It's not like I had the flu or something."

"Oh, I would say not! I can't beat the flu with my cane if I ever see it again!" Violet reached out and patted Mary's hand. "But it wasn't just you that suffered, my dear. All of us have been given a fright so you must forgive us for being cautious now."

"I suppose, Granny." She glanced over at Matthew and he forced himself not to beam at the gentle true smile he sent his way. "At the very least there is someone in this house willing to ensure I don't go mad from boredom while I wait for Dr. Clarkson to give me permission to move about like an adult."

Violet turned to study Matthew and he fought the urge to rub the back of his head nervously. "I suppose this all seems rather improper to you, Cousin Violet. Me being in Mary's room like this…"

The Dowager though waved off his concerns though with a flip of her hand and a rolling of her eyes. "Normally I might have agreed with you but after what occurred last night I'd say you've earned some leniency. If need be I'll just think of it as your mother's liberal influence."

"See Matthew, nothing to worry about."

Violet though pursed her lips before looking at her granddaughter. "Mary? Matthew? I'm all for comfort but so informal?"

"As you said, Granny, he earned it," Mary said. Matthew would have responded but he was too busy mentally leaping about, celebrating that Mary had grown fond enough of him to use his Christian name without any titles or honorifics. It might have seemed, to an outsider, to be a minor thing, but for Matthew it felt like Christmas and his birthday had all come on the same day.

"Hmmm… yes… yes, you are right of course. Speaking of…" the Dowager turned and, to Matthew's surprised, clasped his right hand between her own and gave it the lightest of squeezes. "Matthew, when you become as old as I you learn that while wealth and titles are important none of it matters more than family. You saved my granddaughter from a horror that I…" she shivered slightly, "Well, I refuse to say the words. Know that I will not forget the debt this family owes you."

"Cousin Violet… I must disagree. I know it is terribly rude of me to do so but I must. Mary is family. You are family. Robert and Cora and Sybil and Edith are family. What sort of man would I be if I did not protect those I care for?"

"You'd be like more men in this world than you realize," Violet said quietly. A bit louder she said, "Now then, what is it that you are doing to keep Mary here entertained. I dare say this is the longest anyone has managed to keep her in bed. Why, I remember once when I was visiting she came down to the library despite having such a dreadful cold she was more slug than child-"

"Granny please, no stories of childhood!" Mary said in quiet horror.

Matthew retrieved the book he'd sat on the nightstand. "Well, clearly her governess did not know the proper way to keep a mind active when forced on bed rest. When I was young and would be confided to lay under the covers for days on end my mother and father would read to me. Something about hearing the great works of English literature read aloud makes one forget the dullness and the pain." He smiled, remembering well his father's voice rumbling as he read Shakespeare's plays or the works of Dickens. His mother had even, a few times, snuck in tales from Mark Twain, allowing Matthew to see the wild and strange lands of the Mississippi and the colorful and exotic people that lived there. "I decided to do the same for Mary here. I selected the mysteries of Sherlock Holmes; I figured she might enjoy trying to solve the mysteries before the detective can."

"I admit I'm not as good as Mr. Holmes but I at least can follow the trail of his logic," Mary stated. "And I will admit that it is easier to hear Matthew read it aloud than attempting to read it myself. Sybil once suggested I try and I was bored after the first few pages."

Matthew had known this, of course; during the later stages of her pregnancy Matthew had insisted that Mary find other things to do other than ride horses or attend parties. She'd bemoaned that there would be so little to do that by the time the baby was born her brain would have melted from disuse and so Matthew had come up with a solution. Every night he'd selected a Holmes story and read to her. At first it was only a few pages, just enough to relax her, but as the weeks had gone by Mary had demanded more, to the point that just before they'd gone to Duneagle she'd convinced him to spend the entire day reading her The Hounds of the Baskervilles.

"I think this one likes hearing your tales too," Mary had said towards the end, running her fingers along the dome of her belly. "Perhaps your papa will have to read to you each night."

He quickly forced himself to banish the memory of the suggestion that had never come to pass; it would do no good to break down sobbing in front of Mary and Violet.

"Well, now I simply can't leave before seeing if this is true," the Dowager said, walking over to the chair on the other side of the bed and settling down, her cane placed against the wall and her hands going out once more to hold Mary's hand. "Why, I can't remember the last time I heard a young man read to me… I dare say you'll make me feel young again, Matthew."

"Then I'll be happy to do so," Matthew said, retrieving the collection and settling back into this chair. "The Red-Headed League."

"Oh, I do believe my sister's husband was a part of that group. He always did try and get into any club he could find," Violet quipped, a tiny smile gracing her lips. "Go on, Matthew."

"I had just called upon my friend, Sherlock Holmes, one day in autumn of the last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid faced, elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room, and closed the door behind me. 'You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,' he said cordially."

Matthew continued on, occasionally looking up to stare at the two women. Other than her first outburst Violet had gone silent, her eyes half closed as she listened to the tale, while Mary had leaned back, as she was want to do, and was staring at the ceiling. He knew from experience that she was visualizing the tale as he read it, seeing it as a play being performed in her head with him as the narrator. He imagined that Violet was doing the same and he mentally chuckled at how grandmother and granddaughter mimicked each other so.

He had just reached the point where Holmes had seized the daring thief John Clay when there was a knock on the door once more. He paused, Mary and the Dowager starting slightly as they were broken from their visions of the great detective capturing the gold thief, and all three turned to see Bates standing with, of all people, Dr. Clarkson.

"Oh? Did I douse off?" Mary asked. "I thought you weren't returning till the evening."

"No, you have not," Clarkson said, entering the room and, to Matthew's further surprise, the rest of Mary's family joined them. Robert and Cora wore matching looks of curiousity and confusion while Edith and Sybil moved to sit on the edge of Mary's bed. Sybil glanced at Matthew but when he raised an eyebrow she merely shook her head; she didn't apparently didn't know what was going on either. "I'm sorry to intrude like this but I felt it best that I address you all at once, rather than risk word seeping about."

"Is everything alright?" Cora asked, her hands subconsciously going towards Mary's shoulder. "Is she-"

"What? Oh… oh no," Clarkson said, his head shaking in quick, jerky movement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you think that at all. Lady Mary is perfectly fine, as is Mr. Carson and William. They will all make a full recovery."

"Well, that jolly good but why have you gathered us here?" Robert asked.

Violet nodded. "Yes. This seems more fitting for one of Matthew's stories."

Dr. Clarkson composed himself before speaking. "Today, after leaving from here, I felt it best to check in on Mr. Pamuk and examine his injuries."

"Why would you want to do that?" Edith asked. "Better he suffer, in my opinion!"

"Normally I'd scold Edith for such an outburst but I quite agree!" Violet said, her fingers twitching as if she were imagining strangling the Turk. "Perhaps a few more hours on pain would have gotten some sense into that vile head of his. Of course he is a forgiener and you know those people have no sense of control."

"Granny, please," Mary said.

"What? It's true."

Clarkson continued. "I thought it best to see what the extent of his injuries were."

"Ah," Matthew said. When the rest of the family looked at him he elaborated. "Mr. Pamuk threatened to ruin Downton. Considering the lengths he was willing to go can you not see him deciding, once the rage had cleared his mind, to make his injures worse, so he might build a case against us? Strike himself with a fire poker and claim I did it?"

"Heavens!" Cora exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth.

"Is that why you went, Clarkson?" Robert asked.

"It is indeed," the doctor said. "The longer you wait with an injury the harder it is to tell when it occurred. My hope was to get to him and see what wounds had begun to heal and which were fresh, as these I'd be able to testify, if it came to that, he had done to himself."

"So did he hurt himself? Is that why you gathered us?" Mary finally asked. Clarkson wrung his hands together and Mary let out a huff. "Please, Dr. Clarkson, after what we went through we can handle whatever horrors that man did."

The doctor finally squared his shoulders and Matthew felt his stomach drop. He remembered seeing his father gather himself like that, strengthening his resolve before he let drop the proverbial hammer.

"I went to the Grantham Arms and the innkeeper took me to Mr. Pamuk's room. Mr. Napier had paid for a separate room, as he did not want to return to the Abbey but he also did not want to be near the Turkish gentlemen. We knocked several times…" Clarkson trailed out.

"Yes man? Please, get on with it you have us all on the dagger's edge!" Robert complained.

"Lord Grantham… Mr. Pamuk is dead…"

Matthew nodded. He'd wonder if Pamuk-

"…of a drug overdose."

He hadn't seen that coming though.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: So the reason for the delay with this chapter is that we are nearing the end of what I already have banked, chapter wise, and thus I will need more time to get chapters out. So don't be surprised if we go 2 weeks or so between updates. Unless you guys want to give me a month or two to get a new backlog and I doubt that very much!

I don't want to mention too much here as this is another chapter for people to digest so we'll move right to my plot bunny. This is another crossover idea and it starts off very simple: Matthew has just turned 11 years old and at his birthday party with his mum and dad he is surprised when an owl arrives saying he's been accepted to a prestigious school. He is utterly confused until his father sighs and Reginold reveals that he is a Squib… and Matthew has been invited to go to Hogwarts.

Basically, the story would imagine what if several of the main characters from Downton Abbey existed in the Harry Potter universe. We'd start with Mary and Matthew (who here would be the same age) arriving at Hogwarts and what would happen there. One could put them in any of the timeframes, so that they are going to school in the proper timeline (before Tom Riddle even went to the school), turning Tom's time, or during Harry's time. Harry's time would be interesting because Mary, if one made her a pureblood (which she should be) would still exist with the same mentality as she did in the show and the same style of living… but Matthew would be a muggleborn who knew of the modern world.

As for other characters I'd say Anna would have to be there (I'd make her the daughter of two muggleborns so she knows both worlds), Tom would be in Edith's year, and probably Thomas should be included as well. Also, I would make it that McGonagall was Violet's sister, thus allowing for some interesting interactions. As for what would happen, houses, so on… that would be up to whoever takes the plotbunny.

Chapter Text

Author's Note: Before we begin the Video Game Plot Bunny has been picked up. It is called 'Becoming Edith' by Luro4

Also, want to know when this story will be updated, ask me questions, and hear about new plot bunnies or ideas I have for this and other stories? Then follow me on Twitter at TheRealMr_Chaos

~A~O~O~O~F~

9 Hours Earlier

Kemal's feet ached.

Even as he allowed Evelyn to shove him onto the cheap straw-filled sack that the pathetic little Grantham Arms Inn (and the owner should be shot for trying to put on airs like that, as there was simply no way a hovel like the one he was now in could be given such a lofty title) called a bed he focused on his aching feet. He lifted one foot up, grimacing as he looked at the torn and soiled remains of his Persian slipper before grabbing the ruined item and tossing it into the dented metal bucket that served as a trash can. His fingers began to work on his throbbing sole, thumbs pressing into the abused muscles as he tried to get some feeling back into them, his skin icy to the touch.

Of course it wasn't just his feet that were aching from the long, painful, humiliating walk down from the Abbey to the village. He'd only been wearing a pair of silk pants and a light bathrobe and despite the warming weather England was still England and despite his attempts to hold himself with utter diginity by the end the wretched cold winds had sapped his strength and left him shivering. The robe had done nothing to protect him and his skin ironically burned along his sides, dried completely out and left chapped and sensitive to the touch. The muscles in his chest ached too from his panting, making hard to breath even now. Even his nipples hurt, hard as diamonds and so sensitive that he couldn't even pull his robe closed towards the end of the walk without gritting his teeth in pain.

And that wasn't even focusing on the damage that damn footman had done.

'I'll have that uppity bastard in chains. I'll demand the Embassy deliver him to Turkey… in England they'd probably let him off light. I'll make sure he curses the day he thought to touch me! I'll have him in chains and I'll claim my pound of flesh with a proper lashing for all to see!' He reached up and ran his fingers along his busted lip. 'And that damn butler too.'

He had caught his reflection in a mirror as Evelyn had gotten the sleepy inn keeper and presented him with Grantham's note. Kemal couldn't even fool himself: he was a complete mess. His left eye was darkening and swollen, making it so he could barely open it. His bottom lip had been cut open on his teeth and had crusted over with a disgusting scab; attempts to remove it only filled his mouth with blood and resulted in another hideous purple and red crusting. It was joined by the blood that had gushed from his nose and been smeared all over the lower half of his face, making him look like some deranged vampire from one of the English's trashy novels. He couldn't even breathe through his busted nose and he swore that if the damage was permanent and he was left with a crooked nose like some lower class thug who made his bread money fighting in a sawdust ring he'd see Grantham tossed into a Turkish cell along with the footman and the butler. Even his hair was a mess, clumping oddly thanks to the cut on the back of his head where the footman had bashed his head against the wall and Grantham's youngest bitch had smashed him with that vase. Kemal had touched his skull and winced, the pain only fueling his fire.

"Are you even listening to me?" Evelyn declared, waving his arms about like a puppet at a children's performance.

"I'm sorry… I've had a bad night and I'm afraid my focus is elsewhere," he said drolly.

"You've… you've had a bad night?"

"Yes, or did you miss when that fat oaf and his dimwitted accomplice savaged me while Grantham and the lawyer watched on and did nothing."

"You… you broke into Lady Mary's bedroom! You attempted…" Evelyn grit his teeth and turned his head.

"Oh, just say it!" Kemal complained. "You all think I was trying to rape her. Use your words like an adult, Evelyn!"

"And you weren't?" Evelyn hissed.

He leveled a cold stare at his friend. "Come now, you know me."

"I thought I did," Evelyn snapped. "Then I find you in Lady Mary's bedroom half dressed and she looking like she was mauled by a bear, as if she were a damsel in one of those dreadful American West tales!"

"Oh, don't make it more than what it was." Kemal rubbed his throbbing nose, wondering how he was going to sleep with it hurting as much as it did. "What is wrong with you British? You are supposed to be emotionally stunted yet you take the smallest things and blow them completely out of proportion!"

"Out… out of proportion?" Evelyn flopped his arms about once more, making Kemal want to roll his one good eye. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize what you almost did?"

"I almost did Lady Mary a favor!" Kemal snapped. His friend let out a squawk of protest but he spoke before the brit could make any more complaints. "This country! You make your women fear the joining of man and woman. You treat it as something terrifying, something that they must flee from. Can't be discussed, can't be explored. It must be hidden away in the dark, never spoken of until the wedding night when your bride fumbles about like a fool in the dark, unsure of herself and leaving both wanting more. And even then the only time they will know the rapture that can come from the act is when their fat, old, half blind husband stumbles into their room, drunk on sour brandy and reeking of sweat from their fat rolls and pops a baby into their belly." He jabbed his finger at himself. "I've seen it a hundred times throughout this cold, miserable little mudball you call a country! Women dressed in elegancy but made to feel that if they show even a hint of sexual desire for a man they are sinful.

"I help them explore that which you and the rest of your boorish kind would demand they deny. Lady Mary has been told by her parents she must hurry and marry the first man that shows an interest in her… a night with me would have been a memory she could have held on to for decades, warming her heart even as she wallows away in a cold empty estate with a husband that cares only for the male child she can produce. Her fool of a sister didn't understand… she is too young to know what I know, what Lady Mary would have come to realize! I would have shown her pleasures that she could have only dreamed of! Instead I find my name throw into the dirt and that poor woman must continue to deny her desires! It is a tradegy!"

Kemal had little hope Evelyn would come to his senses and see things his way. The man was English through and through and if there was one thing Kemal had learned during his stay in the fog-covered country that Evelyn called home it was that the British hated change. They loathed it, clinging to their traditions and outdated thinking like they were comforting blankets. The fled from any alternation like it were a beast, preferring to stick with the tried and true. They wrapped their arms around it and repressed all desires to grow and change and evolve.

Sure enough when he looked up at his friend all he saw was disgust and outrage, though in true British fashion Evelyn forcefully repressed it all, uttering only, "The saddest part of all of this is you believe your own twisted tales."

"And why wouldn't I?" he snapped in annoyance. "They're true."

"Lady Mary wanted nothing to do with you! Do you deny that?"

"She at first told me to leave but all women of her station say such nonsense. They must be coaxed out of their shells, like drawing a frightened creature from their den, so that they might learn true pleasure. Had her sister not reacted as she did Lady Mary would have cast aside her fears and embraced her sexuality. And her future husband would have thanked me. I've seen it a hundred times."

"…you bloody bastard." Kemal fought a smirk as, at long last, his friend released a bit of rage. "You've been using me, haven't you? Getting me to take you into the homes of noble families so you could… you could deflower their daughters for your own deranged amusement. You've made me an accessory to your sin and scandal!"

He waved his hand dismissively, not shocked at all that Evelyn had taken such a view. "I don't see it like that… but I imagine many others will. Which is why I suggest you get some sleep, Evelyn… so we might discuss tomorrow with cooler heads how we prevent Grantham and the rest of his miserable family from ruining us both."

His friend trembled before spinning on his heels, slamming the door as hard as he could.

'Such a bore,' Kemal thought as he walked over to the small dresser in the corner of the room and took in once more his reflection. He looked like an absolute fright and knew that even if he didn't have to focus his entire attention on dealing with Grantham's potential threat that he'd be hard pressed to woo a succulent young lady for some time. Worst, there was no way he'd be able to play these wounds off as something gallant or even interesting. He couldn't go about bragging that he'd gotten his wounds from saving a damsel or defending another's honor. He'd gotten them because Grantham's brat had decided to get involved with things she was too young to understand and then their servants hadn't know their places.

The Turk touched his bruised side and hissed. "Bloody bastards," he muttered to himself. "They think they've won? I'll see them all pay. I'll have the entire staff in chains and when the embassy hears about this Grantham will be lucky if he didn't just lose his home and title!" He rose up and looked at the bed in disgust, trying his best to prepare it so he might rest his aching body. He'd need to be alert in the morning, as he had to make sure he was on the train back to London ASAP. He couldn't risk Grantham doing the smart thing and trying to get word out to the embassy about what he'd done. Kemal was sure the man wouldn't; he seemed to believe that the pretty little words one spoke must be held too but the Turk couldn't risk it. "No, I need to get to the embassy and make sure my side of the story is what is heard." He paused, picking at the scab on the back of his head where Grantham's youngest had brained him with the damn vase. He winced as he pulled off a large chunk, looking at it for a moment before flicking it away for the inn keeper to sweep away. He grabbed the pillow and frustration and struck it against the mattress. "They need to know how poorly I've been treated, how I've been abused. I need to control this tale so that no one gets the wrong idea… and I can make sure that it is the truth that is on the tongue of every man and woman in this squalored little country, rather than the lies Grantham and that bitch Mary will spread." He laid down and stared at the ceiling, already sensing that all he'd be able to do would be to toss and turn on the lumpy mattress. "Of course I'll need to ensure Evelyn sees things my way… if not I suppose it will be easy enough to rid myself of him. A few words to father, a request for Evelyn to present himself to our embassy… and then Evelyn might join me on a trip to Istanbul. Have his eyes opened-"

Kemal jerked slightly when he heard the door groan as it opened behind him.

"Hell, even the hinges are rust covered," he muttered. "Well, Evelyn, did you come to brow beat me some-"

But it wasn't Evelyn. Instead, to Kemal's utter confusion, it was an older man with a heavy frame and a round face that some might have called kind and perhaps babyish but to the Turk, with those eyes smoldering with the promise of pain, it might as well have been the face of a demon from hell. He was wearing a dark suit and a long coat and on his hands, oddly enough, were a pair of gloves one might have seen a horse rider or a gardener wear. He carried a small valise in one hand and a heavy worn cane in the other.

The intruder let the bag drop to the floor with a dull thud before reaching back and shutting the door behind him, the sound of the lock being triggered seeming to echo through the room.

"I know you," Kemal said suddenly, brow furrowed, sitting up. "You're Grantham's valet. The cripple." He laughed. "Did the old fool send you to-"

Though the valet might have had a bum leg he moved with surprising speed, coming at Kemal with his free hand stretched out before the Turk could even let out a sound or shift up from his spot on the bed. He found himself shoved to the mattress, the valet's hand wrapping around his throat just hard enough to choke out what he was going to say. The valet was instantly on top of him, dark eyes like that of a doll's staring down at him, the man's mouth a firm frown as he took his thumb and middle finger and pressing them against the sides of Kemal's neck, just below his ear. He felt the urge to cry out but couldn't with the larger man's body pressed against his, shoving all the air from his lungs, and then a sensation of light headedness flooded him, making the world spin and rock like he was on a ship in the middle of choppy seas.

"Don't like it so much when you're on the bottom, do you?" the valet said before releasing his hold. Kemal gasped but any relief he felt died as the valet raised his open hand and brought it down in three quick chops to his neck.

Darkness claimed the Turk and for a while he knew no more.

He did not know how long he'd been out but as he was slowly ripped away from the inky blackness that had claimed him he found himself lying on his bed, his upper body still bare. He thought, for a moment, that he'd dreamed the entire attack but then as he'd tried to bring his arms up he realized that they were trapped by heavy cloth that was wrapped around his waist, forearms, and the bed itself. Another such cloth near his ankles kept his legs firmly in place. He struggled to sit up but without the use of his arms he found it utterly impossible and soon he flopped back down on the mattress with a muffled 'oompf'. It was only in that moment the fog cleared from his mind enough for him to realize that someone has stuffed a wad of thick cloth in his mouth; it was packed so tightly there was no way he could push it out with his tongue. It made his jaw hurt to be open so wide and he gagged a little before he gained control of himself.

"Oh good," the valet whispered, Kemal's head turning to stare at the man. "You're awake. I was afraid I'd killed you. I was warned that if you hit that nerve too hard it could kill someone and I can't have you shuffling off just yet." Kemal thrashed for a moment and the valet scoffed. "Don't, you'll just tire yourself out." He didn't listen though, trying to break free for several minutes, the servant just continuing to unpack his valise, setting the contents on the nightstand. Kemal was confused; his struggles slowed as he looked at the assortment of items. Several small brown bottles were joined by a length of rubber hose, which the valet looked at for a moment before setting down it down on the table. He then reached behind the bottles and picked up a long medical syringe that had been hidden just out of sight. Kemal let out a muffled curse as the older man took the discarded robe and used it to wipe the tip of the needle clean before turning back towards Kemal, limping over and sitting down next to him. The Turk's eyes though were only on the needle, his breath coming out hard through his nostrils, even as his nose ached in protest.

The valet raised an eyebrow before smiling slightly. "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. You didn't wake up at all when I was testing it." Kemal, eyes widening, looking down and saw that his bare arms were sported several needle marks which had already scabbed over. "Anyone who sees that might wonder why there aren't older ones but considering how you've been rushing around with Mr. Napier it should be clear you haven't had a chance to indulge. Getting in between your toes was harder." Though he kept his voice at the same low tenor for Kemal it felt like the man was booming out his words with the voice of God. "They'll confirm as much when they check your bags and find the other bottles and needles in the ripped lining. All nice and full." He picked up one of the brown bottles and held it up to the light, leaning his heavy frame towards Kemal. "Others might wonder how you got these but that will give way to horror when the conclusion is reached that you had them in your pockets when you went into Lady Mary's room. Imagine it… not only were you going to rape her but then convince her, an Earl's daughter, to try a bit of your cocaine as well." The valet shook his tongue. "How dreadful." He wagged the bottle in Kemal's face. "This is the medicine of the lower class, after all."

Kemal's eyes blazed with fury and he tried to scream at the valet only for it to come out as weak, muted sounds that were pathetic even to his own ears. The cripple let him get his anger out before, finally, he spoke again.

"Come now, don't be upset. It is a habit of the wretched and the downtrodden but you wouldn't be the first member of the elite to give in to the addiction of the poor and destitute. I wouldn't be surprised if Downton Abbey gets one such addict dining with his lordship once or twice a year. It might remove a bit of your credibility but nothing you couldn't recover from." With that the valet filled up the syringe a fourth of the way up with the drug and moved towards Kemal. The Turk began to shake and buck once more but the Valet merely pinned his left arm down and drove the needle home, filling Kemal's veins with the drug. Once he was done the valet pulled back and waited like a man sitting at the train station wondering what was keeping the 12:05.

Kemal, for his part, began to panic. It felt for several long moments like his left arm was on fire and then he began to tremble. A horrific ringing filled his ears, threatening to swallow him up, and his heart thudded in his chest as sweat gathered on his brow as the room become all too warm. He shifted and hissed as the pain in his chest and face blossomed once more but even as it did he felt a sudden odd sense that it didn't matter. Even as his heart pounded in his chest a kind of giddiness filled him. The light from the candle burned his eyes but when he looked away he found himself mesmerized by the blob-like shapes that danced about his vision. He'd never felt so wonderful in his entire life and if he could he would have ripped the wad of cloth from his mouth and babbled his thanks to the valet for introducing him to such a wondrous feeling. Nothing else mattered in the world, nothing at all, and he shifted and rocked in the bed, murmuring nonsense.

The fall from such bliss was painful and all too quick. He'd tried to cling to the sensation but as it disappeared he was left lying in the bed once more, the valet keeping watch. Kemal turned his head only for the valet to grab his arm once more.

"I argued against this," the older man said. "I want you to know that. I felt it was wrong… to allow you to feel even a moment of bliss. But the one that sent me? They argued that it was a small price to pay… for what came next." With that the valet filled the syringe up, this time all the way, before grabbing Kemal's arm and holding him steady. The Turk, finally coming to his senses, screaming as the man drove the needle once more into his skin. "For all the fathers whose daughters you hurt. All the brothers who saw their sisters ruined. All the loves that were shattered because of your greed." With that statement he pressed the stopper down hard before stepping back, leaving the needle embedded in Kemal's arm.

The Turk felt the fire once more but this time there was no wonderful bliss. Instead he struggled and shook, trying to rip himself free from the bindings. He violently bucked, slamming his head again and again into the mattress, stars flashing in his vision as he reaggravated his wounds. His skin felt like he'd been set ablaze and the trembling grew so bad that the world became a blur. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the beats growing faster even as the thud-thud-thud turned into a thud-thudthud-thud-thud-thudthudthud. His throat burned and his stomach twisted violently and when the valet reached over and yanked the cloth from his mouth rather than scream Kemal expelled the contents of his stomach, soaking his face and neck with bile. He felt it gush back into his throat and he gagged, trying to get it out but that only made more come gushing from his stomach. His eyes screwed shut or maybe they were wide open because all he could see his darkness and it hurt so much and he just wanted to breathe and he trembled and cried and called out to everyone he ever knew even as the vomit burned his throat and his heart pounded and his head hurt his head hurt his head hurt his head hurt his head hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt-

~A~O~O~O~F~

John checked his pocket watch, waiting another five minutes before he touched Pamuk's neck. The room smelled of sick and looking down at the man's pants he crinkled his nose to see that the Turk had soiled himself and then thrashed in his own filth. Still, he'd seen worse during the war and certainly smelled more disgusting things than vomit and shit so he didn't let that phase him. Instead, doing as he'd been shown, he checked the diplomat's neck before confirming that he was, indeed, dead.

He felt no joy in that. No sorrow though either. It had to be done and he'd done his duty. Not just in the name of revenge but in the name of his hopes and dreams.

He pulled out a knife and cut the cloth from Pamuk's body, shoving it into the valise along with the gag he'd used. The valise, its contents, and his gloves would be tossed into the fire within the next hour, so he didn't care if he ruined any of it. Taking up his cane John looked around the room one last time, making sure he'd not forgotten anything while also making sure that all that needed to be left behind was in its proper spot. The nightstand held the few bottles of cocaine, their labels ripped off so no one would know they'd come from Clarkson's cabinet at the hospital. The syringe, which had been broken in Pamuk's death throws, was nothing special either and lay on the bed, droplets of blood from when it had been ripped from the Turk's arm staining in.

The man had almost made it too easy. Had he remained at the house as he and his employer (for while Lord Grantham was the man he worked for when it came to his dealing with Pamuk there was a different Crawley he considered his employer) had feared then it would have been hard for John to sneak into his room and do what needed to be done, especially after seeing how much restraining it took to keep the main in place. By getting himself banished from Downton it had given John the perfect staging ground. He'd already seen to it during dinner to plant the bottles of cocaine and the needles in the man's bag where they might be discovered the next day but doing it in the room would have drawn suspicions on Downton itself. Now the tale would be on the Grantham Arms and with what he and his employer had planned that wouldn't harm the owner that much in the end.

He moved silently down the stairs and towards the back, a little smile forming on his lips. People were so used to thinking that because he had a bad leg that it was impossible for him to sneak about. He knew Thomas thought that, believing that he'd hear John coming a mile away. What he didn't realize, the same with so many others, was that having a bad leg meant that John had taught himself how to be even more quiet, so that he didn't draw attention to himself. When people heard him coming it was because he WANTED to be heard.

'The Dowager might be the only one who'd understand,' John thought as he stepped out of the hotel and quietly stole away back towards Downton. It would be a long walk but well worth the trouble and it gave him time to come down from the rush he was feeling. 'People hear her tap that cane of hers and think 'Oh, we always know when she is coming'. They never realize that she does it because she wants to be noticed… and are all the more startled when she sneaks up on them.' John shook his head, smiling as he thought of a certain blonde maid who, over the course of the last year, he'd become very close to. She was bright and brilliant and she made him want to linger after each meal just to talk… but even she jumped when he surprise her. Even she didn't realize that sometimes a handicap made you invisible.

It had certainly helped him figure out how to move about through Downton. Perhaps it came from his brief time in prison, or from the war which had taught him caution, or maybe it was just that he was different from most people, but John prided himself on knowing the layout of not just Downton but nearly every building in the village. On his days off he'd wander down, visiting people and talking with them… and learning. He'd see the doors that were rarely used, where the servants' entrances were that were no longer used, the quickest paths to and from places. The few times he'd been caught he'd easily reminded people that with his poor leg it helped to know how to shorten his trips and pity would fill their eyes and they'd let him go about his business. Certainly the Grantham Arms inn keeper hadn't realized that John had been learning how to make a quick escape if he ever needed to from the building. Nor did Carson realize that John knew of passages in Downton that no one had walked in ages; forgotten passages and hidden doors.

Thomas thought him a sneak. The man didn't realize how right he was.

After about ten minutes John spotted the house but rather than veer towards the servants entrance he continued even further right, moving past the garage before finally settling down on a bench that looked out towards the garden. Pratt would have his lunch out here and sometimes be joined by the stable hands and Lynch but at the late hour there was no one about other than John and the bright three quarter moon that hung overhead, providing him with enough light that there was no need for a lantern. As he sat there he remembered the meeting he'd had back in January, when the snows had fallen thick onto Downton and the post-holiday madness had given way to the quiet days and nights of winter. He'd been in his room, working on stitching up a small seam on one of his lordship's shirts when his soon-to-be employer had entered and, to his shock, laid out a tale so strange and outlandish he'd thought it a joke. But as time had passed and the words he'd heard spoken had proven true he'd come to agree to the mad scheme. And when Mr. Pamuk had arrived exactly as his employer had described he'd quietly confirmed that he would take on the assignment. Not just for the honor of Downton but-

A twig cracked and he twisted his head only to let out a sigh of relief as he saw his employer emerge from around the garage.

"Is it done?"

"It is, Lady Sybil."

She was wearing her riding outfit, which he wagered she'd both be able to change out of quickly and be able to explain any mud and dirt upon it through simply going for the ride. The youngest of the Earl's daughters moved to stand next to him and once more John was struck by her bearing. When she first come to him to tell her of her scheme to kill the Turkish Diplomat he'd thought it a childish game… until he'd seen the way her eyes flashed. During the Boer War there had been a battle where he and Robert had gotten separated from the rest of their men and had to spend the night in a farm house with a widow and her three children. During the night some enemy soldiers had come looking for them and the widow had told them to come inside when they'd threatened to kill her children in front of her if she didn't let them in. John had just left the room he and Robert were sharing when the woman had pulled out knife, slit the throat of one soldier before stabbing the other in the side, giving John time to tackle him and finish the job. After that he'd looked at her and the woman, whose name he couldn't even remember, had looked at him with dark, piercing eyes, and told him, "Nature tells the truth… the female is always the most dangerous of the species." John had never forgotten those eyes, the eyes of one willing to do what it took to protect those they cared for.

Those were the same eyes Lady Sybil had had when she'd told him all about how Kemal Pamuk would attempt to rape her sister and she needed John to kill him to protect Downton from scandal.

"How did you manage to sneak away?" he asked when she said nothing.

"Papa and mama finally told Edith and I to head to bed while Dr. Clarkson looked over Carson and William."

John started at that. "Are they alright?"

Sybil nodded quickly, at once becoming the sweet, kind girl all the house knew her to be. "Oh yes, quite fine. Carson took exception to Pamuk calling Mary a whore and struck him. It was brave but foolish, as Pamuk struck Carson several times before William savagely beat him. Dr. Clarkson is just making sure they are alright."

"I'm glad," John said before holding up the valise. "I removed the metal from this as you asked and I'll toss it in the wood stove outside when I go back in. Within an hour all the evidence will be gone."

"Burn the gloves I provided as well. I don't want to risk anything coming back on you, Bates."

"I'll manage if it does," he said.

Lady Sybil shook her head though. "I did this to protect all of us; I won't have you ruined. I'd have killed the shit-stain bastard myself if I could have snuck away." John raised an eyebrow at her coarse language, as well as the fact that Lady Sybil, when she cursed, developed a hint of an Irish accent; it was as if she'd learned such words from someone born in Ireland.

He shook off such thoughts though and returned to the matter at hand. "And as for the other matter we discussed?"

Sybil nodded and pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. "This is the name and address of a lawyer in London; Matthew suggested him. I have already paid him to investigate your wife, Vera, and when he last wrote he stated that he had enough to not only ensure that you'd be able to get a divorce and have the… issues… with your arrest wiped away, but that she wouldn't dare bother you again. It seems that she is not the law-abiding woman she'd want the world to believe. He didn't share with me the details," John could tell that annoyed Lady Sybil, "but I gathered that she has done enough since you last saw her to ensure she wouldn't want any of that revealed to the police. Mr. Perkins is merely waiting for you to contact him so he might draw up the papers. I believe that should you do so within a week's time you'll have your divorce finalized before June."

John licked his lips. He wasn't one to show emotion, for much like his lordship he felt that it was improper for a strong man to do so, but in that moment he truly wanted to begin crying. He wasn't doing this for himself, not at all; he was doing this for Anna, who deserved better than to pine for a man bond by law to another. He hadn't minded being estranged from Vera, as he felt it was his penance for how he'd treated her back when he'd lost himself in the bottle… but now, at Downton, he felt like he'd been reborn and he was eager to cut away the final tie to his old life. Before he'd wanted to be a better man for himself… now all he wanted was to be worthy of her.

"Thank you, Lady Sybil," he said softly.

"It should be I thanking you. You've done me and my family the greatest favor one could ask of another." She turned to go only to pause. "Bates? Might I say one more thing?"

"Only if I may ask you one final question."

Lady Sybil nodded in agreement before saying, "Don't wait. Life… life is far too short. What you have now will be gone before you realize it and you don't want to look back, when things have changed and your life is no longer the same, and wish that you'd have only been braver sooner. That you had… seized your happiness instead of allowing worry to rob you of days or weeks or even years of joy. For Anna's sake… for your sake… don't wait."

"I'll remember that." John paused, looking down at his shoes, before he let out a long breath. "I have done all you've asked me. It took a lot of convincing but once I was on board, as it were, I went along with what you asked. But I have to ask now: how did you learn all this? How did you know about Vera? About Pamuk? About everything?"

She was quiet for a very long time and John began to wonder if he had gone to far when she said, in the softest of voices, her eyes staring at the Abbey. "You'd never believe me," she said in the softest of voices before turning away, leaving John by himself. He sat back down on the bench and looked at the stars, thinking not of the life he had taken but of the life he hoped would soon begin.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And thus we learn The Turkish Prick's fate… and find out that Sybil wasn't kidding when she said that she would do what Matthew couldn't. That she would protect her family. By any means.

And we also see a radical change to canon: Vera neutralized and Bates free to marry Anna early.

Not much else to say as I'd rather hear what you guys think.

Now then, for our plot bunny we have one loosely based on the story Inspected by #13. One of the very first things we learn about Matthew, before we even meet him, is he is a lawyer. But... other than one or two occasions it never really plays into the plot of Downton. Yes, he looks the entail and he advises Bates (but isn't his lawyer, mind you), but other than that he doesn't do much lawyering.

What if... he did?

What if Matthew decided to use the law to solve every problem at Downton, before it got out of hand? And by that I mean he uses every insane law he can think of to the point of breaking the laws of physics to save the day... because even physics fears messing around with lawyers. I imagine an utterly hilarious story where Matthew comes up against a problem, quotes an obscure/insane law, and the problem quickly is solved. Sometimes by random police officers just happening to walk by and arrest the offender.

I imagine scenes such as this:

Pamuk begins to flirt with Mary during dinner only for Matthew to notice that Pamuk double dipped a piece of fish in the sauce and according to the Sauce Conservation Act of 1801 one can only dip their fish once in a sauce when at a grand estate and as such Pamuk must be sent to jail. Cue to two coppers (who I'd have as hilariously stereotypically Irish policemen) lead him away in handcuffs.

When Charlie threatens Carson Matthew shows up, uses the Stage Actors Pact of 1901 to have him arrested and Carson's past sealed on threat of being catapulted.

When Vera frames Bates for her murder Matthew uses The Afterlife Interrogation Articles of 1713 that allow him to command the dead to be interrogated. Vera is marched out of hell by our helpful irish coppers, interrogated, and sent off the Hell once more.

When Cora loses the baby Matthew rushes upstairs and thrusts a paper at her stomach, stating that the Unborn Child Accords of 1575, Revision 15, states that babies can not die in the womb if their mothers were getting out of the bathtub. If the baby does not begin living again he or she will be arrested. The coppers then produce tiny handcuffs. The baby comes back to life but Matthew states that Revision 16 states that the baby can't be heir because he envoked that clause so things go about the same.

Bonus points if the Irish Cops are Tom and his brother Liam and Sybil begins flirting with Tom every time he shows up.

Chapter Text

"I can scarcely believe it!" Robert said, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. He liked to believe that he had control over his life and understood the route he was taking. That his life was a path, much like the ones he favored when the mood struck him to wander about the estate, familiar and while perhaps not straight at least gentle and easy with the next bend always visible. But it seemed that whenever he found his footing something new appeared to shake him up. He'd just reached adulthood only to learn that if he didn't marry properly Downton would be brought down because of his father's failure to secure its future (and what a wonderful birthday that had been when his father had gruffly admitted that just before dinner; it was part of the reason Robert worried about his mistakes rather than just shrug his shoulders and assume another would save him, as he never wanted to place another person in that type of horrible experience as his father had him). He'd married Cora and secured Downton only for his father to die less than a year later, leaving him to try and manage an estate he thought he wouldn't take control of for years. He'd managed to find his footing and become the Earl he thought Downton deserved only to be left without an heir. He'd brought James and Patrick to secure Downton only for them to die upon an 'unsinkable' ship. He'd sought out a new heir only to find a lawyer as his closest living male relative.

Finally though it had seemed that, at long last, his reality had become stable. Matthew had been both a breath of fresh air and a stabilizing influence. He knew how to respect what had come before while also looking ahead. He had new thoughts that would have been scary if they hadn't been built on the foundations of earls past. If life were a path then Matthew was the man that looked through the brush and said "What if we cut away a trail, right here, to make the path a bit easier?". He was a mixture of old and new and Robert had finally believed that he could relax and just live his life.

And then the fox hunt had occurred and the dark deeds of the night after.

"He brought those… filthy things into my home?" he said, asking no one at all even though he was surrounded on all sides. His mother had come down from Mary's room after Clarkson had told them the news, her face at first having been ashen only to grow as cold as a glacier as Clarkson had delivered the newest twist to the drama that was their lives. Cora had been quiet since Clarkson had informed them of Pamuk's death, now by the window and staring out at the grounds. Isobel rounded out the group, having arrived when word had been sent to Crawley House about the incident, wanting to see her son with her own eyes and ensure that he was truly okay. She'd been informed of the details by Matthew in quiet tones, only her gasps of surprise alerting Robert of what was being said. The five of them were gathered in the library, Dr. Clarkson sitting down per Robert's request, digesting the thunderous shock that had been dropped upon them, Bates sent away to check on the staff as he was acting butler. They'd left Matthew and the girls in her room, his heir promising to sit with Mary, Edith, and Sybil as they processed the news, though Robert had a feeling Edith and Sybil wouldn't stick around for long; Sybil would seek out the maid she'd become friends with and Edith would want to be alone. At this point Robert didn't begrudge Sybil for her odd friendship as a part of him wanted to grab Bates and head off for a deep part of the woods so he might roar and scream his frustrations to a man he knew he could trust. It was good, in this instance, that Sybil had an ally. "I knew the man was vile but I didn't realize just how deep his depravity went!"

"Well, he is a foreigner, you can never trust those people," his mother said, sitting in the chaise lounge, her cane gripped in her hands. "It isn't their fault, of course… they don't have our culture and upbringing to show them right from wrong. A pity, really."

"I don't feel pity for the likes of him," Robert snapped, slapping the armrest of his chair. "After everything he did, after what he almost did-"

"Now now," his mother said, holding up her hand. "Let's not speak of it, especially since we have been blessed that it did not occur."

"But perhaps we should speak of it," Isobel said, Robert catching his mother rolling her eyes as Matthew's mother spoke. If he weren't in such a sour mood he would have found their interplay utterly entertaining. He braced himself as she began, ready to fight the urge to toss her out if she began to go on about how it was the drugs that had made Pamuk do what he did and they had to forgive him. That was a step too far for Robert. "It is by covering up such things that we give men like Mr. Pamuk the power to do as they wish. They know that women will not dare speak of such things and thus the risk against them is lessened. It is like armor they wear to protect themselves. We serve no good protecting him, especially now."

Violet huffed. "Well, I still believe some things should not be spoken of in open company."

"Oh, of course not," she said, surprising Robert. It was rare for her to agree with mama. "I'm not suggesting we take out a full page ad in The Sketch. But we aren't open company, are we?" Isobel pressed. "We are family. What that horrid man almost did to Mary… he might as well have done it to each of us. When one of us is hurt all of us are hurt."

Robert raised an eyebrow at that, finding himself nodding in agreement. "While I disagree with discussing such… topics… I am heartened that you feel such closeness to us, Isobel."

The older woman smiled at that. "I know that should tragedy have struck Matthew and I you would gather around us… we could do nothing else but the same for you." She shook her head, her face screwing up in a look of disgust that, to Robert's amusement, he realized she usually reserved for when his mother said something she found truly distasteful. "I'm just glad Matthew was there to protect the girls from that brute."

His mother let out a little laugh at that. "I must say, I'm startled to hear you talk so poorly of that man. I expected you to proclaim that we should all find forgiveness in our hearts for him and frown upon how Robert cast him out."

It always amazed him how his mother seemed to cotton onto the same ideas as him.

Isobel squared her shoulders at that. "Even Christ cast the money changers out of the temple in anger."

"Well… I suppose if you must compare yourself to someone," his mother said dryly to him.

"Dr. Clarkson," Cora said, stopping the two women from falling into a sniping war, "you are sure of what you found? It was the drugs that killed Mr. Pamuk?"

The doctor set down his cup of tea. "You are asking if Mr. Carson or young William could be to blame?"

Robert interjected. "We merely wish to know if we can finally put this matter behind us. None of us want to have the Turkish Embassy knocking on Downton's door, demanding Carson or William's heads."

The doctor smiled comfortingly at that. "Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham, let me assure you that it is clear to me that Mr. Pamuk died of an overdose. The Embassy can bring any doctor they wish to look him over and I am confident they will come to the same conclusion I did."

"And there is no chance that this was staged?" Isobel asked.

Robert shot her a dark look but it was his mother who spoke up. "No no, it needed to be asked, Robert, and good on Cousin Isobel for thinking of it. There will be those that claim that Mr. Pamuk could never have partaken of such things and his death was all a scheme by someone attempting to not just kill him but discredit him. You know how people are, loving the gossip and whisper. We would have suffered such talk with the Turk dying… but adding his actions in Mary's room and a death related to drugs? It will have tongues wagging for several seasons. We can't walk into this with closed eyes and hopeful hearts. Better to know now if there is a chance and have our weapons to beat back the rumors."

Sometimes Robert hated how his mother could look at the world with such cynical eyes. All the moreso because she tended to be right. Robert had seen for himself how people in their circle whispered about this scandal and that. He was ashamed to admit that he had done the same and he knew, from the way Cora turned and wrapped her arms around herself, that she was remembering all the times she'd done the same. Coy little smiles, voices laced with sympathy when really one was taking delight in another's fall. It was so easy when it was someone else who was facing disgrace… it was a different matter when it was his family. It was different when it was his child.

'That's the worst of it,' Robert thought, shoulders slumping slightly. 'If it were just me I could weather the storm. But this is Mary. This is Sybil. This is Carson and William.' He wanted to be their knight and commander but knew he would be powerless to protect them from this.

"I can't speak to rumors but I can say that if it was staged then the person is far more clever than I. They have managed then to create something… well, I would be shocked, if you follow me, to find out this was a ruse," Clarkson said, breaking through the gloom that had begun to consume Robert's mind. "There were… signs… that made it clear to me that Mr. Pamuk did this on his own."

"Doctor," Cora said, "I am not normally one for discussing details such as this but I think it would ease my mind more to know what you found. In this case ignorance is simply not bliss."

The doctor shifted at that and Robert didn't blame him; he had been planning to have a quiet word with the man, to convince him to tell him of exactly what he had found in that room. He'd even considered asking Isobel to be there, if only because he knew she'd find out anyway and it would be better to have her there to translate for Clarkson, as sometimes the doctor seemed to forget that not everyone had studied medicine like him. Isobel was strong willed but she didn't blurt out secrets and he knew whatever was said she would guard for the rest of her life, if needed. But he'd never dream of discussing such things with any of the other women present. It was simply something that should not be done but a look at his mother and his wife told Robert that it would be useless to try and persuade them to let him hear the details and cherry pick those that he deemed kind enough for their ears.

'I shouldn't be surprised though,' he thought to himself as Clarkson, bless him, tried to argue against discussing such things. It was a losing battle. Maybe if it had just been Cora they might have had a chance but with his mother and Isobel backing her up? 'Bloody hell, if Mary were thrown into the mix I dare say Scotland Yard would reveal all their secrets after an hour. Add in Sybil and Edith and they'd just begin sending reports in advance.' Out loud he let loose a sigh before waiving with his hand in Clarkson's direction. "Please… though give us as much discretion as you can."

"I would think not!" his mother said, tapping her cane on the floor. "We must hear all of it, warts and all." She held up her hand as Robert tried to protest. "I'm sorry but it is true. I am all for civility but in this matter the horrid details must be made known now that we've decided upon it."

"I… don't quite know-" Clarkson began only for mama to interrupt once more.

"Doctor, who are you more afraid of? My son? Or me?"

Robert didn't even pretend to be annoyed by that comment; even he knew what the answer would be.

Clarkson merely sighed before he began. "While I have not spent a great amount of time dealing with addiction here in Downton I have read up on the writings of doctors who did, as well as seen cadavers that show the signs. Last year, when I took those three days in London, I was able to attend a presentation at Barts-I'm sorry, St Bartholomew's Hospital, where I was able to look over the bodies of those that had succumbed to such things.

"Just dreadful," Cora whispered and Robert agreed; he certainly wouldn't have been able to spend his days looking at dead bodies and especially those that belonged to the victims of those horrid drugs. He still had nightmares of seeing his father's body and he'd been dressed in a suit with the body fully prepared, not left cold and worn on a slab.

"It is a cost if one wishes to save the living," Clarkson said. "Think of it as those poor souls doing at least one final noble act to save others."

Mama nodded at that, her lips tight and firm but twitching with a slight smile. "A pretty way to dress up a horrid truth, I suppose, but I rather like how it sounds all the same so that means it's done its job. Please continue."

"I'll start with the room," Clarkson stated. "We found the remains of his slippers and robe; they had been torn from his walk when it came to the later and the former had been removed so he might better… well, we can cover that in a moment. In his room we found… Lord Grantham, I must beg your forgiveness but I have brought one of the bottles with me," he gestured towards his bag that sat by his feet. "Might I retrieve it?"

Robert wanted to say no. To rage at the idea that the vile drug was in his house once more. But the instant that thought entered his mind it was blasted away by the need to see, to confirm the danger that had almost been passed to Mary. To understand what it was… should he ever face it again. He glanced at his mother and then Cora and both women nodded their consent and finally Robert motioned for Clarkson to draw forth the drug.

"Hard to imagine something so bland could be so dangerous," Cora said as she stared at the little brown glass bottle Clarkson had pulled out and held up for them to see, held firmly between his index finger and thumb.

"I thought it would look more… exotic," Robert said, hating how dumb he sounded. It was times like this that made him feel like the pudding-headed lords that would pop up in performed farces that the acting companies loved to present from time to time. Robert hated it whenever the audience laughed at the pompous yet befuddled lord with his fat face and stammering stupid words, blustering about on stage as he went about his life not knowing half of the going-ons of his own estate. All the more because he found himself, at times, stuck in such a role himself. "Or sinister." He held out his hand and, after a moment of clear indecision Clarkson handed the little bottle over to him, Robert feeling the weight in his hand. "I expecting something black and wicked, marked with crossbones. A green bubbling liquid that gave off horrid fumes."

"Goodness, Robert!" mama said. "You make it sound like something out of MacBeth."

"I suppose so," Robert admitted. "Still, to see something that can cause such pain be so… normal…"

"That's because it is normal," Clarkson said, taking back the bottle. "We even have a few bottles at the hospital..." he held up his hand when he saw the looks he was being given. "It is locked away where only I can get to it and I thankfully haven't had to use it for quite some time. I would normally use it as a pain reliever in the most extreme cases but, just as wine can be guzzled down, as the Americans say, so too can people become addicted to heroin. Anything in life can be turned towards evil, if in the wrong hands."

"I just can't believe we didn't see it," Cora stated. "I keep thinking back to last night, wondering what we may have missed. What could have let us know…"

"The sad fact is, Lady Grantham, that people who become ensnared by these drugs find ways of hiding the signs. The ones that last the longest are the ones that become experts in deception" He raised up his arm, gesturing towards the soft flesh on the opposite side of his elbow. "It is common to place the needle in the skin here-"

"Needle?" Robert asked.

"That is how the drug is administered," Isobel chimed in. "Right into the veins."

"Crikey," Robert whispered, appalled and horrified. He didn't like needles when it came to giving him medicine he needed. The idea that one would continually inject themselves, would pierce their flesh with metal… it showed how horrid the lives of those addicted to the drug were.

People liked to think that Robert was utterly sheltered and that he didn't understand life outside of the walls of his home. That he believed the world some wonderful place and that people were all happy with their lots because the servants always behaved with respect when it came to him and his family. But Robert knew that life outside of the Village wasn't kind. That in the deep and dark parts of London and in the villages where there wasn't a strong hand like his to guide them people easily fell into hard times and the depression and pain that came from such lives could lead people to take drastic measures to dull the agony. A recurring nightmare of his saw him wandering as a ghost through a Downton that had been reduced to ruin by bad management. Scenes of the tenants letting their fields go to rot as they drank themselves to death, servants pillaging the house, wolves and rats roaming the halls and attacking anything they could find. The dreams had lessened with Matthew's arrival but still he would have them and they would end always the same: with the voices of the Earls before him crying out their shame while the tenants yet to come wondering why he failed them.

Clarkson broke into his thoughts. "Those that truly wish to hide their addiction find ways to make it more difficult to uncover. Some take to injecting themselves between their toes-"

"My word!" Robert's mother exclaimed. "I can hardly stand revealing my bare feet to my lady's maid… for them to be willing to do such things…"

"Desperate people will take desperate measures," Isobel said sadly.

Cora cleared her throat awkwardly. "Did… Mr. Pamuk-?"

"…I am afraid so," Clarkson finally said. "I believe that he was injecting himself like that while he was here, to hide the wounds from his valet. There are some things one can't even trust with a valet, I believe."

"Thankfully I've never encountered that myself," Robert muttered.

"I think though that the stress of… what had happened the night before…" Clarkson shifted and for a moment Robert saw a flash of anger in the older man's eyes. Clarkson had been their family doctor for years and had seen Mary since she was small and for a dark moment Robert wondered what would have happened to Pamuk had Clarkson found the man alive but injured in his room. Perhaps he would have upheld his oaths…

…or perhaps he would have ensured the man never caused another innocent to need to see Clarkson again. Perhaps he would have seen a man near his end, standing on the edge… and with a shove sent him over. A shove… or the pressing of a needle.

"I think it made him desperate for the drug. He had several marks on his arm from missing the veins… I believe he injected himself once and then attempted to do so again only to not only fill himself with too much of the drug but also allow an air bubble to get inside."

"And that is… bad?" Cora asked.

"It would be fatal," Clarkson said. "And it wouldn't have been painless."

"Good," mama said. When Robert glanced at her she waved him off. "He was a vile man, Robert. While I understand why you wished to keep things quiet I am glad the man is dead and I am glad that it wasn't a peaceful end."

Robert finally sighed. "I suppose you are right." He turned to the doctor. "You will send your findings to the Turkish Embassy?"

"I will."

"I imagine this will be the end of all this," he said, looking towards the women. "The Embassy will want to keep this utterly quiet. I will do my best to keep Mary's name out of it but I don't believe that, should I need to tell them everything, any of them will be interested in dragging the events into the light of day. It will be embarrassing enough that one of their diplomats died in such a manner… they will not wish to sully his name further by revealing what saw him removed from Downton."

"Hmmm… so I suppose he has done us a favor, as loathe as I am to admit that," mama stated as Dr. Clarkson rose and made his goodbyes.

"The question now before us is how much do we tell Mary?" Cora stated.

Robert shook his head. "We tell her nothing, other than what she already knows."

"Does she not deserve to know the truth?" Isobel said. "Warts and all?"

"Not after what she went through," he argued.

Mama tapped her cane on the ground. "Robert, what she went through is exactly why we must tell her all. It will give her comfort."

He opened his mouth to complain only to let out a weary sigh, settling back into his chair. "I just want to wrap her up in cotton and keep her here forever. I want her protected and safe and never to be harmed again."

"Except she is stronger than you give her credit for," mama stated firmly. "She survived, Robert, and it will make her all the stronger. You can not let her hide herself away. No… we must let her see the sun again, to thrive and grow. Not only for herself but also as our revenge against that horrid man. Mary living a grand life free of fear will be her ultimate vengeance against him."

Robert drank heavily from his drink before nodding in agreement. "I will tell her though. If you wish to be with me you can but I want it to come from me."

"When will you tell her?" Isobel asked. "I would like to be there as well, in case she has questions that, no offense, are too medical in nature for you to answer."

"That would be kind, yes. And tomorrow. She needs her rest now. I think what she needs today is no excitement."

"Then you shouldn't have allowed Matthew to keep her company," Cora said with a smile.

"What do you mean?" Robert asked.

"Then you think…" Isobel said.

"I do," Cora stated. "After last night I truly do."

"What with last night?" Robert demanded.

"Good!" Mama said, ignoring him as she stood up. "Very good!"

"What?" Robert called out as the women left him, whispering to themselves. "Matthew keeping Mary company means what?" He stood there, alone in the library, thrusting his arms out in frustration.

In his mind he could hear the ghostly audience laughing at his antics.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: This is another chapter where I feel I hit the characters' dialogue pretty good. There is always a fear that since I am a mid-western American male I can't write an old turn of the century british woman but I think I did really well this chapter. Not much else to say other than this was a breather of a chapter and the next one should be closing out the Pamuk Saga (and saying it like that makes me think next I'll have the Cell Saga in Downton) and moving on to some long waited events: Matthew's plan to get out of the war, some of the events of the Downstairs (including a Bates free of his wife and able to properly pursue Anna) and the coming of Tom Branson and just how a confident, take charge Sybil deals with that.

I do have a question I want to ask: there is a trope called 'Growing the Beard' where a story matures and comes into its own. It usually marks when a series hits its stride and truly gets good. What would you say was the growing the beard moment for this story? Did it already have the beard from the first chapter? Have I not hit it yet? Let me know.

Now then, onto our plotbunny.

So I know I said one Twitter I had a different plot bunny in mind but the muse goes in weird directions, even with plot bunnies, and I came up with this idea literally yesterday at work. And I must say this would be one I would read a ton out of and might even consider co-authoring with someone, if they were interested.

About a year after Matthew first arrived at Downton (so maybe a month or two after Tom Branson started) Cora's mother arrives and reveals that she has chartered a private steam ship to take everyone, including the Staff and the members of Crawley House, to America, namely the new stately home she purchased in Florida. Why? Because it's Cora's mother and she doesn't need a reason! So Downton is completely emptied (Martha makes it clear she wants everyone to come... "let the servants have a vacation, Robert! They can explore New York and tell their grandkids about it!") and they all board the ship. But midway through the journey high winds and rough storms push them off course and before they know it the ship has struck a reef and everyone must abandon ship. Things look dark... until the dolphins show up.

Quickly grabbing on, the family and the staff are pulled to shore by the dolphins (who seem to even wave goodbye with their tales) and the waterlogged group looks upon the strange land... and are suddenly greeted by even stranger people. They wear odd outfits of bright colors that seem a mix of many cultures: Asian, European, American, Africa, so on and so forth. The greet them all with smiles and know instantly that they were saved by the dolphins. They are told that they are going to love it here and their new lives and the family/staff are all confused… and then shocked when the first long, graceful neck of the brachiosaur rises from the trees.

"Welcome to Dinotopia."

The fun and interest in this story would be how the characters deal with the world of Dinotopia. A world where there are no grand estates. Where the idea of Lords is utterly forgien. Where one dresses themselves and does not have an army of servants to see to their needs. Where one's birth or desires do not matter and they are free to become whoever they wish to be. Some would struggle… some would embrace it with open arms. I imagine a ton of fights and squabbles among the group as they struggle to find their place in such a world… while for others it is like finally coming home.

A few thoughts I have, concerning characters and how they would react. Let's start with Downstairs.

I think Bates would find Dinotopia absolutely freeing. No one knows his past. Vera no longer haunts him. I believe in the short run he'd remain with the family out of loyalty to Robert but soon he and Anna would begin to explore the world, both scared and frightened. For them I believe things would change the least: they would eventually decide to set up an inn and live a long happy life together.

For Thomas I see him much like the character of Hugh in Windchaser. At first he would see this as a world where he might conquer it, in his own way. Steal something, tell some lies… but as he came to realize there was no trick, that these people were honest and kind and truly willing to embrace him, he'd go through a dark period of self-loathing until, finally, he'd pull himself up and make himself a better man. It was never addressed in the books but I feel that homosexuality wouldn't be an issue in Dinotopia and Thomas would be able to find love. As for a job I think he'd remember all his father taught him about clocks and he'd end up doing something like that.

Carson and Mrs. Hughes would utterly struggle. Carson wouldn't know what to do with himself, as he had no power to keep the staff together and there would be no one interested in hiring on. And as the family began to explore there would be less and less of a need for him. Mrs. Hughes less so but I could see her feeling that this is an adventure for the young and she is too old. They'd eventually find their way but they would struggle, especially with the idea that dinosaurs are equals to man.

…and if a joke could be made where Carson sees the head of Waterfall City and comments he'd never be caught dead in that outfit I would smile (Jim Carter was the head of Waterfall City in the miniseries)

Mrs. Patmore and Daisy would struggle as well but for different reasons: no meat other than fish and almost everyone is a vegetarian. It would really mess with her and Daisy and make it hard for them to adapt. Perhaps they'd have to be taught all over again and Mrs. Patmore would struggle with being a novice once more.

O'Brien wouldn't know what to do. But, depending on the author, maybe her story here could be one of romance, with her finding and older gentlemen who could teach her the ways of Dinotopia.

Gwen would embrace all of this with glee. I see her becoming a Skybax rider and being the first of the group to truly excel in the new world.

Tom would need time but only because he'd want to make sure that everyone was truly equal. He'd talk with the dinosaurs and the people and quiz them and they'd find him highly amusing. Eventually he'd accept that this is as close to a socialist paradise as he could hope and he'd become involved with politics, in a way, working to keep Dinotopia running smoothly.

Molesley would be another one that would struggle at first but for him I see him going along a similar path as his canon story. He'd eventually learn that there is a thirst for news of the outside world and become a historian, recording down the histories of the world while also learning the histories of Dinotopia.

For the family Sybil would be the first to easily adapt, much to the fright of the family. I see her instantly falling in love with dinosaurs and wanting to help them and becoming perhaps a hatchary assistant, tending to the eggs and helping the newborns.

Edith would be next and I see her as the first to truly move far, far away from the family, deciding to reinvent herself. I can see a storyline where some of the cast must cross the Rainy Basin where the noble savages that are the t-rexes live and right when it looks like the caravan may be attacked Edith arrives riding on a dinosaur and scolds a Rex and sends him off to where she left fish, having become a ranger-like person.

Mary would have a hard time. For her this place would be horrid because everything she is good at doesn't matter and she has no skills to aid. I think she'd go into a terrible depression until finally finding something new she is good at. Maybe befriending a dinosaur who could help her on her journey?

As for Matthew he would also struggle at first as there are no need for lawyers on Dinotopia but unlike Mary he would decide to find a new path. I could see him ending up in the library, doing research, maybe even working with Molesley, the two becoming partners.

Isobel would be much like Tom and would adapt quickly, just needing a refresher course. Unlike Mrs. Hughes she would see the challenge of learning as a young person's game… but she can now feel young again!

Robert, Cora,and Violet would cling to their old lives and it would lead to a lot of humor. They'd find their place eventually but it wouldn't be easy.

Chapter Text

They hadn't moved from the bedroom since Dr. Clarkson had delivered the news.

While papa and mama and Granny had gone downstairs to discuss the matter further with the doctor Mary and Matthew had remained in the guest bedroom, Mary in her frumpy ugly night clothes lying in a strange bed while Matthew remained curled up in what she dimly realized now must have been a horribly uncomfortable chair. Sybil and Edith had remained for a time before they had finally drifted away; something Mary was eternally grateful for. Not because she was mad at that, far from it. For once her and Edith weren't at war with each other nor was the middle Crawley smothering her with attention. No, Edith had been struck with a sense of… disillusionment over the whole thing. That the world could be so cruel and cold and that even with all their money, with their titles, with the weight of Downton behind them… they could still face horrors.

She'd been shaken before by what had happened. She was shaken even learning just how much worst it could have possibly become.

She had drifted off first, stating that she wanted to wander the Village a bit and collect her thoughts, mentioning to Matthew that she wanted to see if her new subscription to The Sketch had arrived. She'd been doing that a lot recently and Mary didn't quite understand why. Same as when they went into London; where of course all the girls loved the time in the sprawling city Edith had attacked it with a ferocity that startled the rest of the family. She had begun to show an interest in the modern world, with Mary finding her reading more about current events than she had in the past. She'd thought about mocking her for it but Sybil had shot her a dark look and Mary had wisely bit her tongue.

'How is it that darling Sybil suddenly feels like the eldest sister of the three of us?' Mary thought. 'She saved me Pamuk, she keeps Edith and I from fighting… it is like 10 years have gone by for her in the span of a day.' She'd even left them to inform Bates that her parents had received shocking news and that while the staff could expect to need food for at least granny and Cousin Isobel that something simple would be needed as none of them would be in the mood for tails and 8 course meals. Where it should have been Mary who took command of the house while her parents dealt with the fallout of Kemal Pamuk's death instead it was her baby sister who was taking command.

"How do you feel?"

Mary, startled from her thoughts, looked not to Matthew but down at the duvet, running her fingers along the stitching, carefully following the slowly curling pattern as is snaked back and forth until her fingers couldn't reach out any further. She'd never really notice it before, how complex something that appeared so basic and simple truly was. There was a lesson there or a metaphor but frankly she didn't have the energy to look. "It's funny, you know? It seems nowadays so many people begin conversations with me asking how I feel. How am I dealing with Patrick's death? With you coming to Downton? With failing to find a husband? Feel, feel, feel. Despite how many times I tell people that I don't have feelings... I'm above such things… they just keep asking. You'd think one of these days someone would finally listen."

"When I was five years old I used to tell people I was a wizard," Matthew stated rather simply. "Insisted on it. My mother even made me a wizard's cap out of cloth."

Mary rolled her eyes and gave a small huff. "Yes yes, your point is taken."

"If it is taken then tell me what it is."

"Why?"

"Because with you, Mary, I like to make sure you know what people are trying to get across than give you a way to later on deny you did."

She let out a huff, annoyed that he had... pretty much read what she was going to do correctly. It was so utterly annoying that he knew her so well and could predict her moods and actions.

'Annoying... and oddly sweet,' she admitted to herself before letting out a huff. "Just because I declare something doesn't make it true. Even if I believe it true it doesn't make it true."

"And thus I want to know how you feel about this..." Matthew waved his hand about.

"You mean the man that attempted to violate me dying of a drug overdose... and having clearly planned to attempt to get me to sample some of those vile concoctions along with him? To perhaps join him in death with a needle in my arm? Oh, not a bother at all." Mary asked scathingly. Matthew wilted slightly at her fierceness and Mary felt a twinge of regret. "Matthew, please don't... my anger is not directed towards you." She looked down at the duvet once more, her fingers twitching and hands fluttering like doves trying to shake dew from their feathers. "I don't know who my anger is directed at anymore."

"Talk it out, Mary. It does no good to keep such things bottled up."

"How middle-class of you," she said, the retort so automatic she didn't even need to think about it. But it lacked the normal sting that it had and if she were honest with herself her favored insult had gone from a sharp blade she used to try and pierce his heart and more of a pillow that she swung at his smug face. "Though perhaps that is what is needed. After all it wasn't a middle class lawyer who..." Her jaw worked and she began to plow through with her thoughts, letting them spill from her lips has they hadn't done before. Or, at the very least, as they hadn't done since she was a child in pigtails. "I remember when I was young, I think Sybil had just begun to walk or at least squirm about with what Papa and Mama liked to claim was walking, Rev. Travis giving a series of sermons concerning the Seven Virtues. Do you remember them?"

Matthew rubbed the back of his head. "I admit I do not. I tend to lapse when it comes to going to church. My father was fond of saying 'If God created the world and sees us all why must we keep him caged in a small house? Life is the best celebration of his works and the best prayer to give him is to live honestly at all times, not one a week'."

Mary huffed but continued on without pestering him; he'd earned that much from her. "The Seven Virtues are the direct contrasts to the Seven Deadly Sins. Papa insisted we learn them and would at random times ask us what they were; if we got them right we got a lolly." She began to tick them off on her fingers. "Humility against pride, kindness against envy, abstinence against gluttony, chastity against lust, patience against anger, liberality against greed, and diligence against sloth."

"I dare say that is a rather long list."

"And hard to live by but when I was young all I cared about were the sweets." She smiled and Matthew chuckled at that. "Anyway, what matters is that one day Travis began to discuss other sins and other virtues that he felt deserved mention. Papa never asked about those... I suppose he thought Seven were enough on both counts. But I tried to memorize them, in case they would mean another treat. Jealousy and empathy, Cruelty and compassion. Things like that. One of the final ones was resentment and forgiveness. To allow old hurts to fester and never have release... or to let it go. The pain. The anger. Isn't that what the Lord's Prayer states?"

"'Forgive us for our trespasses,'" Matthew quoted. "'As we forgive those that trespass against us'. Is that the problem, Mary? You believe that you should forgive Mr. Pamuk now that he is dead but are unable to?" There was an odd edge to his voice and Mary realized that Matthew wasn't saying she should forgive him… in fact he seemed angry she would entertain such a notion!

"I can't forgive him and I won't but that isn't the problem, Matthew," Mary said, reaching down and fingering the edge of the duvet.

"It is alright to resent him... to hate him," Matthew said. "I hate him for what he nearly did and what he accomplished. There is a rather hot place in hell for his soul, I'm not afraid to state."

Mary smiled sadly at that; her family kept talking about 'what had almost happened' while forgetting that Kemal HAD managed to do some rather terrible things to her. It was nice that someone realized that just because he hadn't finished what he'd intended to do that didn't mean he hadn't started. That just because a blade might not end one's life didn't mean that it couldn't scar. Once more Matthew had proven to have far greater insight not just into who she was but what she needed.

"I can't even say that I resent him. I do, of course, do not think I am one of those women who believe that the fault is their own. I will not look back upon it all and see it as my fault and spend my days fretting what I did to 'lead him on'. Yet I also find that it isn't resentment that dwells in my heart." She turned and looked at him. "Does that surprise you? That Mary Crawley would not hold onto the bitterness like a child clutching their blanket."

"I have learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to you, Mary."

She let out a scoff but it was in good humor. "That is such a lawyer answer."

"Just a lawyer or a middle class lawyer?"

"Considering you will be the first upper class lawyer that I know of, with title and all, I can't honestly say. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see." The smile fell from her face as she thought once more on the topic they had started. "No, it isn't resentment or anger I feel in my heart. It... it is relief."

"And that is exactly what you should feel," Matthew argued. "Relief he is gone."

"But don't you see, Matthew?" Mary said, wringing her hands together and hating the stinging sensation that pricked at the corner of her eyes. It was a sign of weakness and Mary didn't want to feel weak, not now. Even if Matthew was, oddly enough, the only person at the moment she felt comfortable being weak in front of. "I don't feel relief for the world or for all the women that will be saved from him. I don't feel relief that Sybil will not fear Pamuk coming for her as he did me, to take upon her his revenge, or relief that Carson and William will be spared an iron cell for attacking a Turkish Ambassador. I only feel relief for myself! That is all I can focus on!" She threw her head back, both out of frustration and so that he couldn't see the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "What kind of selfish, horrid woman am I that I can, even now, only focus on what this means for ME?"

"The kind that is human," Matthew said without hesitation. Mary let out a hiccupping laugh but Matthew seized her hand and with a squeeze silenced her protests. "I mean it, Mary. This isn't a case of you finding out that a train derailed and you are concerned about it delaying a package you wished to have. What you went through... you have earned the right to be selfish. To be mad or scared or whatever you wish to be! The world owes you that much! If you want to run about barefoot singing to the world your joy that... that the Turkish Prick is dead then I say do it and damn those that judge you! Because in this instance no one has the right to cast judgment on you. You have earned a reprieve."

And with that, to Mary's utter shock, Matthew climbed onto the bed next to her.

It was… wrong. Improper. Mary knew she should scream and scold him, telling him that it wasn't right for him, a man, to sit down beside her in her bed. It wasn't how the upper class did things and she was pretty sure it wasn't how the middle class did things either. It was brazen and impulsive on his part and she knew she needed to tell him that while they had become closer that hadn't given him the right to… lounge on her bed! But Mary also found that while it wasn't proper…

She didn't give a damn.

'What has proper gotten me?' she thought to herself as Matthew draped his arm around her shoulders and she allowed her head to slowly fall upon his shoulder, the tears that had been gathering in her eyes rolling down her cheeks. 'No true friends, as I was too busy playing my silly games to make them. No real future either… not like Sybil, who dreams of worlds she will conqueror and knowing her that is exactly what she'll do. No, all I have to look forward to is being a beautiful brood mare for whatever old man is forced upon me. The one fiancée I had was one I didn't much care for; I was only with him for the title. And titles make poor shields.' It wasn't proper what Matthew was doing and it certainly wasn't proper that she was snuggling up closer to him, drinking in the comfort he offered her. And she didn't care. 'Perhaps what I need is a bit of improper in my life.'

"So if you want to cry, just cry," Matthew said as he took her hand in his free one and gave it a soft squeeze. "It's just me and I won't tell a soul."

"And what if I don't want to cry?" Mary murmured, blinking away her tears. "What if I want to rant and rave and scream till I'm hoarse?"

"I will guard the door so no one disturbs you."

"And if I want to hit something?"

"I'll find the ugliest pillow I can and you can attack it. Perhaps get O'Brien to stitch Pamuk's likeness into it."

Mary laughed at that, wondering if she could honestly get away with such a request. "And if I want to laugh and sing and rejoice that I'm alive and he is dead?"

"Then you do that and more. I won't comment on your dancing skills."

"I'll have you know I am a wonderful dancer. You should know, you saw me at the servant's ball."

"I assumed it was Carson who was the skilled dancer and you just took his lead."

Mary smiled and looked down at their joined hands. "And… if I said that I wanted to start over with you?" She felt Matthew tense slightly at that, confused by what she meant. "I was so horrid to you when we first met. Already deciding that you were my enemy and that it was my duty to defeat you and humiliate you. And while you did tease me you never did anything that quite matched what I dreamed of doing to you. I… I just saw you are a thief, sneaking in and taking what was mine… and it kept me from seeing who you truly were." She let out a shuddering sigh. "The time wasted. What could have been if I had just been nicer to you?" Mary pulled up from his shoulder but she didn't wiggle out from under his arm; no, she merely moved so she could look him in the eye. "I would have us start over again, so that ugliness could be put behind us."

Matthew shook his head though and for a moment she felt dread in her heart. "But I don't want to start again, Mary. It is your spirit that I enjoy so much, that made me see that you were someone I wanted in my life. You think you came off as horrid and perhaps to someone else that would have been the case but to me… to me I knew why you felt as you did and I never begrudged you. In fact I found it quite wonderful. How many women, in your position, would have come to me and would have begged for aid? Embarrassed and disgraced themselves by throwing their pride and dignity away in hopes of convincing their cousin to ensure their future? Or worse?" He didn't need to say the words… Mary had heard whispers of high born ladies who, when they reached the end of their proper courting ages and neared the time of accepting they would be only a spinster, would use the carnal lust of men to convince someone, anyone, to take them. Those stories had never been confirmed but Mary was willing to wager that more than one person her parents called friend had snuck into a lord's room and given their bodies up as payment for a bit of security.

She'd wondered, in the darkest moments of the last few months, when it felt like the walls of her room had become her cage and the shadows were the grasping claws of her own morality… if she would be brave enough to do the same.

"But you fought, Mary," Matthew said, cutting through her dark thoughts. "You refused to simply give in, to accept what the world told you. You fought for what should have been your birthright, if not for the frankly moronic laws concerning gender. You would not beg and you would not bow… you came to me as an equal and that is what made me fall in love with you." Mary gasped slightly but Matthew didn't seem to realize what he'd admitted to her as he continued speaking. "It was your spirit, your drive, your passion for life that first drew me… and it was the heart that you hide away from the world that kept me around. Because as much as you like to think you don't feel, Mary, you hide your heart from others because, and I know this to be true, you love so much and so deeply that you can't risk your heart to any save those that will understand just how precious your love is."

She felt like crying again but this time the tears were for a different emotional entirely.

Licking her lips with her tongue, which suddenly felt far too fat and awkward in her mouth, Mary whispered, "And… if I said I didn't want to cry or scream or laugh… but that I wanted to kiss you?"

Matthew leaned in close, closer than he'd ever been before. Closer than was proper.

There were no words.

There was no need.

Mary had always dreamed of her first true kiss. Not the silly ones snuck by children playing games or the light polite ones a woman might give a man that were quite meaningless but were given all the same. And certainly not what Pamuk had done to her after dinner. No, a true kiss, one of love and life and hope and wonder. She'd dreamed of it, as all women and, perhaps, all men did as well. In her mind it had always been so… perfect. Her in one of her finest dresses that showed off her body without being improper, with a long string of pearls around her neck and long dark gloves from fingertips to elbows. Him in a tux, utterly pristine with hair just so and every button polished. It would be night time, of course, and perhaps they would sneak away to the library while the rest of the family were in the drawing room or off someplace else. Or better yet outside, on a chilly night that made her skin go goose pimple but it didn't matter because her heart would be beating in her chest so hard it would chase the cold away. Small delicate snowflakes would fall around them so that it was like they were living in a storybook and the two would come together, her looking up at some wealthy and powerful lord or prince and their lips would meet and it would be… bliss.

Mary had never dreamed her first true kiss would be lying under the covers in one of Downton's guest rooms, wearing her frumpiest night clothes with her hair a mess and her makeup long gone. It wasn't a prince that kissed her or a king or a lord but a middle class lawyer who she'd begun their time together hating only to slowly grow to tolerate and then to love. There was no string quartet to play their theme and no snow and perfect light to bathe the scene.

It was… nothing like she imagined.

And as Mary kissed Matthew she found that it didn't matter.

All that mattered…was the two of them.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: So, this chapter brings up an interesting thing… religion in Downton Abbey. Clearly Robert is proud of his religion and was aghast at baby Sybie being baptized Catholic. And yet… the only time we see inside a church is Matthew and Mary's wedding. I decided that the Crawleys would go to church each week, if for nothing else than appearances, while Matthew I would see as being a bit more lapse. It would be easy to say Isobel was the reason but I actually think her giving nature would fit well for a church setting. As such I decided his father was the one that disliked organized religion.

I also, and I only admit this to be honest, will state that Reginald Crawley's views are my religious following. I don't believe in going to a church every Sunday. I believe that religion should be a private, personal thing. I worship on my own and almost never discuss my relationship with God because it is something that is between myself and the All Mighty. If you love the church, whichever one you go to, then that is fine. There is nothing WRONG with going to church… I merely feel, for myself, it is unneeded as I do not like to wear my beliefs on my sleeve. Not because I am ashamed of them… but rather because it is something special that I like to keep close to me.

Alright, enough about me. The rest of the chapter.

First off, I tiny omake:

"And hard to live by but when I was young all I cared about were the sweets." She smiled and Matthew chuckled at that. "Anyway, what matters is that one day Travis began to discuss other sins and other virtues that he felt deserved mention. Papa never asked about those... I suppose he thought Seven were enough on both counts. But I tried to memorize them, in case they would mean another treat. Jealousy and empathy, Cruelty and compassion. Things like that. One of the final ones was resentment and forgiveness. To allow old hurts to fester and never have release... or to let it go."

"Let it go, let it go. Can't hold me back any more!" Matthew sang.

Mary quirked an eyebrow.

"Sorry, something my grandmamma Elsa used to sing."

"Reindeer are better than people," Thomas sang to himself as he walked past the room.

…I REGRET NOTHING!

Also, bonus plot bunny: Matthew's grandmother is Elsa from Frozen and he is in fact destined to take over Arendale. Oh, and he has ice powers. Go. Write.

One of the important things for me, in this chapter, was to show Mary finally deciding to throw away caution and caring about how the upper class are supposed to handle things and instead decide that she is going to do what makes her happy. Not what makes Robert or Cora happy. Her. We saw that begin in Series 2 as she become more down to earth (and if I haven't mentioned it before Series 2 was my favorite of the show… that is when it just got fun and interesting with cool storylines and really began to just embrace being fun and interesting and different). Matthew is making her see that her childhood dreams were just dreams and that now is the time to, strangely enough, both grow up AND stop being so grown up.

One of my issues with the show is that we never really see Matthew and Mary as a courting couple. I mean, they basically go from "Okay, we hate each other" to "Okay, we can share a few moments but we're not friends" to "Hey, we're engaged!" It never felt right to me. I think that is the problem so many shows have with Will They, Won't They Couples… they forget that the courtship can be just as fun and interesting. Learning new things about each other, figuring out how you fit, the awkwardness and the joy. Most shows it is just "Okay, now we are together and… now we are married, hooray!" or "Now we are a perfect couple!". I think there is a ton to mine out of a couple learning how to be a couple and that is what the next several chapters will be about: Matthew and Mary figuring out how they are going to be with each other. How to act. How to treat one another. Moving to the point that Matthew can propose and it doesn't feel like it is coming out of left field.

Two more references, so I am being honest: the part where Mary thinks about high born ladies seducing men comes from Game of Thrones and how the Queen of Thrones stole her sister's intended by screwing him. And the line afterwards about Mary's thoughts in the dark of the night come from The Two Towers concerning Eowyn.

And finally it is Plot Bunny Time!

Right after the first episode of the series the family is at the dinner table and Edith makes mention of the story the Prince and the Pauper and how it made her realize how strange things will be for their soon-to-be-arriving Cousin Matthew. He is being thrust into a strange new world and it will leave him startled and at odds. Mary, being the little snot she was at the beginning of the series, declares that of course he will, he is entering a complex world compared to his basic life. This causes Edith to shoot back that maybe Matthew's life isn't basic and is just as complex as theirs. Mary, again being a spoilt bitch, declares that life for the lower classes is only hard on them because they lack the drive and will to make it easy and someone like Mary could handle things easily enough no matter what her station. The dinner ends on that awkward note and Mary goes to bed…

…only to wake up to find she is sharing a room with Anna and Mrs. Hughes is calling for them to get up and get ready to start the day.

Somehow (magic, most likely) Mary has woken up as a maid in her own family home. There is still a Lady Mary but she has gone to London to 'grieve' and even though the pictures and paintings all show her to look just like Lady Mary no one realizes she is in fact Robert's daughter. She is just the new maid that, on her first day, came down with such a high fever everyone feared she would die. They chalk up her ramblings as her still being sick and while Mr. Carson is firm that she must stop with such talk of being Lady Mary he also understands that the fever is making her delusional.

Thus Mary suddenly has to deal with being part of the downstairs…and all that brings.

I see things like her and Anna growing very close, with Mary learning things about her that she never knew and realizing that while she thought she knew Anna… she never knew her at all. She would see how some of the staff talk about the family (and her!) when they think no one is listening. We'd get character interactions we'd never gotten before… things like Mary and Mrs. Patmore talking or Mary and Bates. Mary would find that she has all the knowledge of the job a low class girl who has just started at Downton should have so she wouldn't be completely useless… but gone would be the days of leasure.

And what would be the most fun… what would happen when Mary, after several months of living this life, tired and worn down… suddenly meets Matthew Crawley who sees her not as a mere maid but someone he is smitten with. And we get the Sybil/Tom romance but with Matthew and Mary instead?

Chapter Text

Author's Note: Authors of Our Own Fate now has a Tvtropes page! Please show it some love!

~MC~MC~MC~

"Ah, thank you William," Mr. Carson said, accepting the small bundle of letters the footman passed to him before taking his seat at the head of the servant's table. Anna watched as William settled into his own chair, glancing at his freshly unbandaged hand. While Dr. Clarkson had said that William would have been fine to begin his normal duties this week, as the injuries to his hand were fully healed, Mr. Carson and, of all people, Thomas seemed to be of a mind that William needed to ease back into his tasks and thus was given easier assignments like fetching the mail from the post office. With Mr. Carson Anna assumed it was a sense of gratitude for not only defending him but also the honor of Downton. As for Thomas…

'Perhaps he is finally growing up,' Anna thought to herself. Thomas had been… different… since that night. Less prone to sniping at people and mocking them. Oh, he still did it of course, as one couldn't turn a cow into a horse no matter what saddle they used, but he certainly wasn't the horrid little rat he'd been in those first few months that Mr. Bates had arrived. The two still butted heads but the valet had confessed to Anna that now it was more of a game of wits between the two and there was, at least on his part, no malice in his verbal jabbing at Thomas. Anna liked to think that her talk with Thomas after the events of that dreadful night with the Turkish Ambassador had been what pushed Thomas over the edge but whatever the case was he'd mellowed out a touch and thus the entire downstairs had found life moving rather smoothly for all of them. With Thomas not egging her on so much Ms. O'Brien had also leveled off a touch; oh, Anna and her would never be friends but at the very least she was spitting venom at everyone. The maid found it amazing how easy life became when there weren't members of the staff slinking about sowing disorder.

Anna was pulled from her musings as Mr. Carson began to hand out the letters. There was nothing for her, which Anna had expected as it was rare for her to get anything from the post. It seemed her life had truly come to revolve around Downton but she found herself not growing upset over such a thing. As a matter of fact she quite liked that she'd found a job she enjoyed and people to work with that she could spend time around. That was more than most got in their entire lives. So many hated their bosses or dreaded their duties. But while Anna would like to sleep in at least one she was happy, for now, with how her life was.

She watched as one of the kitchen maids moved passed them, leaning away as the girl began to sniff again. There was a spring cold coming around and Anna certainly didn't want to catch it. Not only just how miserable colds could make her (as it seemed to always hit her harder than anyone else) but also how the other servants tended to look down on someone when they went to bed sick. The grumbling and the muttering and the dark looks. Anna hated that.

Everyone began to break off shortly after the mail had been given out, Mrs. Hughes going to read a letter she had received while poor William tried to tell Daisy about a letter his mum had sent him but the poor girl just wasn't interested. Even with William being a hero Daisy was too busy making cow eyes over Thomas to notice; to his credit Thomas had stopped leading her on as an attempt to taunt William but the girl was blind and couldn't see she was going after the wrong man.

"Could I talk with you for a moment?" Mr. Bates whispered, coming up and placing his hand on her elbow. Anna started at that, as the valet so rarely touched anyone let alone her, but quickly smiled and nodded. As she followed him over to one of the many little quiet quarters that, strangely enough, existed in the utterly busy servant's hall, she noticed two rather odd things. The first was a rather professional-looking letter that was tucked under Mr. Bates' arm. She couldn't make out the address but it certainly wasn't like the letter William had gotten. No, this one looked like it had come from someone with wealth and for a brief moment Anna feared that Mr. Bates had gotten another position. Perhaps a butler's post, as he had shown when Mr. Carson had been bedridden that he could easily run the downstairs even with his limp. It would explain how happy he seemed, which had been the second thing she'd noticed. He was practically skipping as he led her away from the others. Mr. Bates wasn't a dour man, certainly, but he wasn't one for shows of great humor. So what could make him so happy? A new position, as she feared?

'No, it isn't that,' Anna thought shaking her head. 'He's far too happy here. His Lordship is a friend of his, despite what Ms. O'Brien would say, and the only ones he's had problems with have laid off him recently.' She didn't know if she were speaking the truth or merely trying to convince herself of that fact but in those quiet few moments as they waited for the last of the hallboys to drift away so they might chat in private Anna found herself gripped with fear over how she would handle working at Downton without him. Suddenly the comfort she'd felt over her life faded away and a loneliness settled upon her…

She was pulled from her dark thoughts when Mr. Bates began to speak. "Before the New Year the two of us had a conversation, one that while polite was not one that I think either of us enjoyed." She remembered well what he was referring to, the conversation where she'd first hinted that she had begun to grow close to him and he, in turn, and made it clear that there was something in his past that would keep the two of them apart. "You have been more than patient with me and it is time I rewarded your tolerance in me and my silent broodings." He paused, clearly trying to find the right words. "Many years ago, when I was a different man than the one you see now… a man I dare say the present me would strive to protect you from, I married a woman, Vera. It was a marriage born of two people thinking they loved each other but really were just desperate to do as was expected of them. What happiness we had quickly faded. I was… not a pleasant man and for a long time believed that the punishments I had received were all I deserved for how I had treated her. I came to see later that I was wrong.

"Vera was a thief. She stole silver from my regiment and while I thought at first I was doing the noble thing in taking the blame for her I learned later on, in fact quite recently, that she set me up so that even if I hadn't confessed I would have been found guilty. I served time in prison for theft and when I was freed I swore to lead a better life… and that meant one without Vera. But I couldn't divorce her as… as I felt that what she had done was my fault."

"But it wasn't. It couldn't have been," Anna argued, her heart breaking for the man before her. "Even at your worst you are not guilty for her sins."

"Aye, I see that now," Mr. Bates said with a slight smile. "A while back I was approached by Lady Sybil… I don't know how she'd come to know of… it doesn't matter, what does is that she knew of not only my past but the future I wanted. I assisted her with a small matter and she in turn helped me."

"What matter? Was it with Gwen?"

"Yes, yes of course," Mr. Bates said with a hesitant nod. "It was. But please, don't tell Gwen. She believes that Lady Sybil is her champion and I fear she would be embarrassed if I were revealed to be a part of her quest to become a secretary."

"I suppose you're right about that. Gwen does have a willful pride in her." Anna licked her lips. "And how did Lady Sybil help you?"

"She got Mr. Crawley to find a lawyer in London who could help me with my situation. He found evidence, testimonies… things I would have never been able to find on my own… that forced Vera's hand. Three days ago Vera fled to America. Before she did so she sent a confession admitting that she'd forced me to confess and had planted evidence to strength the case to my new lawyer. With it my lawyer was able to not only prove my innocence but also absolve our marriage." With those words Mr. Bates' face blossomed into the most wonderful smile Anna had ever seen. He pulled out the letter and held it up to Anna. "I've been pardoned! The government has apologized to me! Me! And Vera will never be able to touch me again… even if she did want to she'd be arrested the moment she stepped foot on British soil! Anna… I'm free!"

"That… oh, I'm just so happy for you!" she exclaimed, bringing her hands to her face and blinking back tears. "Of all the men to deserve a second chance it is you, Mr. Bates."

"Thank you, I truly mean that. And I hope you understand what this means." Anna blinked, still smiling even as she tried to puzzle out what he was getting at. "Lady Sybil told me not to waste this chance and I don't intend to. I… I am quite fond of you, Anna Smith, and I hope that, with your blessing, we might discover if there is something more between us."

Now her tears had returned, as had her smile. "I would like that very much!" Anna said, not caring how her voice squeaked with the words.

"Good… because I was thinking with the fair coming tomorrow that we might go down there. I know the others will want to go but I'd like not to go as a group of servants out for a night off but… but just the two of us, on a date." Even as he smiled he grew utterly bashful and Anna's smile grew even more at the sight of it, amused as he squirmed like a school boy. "That is, if you-"

"Yes. I would like to do that very much, Mr. Bates," Anna said firmly, taking his hand in hers.

"I think you should begin calling me John," he teased her and Anna wiped her tears away. "And I feel like I've swallowed a nest of butterflies."

"Me too. Even if it is only for an hour or two… it will be wonderful."

~A~O~O~O~F~

Two Hours Later…

"It will certainly not be just an hour or two!" Lady Mary declared, turning in her chair so she could look Anna in the eye. Anna hadn't meant to tell Lady Mary about her plans with Mr. Bates but she'd just been so giddy that when her ladyship had mentioned the fair Anna had blurted it all out. Not just the date but Mr. Bates'… John's wonderful news. She'd gushed it out despite being mortified but Lady Mary had merely encouraged her to go on, never once letting Anna feel bad for feeling so happy. "No, I won't hear of it, Anna! This is… I am just so happy for you! You deserve this, you truly do. I've seen how you've been these last few months… lighter than air, some would say, and I wondered what might have changed to make you feel so and now I understand!" Lady Mary stood up and began to pace. "But it can't be for an hour or two. That isn't nearly fair. I won't have you worrying about rushing back to take care of me. I will talk with Carson and see to it that you and Bates are both given the day off."

"My Lady!" Anna said, startled by her ladyship's offer. "I… you can't-"

"Oh, I certainly can!" Mary said with a knowing little smirk. "I'm sure when I tell Papa about the reason he will agree that you and Bates deserve a day off as well. Carson won't fight the two of us."

"But… our duties…" Anna stammered.

Lady Mary waved her off. "Oh, those can be handled well enough… oh! Oh, I know just the thing! All of you will want to go to the fair, to be sure, but it would be a drain on Carson to send everyone at once. What if you and Bates did your duties in the morning and then went after? Thomas and Gwen could handle your tasks… Gwen manages Sybil fine enough I can deal with her as well and Thomas helped papa out before Bates came along. Then in the evening Thomas and Gwen could go and you and Bates would be here to mind Downton, should Carson need assistance! Oh, I wager even Carson couldn't argue with that logic."

"He could… but not if you said it," Anna said softly, a smile tugging on her lips.

"Well, that is true," Lady Mary said with a smile. She stood up and took Anna's hands in her own and gave them a squeeze. "I am… just so utterly happy for you." Anna watched as Lady Mary walked over to her window and stared out upon Downton, a blissful look on her face as she watched his Lordship take his dog out for a walk around the grounds. The maid, seeing her ladyship so happy and open… instantly felt a great concern that someone had kidnapped the Real Lady Mary and left this imposter in her place.

When Anna had begun assisting the girls each morning Mrs. Hughes had told her that she would come to know them better than even their parents. "When you've seen a woman as god made her, without benefit of fine jewels or makeup, all her flaws revealed in the harshness of the sun, day in and day out, there is no more them hiding secrets from you. That level of comfort will breed familiarity with even the most rocky hearted battle ax and with you the ones you'll be caring for are girls just beginning to discover what it is to be women. They'll come to look at you as someone to whisper their thoughts and fears too… never forget the gift they have given you and the honor that's been placed on your shoulders. Never take advantage. Because once that trust is gone not only will it never come again but you will quickly realize you gave up a wondrous gift."

She'd been right. While some would have said that Lady Mary talked to her like she was another of her sisters Anna knew that wasn't correct at all… Lady Mary would never confide in Edith the way she did Anna and Sybil would always get the watered down version of many of her tales. Anna had heard things that had made her laugh and cry and made her toes curl in shock and made her bite her lip at the indecent little comments her Ladyship would let slip. Anna knew Lady Mary's secrets and moods and could predict how her charge would behave with a mere glance.

Which was why seeing her standing at the window with her head tilted slightly and a soft, content smile on her face was just so startling. NEVER had Lady Mary been so… happy.

'No, not happy,' Anna thought to herself. 'Content. At peace.'

"Anna?" Lady Mary said, drawing her attention fully back onto her. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Of course, my lady," she said, her hands nervously running along the front of her uniform, smoothing out any invisible creases or wrinkles.

"What is it like… when you and Bates are together?"

"I'm… I'm sorry, my lady?"

Mary's lips twitched into a slight frown but somehow her good mood made even that seem pleasant. "I'm not saying this properly. Let's try again. When you get up in the morning how long does it take for you to think about him? To wonder if he had a good night's rest and when you might see him again?"

Anna considered this for a moment. "Well, I don't wake up instantly wondering where he is, my lady, but I do tend to wonder if we'll have a chance to eat together. Sometimes if his lordship is up early our schedules simply do not complement one another."

"And when you eat together do you prefer to sit across from one another, so you might be able to steal a glance in his direction?"

"I… I suppose so," Anna said, feeling a bit flustered and bashful.

"Though it is also fun to sit side by side, so you might share a quiet word while everyone else at the table focuses on something else?"

"We do that too, my lady. I don't quite get what you're-"

"Do you ever see something and it reminds you of him and for the next hour or so you can't help but smile?" Lady Mary asked, finally turning and staring at Anna fully, her eyes filled with light and her face projecting the serenity and joy she was feeling. "And have you ever heard something or noticed something and your first desire is to find him and tell him all about it? Do you nearly vibrate with impatient energy, like a child waiting to go down and see what Father Christmas left under the tree? Do you ever turn down the last piece of a meal because you know it is his favorite? Does he do the same for you?" The questions just kept come, flowing over Anna like she were on the shore and waves were piling up on top of her. But rather than feel overwhelmed Anna felt herself smiling and blushing because the answer kept being 'yes'. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. "And this is the most important question of all, dear Anna: if I were to tell you now that you could decide just how much misery would be heaped upon the both of you… would you take it all upon yourself, to spare him?"

"…no," Anna whispered, "because the silly man would be so mad and would refuse any happiness until I got some as well. So we might as well share it."

Lady Mary moved towards her and placed her hands on her shoulders, being far more intimate with the maid than she'd even been before. "Then I am so very happy that you have found this love. Dear, wonderful Anna… no one deserves to feel this as much as you."

Anna blinked at that, her eyes burning slightly as she fought to remain in control. "My lady… how do you know all this?"

"Haven't you guessed?" Mary said with a happy, breathy sigh. "Because I am experiencing it myself!" With that the dignified, proper Lady Mary flopped down on her bed with a graceless 'ompf', leaving Anna staring at her in shock. "I always laughed at the love-drunk maidens in the sonnets and plays but now I find myself quite inebriated on the feeling of love myself! And it is so much richer and deeper than I ever thought!" Mary stared at the ceiling, not caring at all that she was messing up her hair or the carefully made up bed that Anna and Gwen and fixed up a few hours ago. "They always talk of love and sweet words but they never mention the laughter! They speak of love and lust but never the friendship! It's just… I can't put it into words! But why should I, you know what I'm talking about!"

"I do… and I don't," Anna admitted. "I know the feelings you are speaking of-" And she did. She truly did. Even if she had never put them into words as Mary had. "-but not who has made you feel this way."

Mary let out a happy sigh. "Matthew," she breathed.

"Mister… Mr. Crawley!" Anna said in surprise and delight. "Then you mean… you and him… when…"

"Yes, yes… the two of us," Mary said, slowly regaining control of herself. She sat up and gained a bit of her bearing back but Anna could tell her amusement and joy was bubbling under the surface like boiling water under a pot's lid. "I don't know why you are so shocked. I'd have thought everyone was rooting for this."

"It isn't… I'm shocked because I never thought you would consider him."

"Neither did I. Life is funny like that." Regaining more control of herself Lady Mary straightened her dress and returned once more to her chair, allowing Anna to begin the task of undoing all the damage her ladyship had done in her joyful antics. "When I first met him I was so consumed with anger of what I had lost. It took months for me to realize that I had gained something far better in the whole exchange. You have heard me rant about the men I had to spend time with during my first season, before things with Patrick were settled… or settled enough for Papa and Mama. What do you remember?"

Anna, who was currently working on getting several stray strands of hair back in place, shrugged her shoulders. "Well, you complained that some came on too strong and tried to take you in hand like you were a toddler."

"Ah yes, Winthrop," Mary said, remembering one particularly brash and bold suitor. Anna remembered him as well. It had been at Mary's third ball during her first Season, when she'd truly begun to turn heads and attract the interest of the high born sons in need of a wife. Winthrop Powell had thought Mary to be like most young girls with stars in their eyes and a flutter in their heart. He had grabbed her and taken command, trying to force her to try certain dishes and meet the people he knew would sing his praises and have him be the only man she danced with. When she'd begged off he'd tried to convince her to continue on but even back then Lady Mary's tongue dripped acid and she'd sprayed Winthrop Powell with everything she had. She'd never raised her voice; O'Brien had confirmed that, after hearing the tale form Lady Grantham. She'd merely let the man know what she thought of him and by the end he'd been so flustered that even his attempts at bluster failed and he'd been left a fool. "I still say I should have hung his head upon my wall… that is what one does when they bag their first trophy, isn't it?"

"Always found that ghastly myself," Anna joked. "But not all of them were as brash as that."

"No, they were not. Most were like puppies." Mary shook her head in annoyance. "That was the problem with so many of the men mama threw in my path, hoping one would manage to cling to my dress hem and resist being shaken off. They thought they could win me by merely agreeing to everything I said and following my lead and never once confronting me. Sometimes I actually said things I knew were wrong, just to see if they would nod and grin with foolish little smiles on their faces."

"Well, Mr. Crawley isn't like that," Anna said, smiling to herself as he finished up with Lady Mary's hair.

"No, he certainly is not. That man is utterly infuriating, Anna. He challenges me and battles me and with match me step for step. When he knows he is right he will refuse to give up, latching onto an argument like Pharaoh onto a scrap of meat. I suppose that is the lawyer in him but still I found it so startling when he first truly challenged me and refused to back down. Startled… and intrigued." Mary smiled and turned to face Anna, taking her hands in her own. "And yet when I've proven that I'm right he's willing to concede. He doesn't dismiss me because I am a woman… he treats me as an equal and bows to my wisdom when I am right and refuses to back down just because I am some light and tender woman."

"No offense, my lady, but no one would ever call you light or tender." Mary chuckled at that. "So the two of you have decided to see more of each other?"

Mary released her hands to wave Anna off. "We already see each other nearly every day, so it is more like you and Bates deciding to make it official."

"Oh, I don't know about that, milady," Anna said as she went to select a necklace that would compliment Lady Mary's dress. "After all, we don't have dinner parties and chances to go riding."

"The former is hardly romantic, what with the entire family there to watch us dance for their amusement like a pair of Russian circus bears, and the latter is decent enough but I do desire something… more… something…"

"Milday?" Anna asked nervously, seeing the queer look that flashed across Lady Mary's face. It was one she'd seen often on Lady Sybil's face right before she did something rather daring that was sure to stir up the proverbial hornet's nest.

"What is it you and Bates are calling your trip to the fair tomorrow? A date?"

"Yes, milday…" Anna stated carefully. Her worries weren't for herself as she knew Lady Mary would never be cruel enough to take away something she'd already promised. No, it was for what chaos her answer would bring upon all their heads.

"It is something the upper class never do, you know. For us courting means a few quiet moments stolen during a party or a dinner followed by the announcement that they are engaged. Never a chance to be alone, to spend time together and learn about each other. To have a touch of fun! Dating is considered beneath us… for people like, I suppose, a middle class lawyer…"

Anna didn't say a word, already sensing where Mary was heading.

"Oh, it would be brilliant, Anna! You and Bates and I could head down to the fair and then we'd go our own ways once I met up with Matthew. Or perhaps we could send down Bates a bit early, have him meet with Matthew while the two of us walk together. Forget that we are an Earl's daughter and a maid and walk down as friends! Papa wouldn't fuss with it being the Village Fair and Matthew and I could actually have some time together that didn't involve horses! Yes, that would be quite lovely and I'm sure Matthew wouldn't mind… oh, and we must find you something to wear! I'm sure Sybil can help, she's helping Gwen after all with her interviews and such so she would be able to help me find something you could wear. Not any of the dresses, as those would never fit you my dear, but perhaps some of our jewelry… a nice necklace or some earrings-"

"Milady, I couldn't-" Anna said, shaking her head.

"I insist, Anna, I insist!" Mary grinned. "I am one of the wild and determined daughters of the Earl of Grantham, after all… it is expected of me to go against tradition and common sense." Mary stood up and nodded firmly. "Yes, it is decided. I'll see you after lunch, Anna, and we can discuss this more!" And with that Mary was gone, leaving Anna standing in the room wondering what the hell had just happened and how Mr. Bates was going to react to their date being turned into a chance for Lady Mary to playfully rebel.

~A~O~O~O~F~

'Never before have I met a man that both fits every mold I might have for him and shatters them all at the same moment,' Tom Branson thought as he was led by the butler, Mr. Carson, away from Lord Robert Crawley's library. The meeting had been a formality, really, as he'd already been given the job of chauffer by Mr. Carson but the rich liked to play their little games where they pretended that they actually gave a damn about the inner workings of their estates and didn't merely rubber stamp the decisions of the senior staff. Lord Grantham was better than others, as Tom had heard stories at his last job of lords who wouldn't even know what position the man they were talking to had been hired in for. HIs new employer had at least known what Tom did and asked a question about his previous job but Tom didn't take that to mean the man actually had any true say in the hiring of staff. The firing, of course, because the rich did love the power that cane from ruining lives, but building them up wasn't as sweet a dish.

Lord Grantham didn't look like the caricatures he saw in the papers back in Dublin of the aristocrats that sought to return all back to serfdom. He was puffed up, to be sure, with a flabby face and thick build that hid what would have been a strong frame in his youth. But he wasn't the portly, waddling lord the editorials loved to have drawn up, with their corpulent stomachs and heavy jowls that shook when startled or frustrated. He certainly didn't sport the high whiskers or heavy moustaches that were also popular in the depictions. No, Robert Crawley reminded Tom a bit of a prize fighter that had let himself go to seed. He had once been a powerful man with a powerful build but, as it always did, overindulgence led to sloth.

'There is an air about him though,' Branson thought as they made a turn and began to walk down yet another lush hallway filled with paintings that should belong in public museums instead of lining the walls of a rich man's oversized home. 'One can't mistake him for anything else but a lord. He holds himself as one, that's for sure.'

And yet... Tom's mind went back to the books.

The fact that the Lord of Grantham, the Master of Downton Abbey... would let a lowly chauffer touch the books in his library had been shocking. That Tom would be given free rein to select one without question even more so. Damn it all, Tom's last employer hadn't thought him able to read! And Robert Crawley hadn't batted an eye to the idea that Tom might want a book, treating it as a casual thing.

It didn't fit what Tom knew about the upper class.

What did fit were the overly rich halls filled with priceless items that were walked by the family and the drab, plan walls of the downstairs that Tom was led through by Mr. Carson. While it was certainly better than his childhood home back in Ireland and he knew his mother would cuff him across the back of the head for thinking it anything less than a palace compared to what they had lived with… for Tom the servants quarters, in contrasting with what the Family was used to, were a perfect symbol for the horribly outdated and unjust system that still ruled the lives of those in England. It were sights like this that had driven Tom to learn about Socialism and now saw him dreaming of a day where all men and women were equal.

And yet… the books.

Tom shook his head and focused on the tour of the downstairs, his thoughts not returning to the injustices of the world until, after nearly an hour, Mr. Carson left him at the garage that would serve as his domain during his time at Downton. While the family would sleep on feathered beds Tom would have his choice of a stiff mattress in the male servants' quarters or bunking down on a cot in the garage itself. The second would most likely be where he spent most of his nights as the garage would offer him privacy that the servants' quarters would not. Here he had no room mate and no butler checking to make sure he turned out the lights and went to bed. It would mean sleeping in his uniform most nights but for Tom he would take the freedom and privacy at the cost of a bit of discomfort.

'Sometimes it is nice to get away from all the games the working class love to play,' he thought as he walked about the garage, inspecting it carefully. He never understood why so many of the lower classes liked to sabotage their fellow man but it was true and Tom himself had seen how a maid or a valet would try and use biting words and underhanded tactics to establish themselves in the hierarchy. 'We'll see what they make of me but it's nice to know I have my own little spot on this planet where I can be alone-'

"Ah… hello there!"

'Or not,' Tom thought to himself before turning to greet to new arrival. He'd expected a maid or perhaps one of the kitchen girls, come to see the new arrival. Tom wasn't a vain man but he knew that he was attractive and at the last house he'd worked at all the young maids (and a few of the older ones) had quickly tried to cozy up to him. He was careful to be polite but never take advantage; Tom refused to be a cad who would take advantage of a woman with stars in her eyes and dreams of love and marriage. Oh, he hoped for the same thing but now was simply not the time for that. A few years, perhaps, when he met the right person and he had risen up where he made his wealth thanks to his own hands and mind and not the mercies of the upper class. If he were going to have a family they would be supported by his wits and his cunning and his strength of arms and not because he slaved away for a richer man. Tom's children would be able to look upon him with pride, to tell their own child about him without shame.

To his surprise though it wasn't a maid or a girl covered in flour and yeast who stood before him but one of the Earl's daughters; who else could she be, wearing such a lovely and clearly expensive dress? She was an attractive girl who had a face that, to Tom's eye, would always make her look younger than her years. She was someone that with even just a glance he could tell would make all the world fall to their knees in their desire to help her. Someone who made friends fast and lifelong allies just a quick. She wasn't meek either, though she certainly wasn't boisterous. No, here was someone who held herself proud and tall but also didn't demand every second of every day revolve around her. An odd little package but one that Tom knew would allow her to rule whatever domain she wished.

'A shame her life will be consumed with little more than running a house for her husband,' Tom thought briefly. 'What she could accomplish if she were merely allowed to have a voice of her own!'

"Hello there, Lady…" Tom began, waiting for the young woman to supply him her name. He was startled when, rather than instantly speaking up, she cringed slightly, as if she had been struck, before marshalling herself and stepping forward.

"Sybil," she said. "It is good to see you again, Tom"

In the back of his mind Tom was a touch startled that she'd used his first name. The chauffer was always called by his last name, as that was what was demanded by social norms. A driver always occupied a weird place in the hierarchy of staffs; higher than hall boys and footmen and groomsmen so that they earned the right to be addressed by their last names but not enough to earn the title of 'Mister' like a valet or a butler by those that lived downstairs. High enough to have their own room yet it also commonly accepted that they would eat their meals in the garage and not with the rest of the staff, just as the kitchen staff would. He wondered about Lady Sybil, trying to determine if this was an odd powerplay or just a girl who didn't know better. She didn't seem like the kind to enjoy coming down on the staff and Lord Grantham certainly wasn't the sort to play, as the Americans said, 'good cop, bad cop' using his young daughter as an enforcer. Yet the mere fact alone that she an Earl's daughter meant that she should know how to properly address him.

"Again?" he asked, standing at proper attention. "Have we met before?"

"In a way," Lady Sybil said. "I know you from the future."

"The future?" Tom asked.

"Yes. I'm from the future. My soul was transported from the year 1920 to just before the Titanic sank."

"Right," Tom said, folding his arms over his chest and chuckling. Clearly Lady Sybil was jesting with him, to break the tension so that their introduction wasn't so awkward. It was nice of her and he would play along. "I suppose you are here to tell me that I am some great man in the future and you're here to ensure my destiny continues on as it should?"

"Well, I certainly think you were a grand man," Lady Sybil said, her eyes getting a far away look in them. "You became a reporter and a writer and did quite well for yourself."

Tom blinked at that. Writing had been a passion of his and he had dreamed of one day working for a paper and putting pen to pad so that the lower class had a voice through his words. He'd never mentioned it at his previous job though, as servants tended to get uppity if you appeared to want to leave service, so he didn't know how Lady Sybil knew that.

'Most likely just a lucky guess,' he thought before saying. "Well, not quite being declared King but I'll take it."

Lady Sybil laughed at that. "Oh, an Irish Socialist as king? Papa would have a heart attack."

"You know I am a socialist?" Tom asked.

"Of course! In fact you are the one that helped instill what granny called my more 'radical views'."

"So I corrupted you, Lady Sybil?" Tom asked, his laughter not as whole hearted as before. The Earl's daughter was staring at him oddly and he didn't know what to make of it. And this conversation was leading somewhere but he couldn't figure out where.

"Please, Sybil is fine when we are alone. After all, we're going to be married soon enough."

Tom's eyes went wide.

"M-married?"

"Of course. Though this time we won't wait till after the war. I was quite foolish and concerned with what others thought."

"But not any more?" Tom said leery. He wondered if it would be dignified to flee like a frighten puppy, as the Earl's daughter and her odd game were making him insanely nervous. He didn't know what she was getting at but he had a feeling it would only end in chaos. Most likely directed right at him.

"No. Dying tends to get rid of such misconceptions." She smiled at him then and took a step forward.

Tom took two steps back.

"Lady Sybil, perhaps… perhaps it would be best if you headed back to the house. I mean no offense but this is my first day on the job and I really should be focused on settling in-"

"Your mother's name is Claire. You have a brother named Kieran who everyone thinks is your older brother but is in fact a year younger than you and it annoys you to no end when people assume he is older just because of that 'soup strainer of a moustache', especially since you can't grow a proper beard yourself. You were born in Bray and while you love Ireland no town has ever been able to fit you and your desires and as such you tend to move around."

Tom reached out and gripped a work bench, using it to steady himself. "How… how did you learn that? Is this what Lord Grantham does?" He felt a flash of righteous anger flood his veins and he struggled not to lose control. "He researches all his staff and finds out their secrets so he might hold it over their heads?"

Sybil though didn't react with disappointment or anger but rather just shook her head in amusement. "I'd forgotten how stubborn you could be."

"You've never met me!" Tom practically screeched. "I don't know what your game is-"

"You lied about how your father died."

THAT made Tom stop.

"You were 12 and your mother sent you out to find him as he was an hour late from coming back from the lumberyard where he worked and she worried he'd slipped off to have a pint." Lady Sybil took a step forward and this time Tom didn't move as he was frozen in place, gripping the table as if it were his only lifeline. "You found him a kilometer from home with a hole in his stomach, bleeding heavily. He told you he'd been a daft fool, getting startled by a donkey of all things, and fallen down into a ditch and impaled himself on a broken branch. He told you to that you needed to be the man of the house and to 'tell my story true'. But when you got home you lied and claimed that he'd been attacked by a highwayman. You felt it better he died fighting than to have bumbled into his death. You didn't want your mother to deal with the neighbors laughing about your "fool of a father who died because he couldn't walk straight.""

Tom's tongue felt thick in his mouth. "No one knows that. No one. I told no one… I was the only one… how did you-"

"You told me on the anniversary of his death. You'd gotten drunk and wondered if he was mad at you. I held you as you cried and begged him to forgive you." Lady Sybil reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers gliding along his jawline. "And I told you that he loved you and would be proud of you."

"I think… I think I need to sit down…" Tom said.

And then he promptly passed out.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Welcome to what I like to call "Mr. Chaos takes years of romance drama and throws it out the bloody window!" Your table is here, the waiter will be by with menus and bread.

Yes, I am tossing away a TON of the drama the show created because I hate people who worship at the Altar of Moonlighting. Everyone always talks about how Moonlighting showed that you can't do a show where the main characters get together… forgetting that the main characters in Moonlighting hated each other and the romance was sudden! There is plenty of ways to have drama and romance at the same time. Just because you are a crappy writer doesn't mean it is the romance's fault.

So first we have Bates and Anna finally getting together and ensuring there is no Vera nonsense… which is what the show should have done and focused on what happens when you have a couple in the world of the Downstairs. They finally focused on that with Carson and Mrs. Hughes and that was amazing… but I wanted it earlier, damn it!

As for Mary, we see what happens when the Ice Queen finally decides to open her heart… and doesn't have years of pain, grief, and Sir Richard's attention (before he was banished for selling slaves and went across the Narrow Sea) weighing her down. A Mary who hasn't had her heart and soul scarred and been rendered, as shocking as it is to hear, even more cynical than she was at the start of the series. She is still the Mary we all know… but one that can love without burden.

I always knew that Sybil wouldn't manage to hide the truth from Tom. It just isn't the relationship the two of them have. Originally I even planned for their reveal to happen in a Matthew POV, where he has created this elaborate plan to allow Sybil to spend time with Tom and that he'd convince Robert to allow Sybil and Edith and Mary to learn to drive… only for Sybil to see Tom, tell him she was his wife, kiss him, and just smile at Matthew as he stood by, shaken.

Now then, on to the Plot Bunny. And this is one where, like the Star Trek Idea, I have a lot of info to provide someone who would be willing to pick it up.

You guys should know by now one of my most popular series is the Harry Potter: Pokemon Master series. Well… what if we take one of those great tastes and combine it with Downton?

Mary Crawley of Downton Village, in the Albion Region, has a problem. The daughter of the local gym leader, Mary never had an interest in taking over the Downton Gym, and neither did her sisters. They were content to allow their cousin Patrick be next in line, with his father James serving as Robert Crawley's second. But when the SS Titanic sank after an attack by Team Aequalis and James and Patrick were counted amongst the dead suddenly Downton Gym finds itself without an heir. Robert, fearful that Team Aequalis, who is seeking to take over many of the family-run gyms themselves, needs an heir fast just in case he is the next target. And that means Mary.

Too bad Mary hasn't had a traditional Pokemon Battle in ages.

After a trial battle with her father goes horrible (with her Pokemon somehow managing to confuse herself) Robert decides that he needs someone to mentor his daughter. And who better than their distant cousin Matthew, who just managed to win the Kalos League? Mary though isn't happy about any of this. She doesn't want to be a gym leader and she CERTAINLY doesn't want the help of some common trainer who spent his youth wandering Kalos and Unova and Sinnoh! It is unheard of!

Meanwhile, Matthew Crawley of Manchester Town has a problem. Having just won the Kalos Pokemon League he is ready to head to Hoenn to try his hand at their gym challenges when his mother agrees to Matthew training Mary… without asking him. Isobel wants her boy home and has even arranged for them to share a house in Downton. Matthew wants to continue traveling with his team. He does not want to be a glorified babysitter who teaches a woman who can barely remember type advantages how to be a Pokemon trainer.

Let the fun begin.

So I see Robert and the Main Crawley Family as Ice Type trainers, due to their reserved, stuffy nature. Robert's main Pokemon would be a specially bred Alolan Ninetails named Isis but he'd also have a Beartic, an Avalug, a Momoswine, and an Abomasnow. The Abbey itself would be the Gym with the family living on the upper floors. Cora would be from Unova and originally come from a Water-Type gym family but got rid of all her Pokemon when she married Robert, keeping only her Dewgong. Mary would have a Glaceon and a Froslass who were mostly treated as friends with little battle experience. Sybil and Edith would have Eevees with it expected they will evolve them into Glaceons but Edith loves her Eevee as is and Sybil… well, it's Sybil.

Matthew, meanwhile, would have a well rounded team that he used to win the Kalos League. He would have an Alolan Golem, a Talonflame, a Decidueye, a Dragalge, a Seismitoad, and his starter, a Gardevoir. He would be the Matthew we know but rather than having focused on the Law he would have focused on Battling. Isobel Crawley was part of the Joy family before she married Matthew's father and uses a Chansey.

As for the staff, some would work as the trainers in the gym but the rest would be just the staff. Carson would still be loyal to the family, to the point of using Ice Pokemon as well, while Bates is a newly brought in member of the staff who used to work at a Fighting-Type gym. Anna would have a Pidgey that, despite being unevolved would secretly be super powerful and Gwen wants to apprentice under the Region's local Pokemon Professor. Thomas would be a former Team Rocket Grunt who is hiding his past while O'Brien wants nothing to do with the gym aspect of Pokemon. Mrs. Hughes was an amazing trainer and could have gone to a League Conference if her sister hadn't fallen ill and needed her to work a steady job to make money. Mrs. Patmore is still Mrs. Patmore and Daisy once caught a rock and thought it was a Pokemon for five weeks.

Probably the most interesting idea I have is for Team Aequalis. If you can't figure it out from their name Aequalis want to tear down the gym system… they are the Socialists and Tom is secretly a member (perhaps even an Admin!) who has gone undercover to bring down Downton… only to fall in love with Sybil. Will he leave the Team? Convince Sybil to join him (she would look good in a Team uniform…)?

Also, this story would offer chances for cameos. What if one of Robert's neighbors was James Morgan and his wife Jessie, who know that Tom was once part of the defunct Team Rocket? What if during one episode an older Ash arrives to battle Robert? What if Edith meets a certain former Gym Leader-turned-Pokemon Doctor named Brock and falls in love? Plenty of options!

Chapter Text

"Why did you tell me?" Tom asked, sipping from the glass of water Sybil had gotten for him. He'd clearly been startled when she'd offered to get him one but she'd reasoned after that fainting spell (and it made her shake her head how offended he got at the term 'fainting spell' preferring to claim he'd 'blacked out' because that sounded more masculine) and had been even more startled when, rather than walk back to the house and get a glass from Mrs. Patmore she'd grabbed one of tin mugs that hung by the door and gone to the hand pump just outside the garage and worked the handle herself.

When Tom glanced at his little tin cup again Sybil smiled, able to read him like a book. "Did you expect me to wander off to the house and request water in the finest glass or most expensive proclaim one could get their hands upon? Perhaps with a slice of lemon in it and brought by one of the footmen because I would never know how to care one on my own? And a full string quartet to play music in time with each of your sips?"

"You're taking the Mickey out of me," Tom stated dryly.

"Merely pointing out that I'm not what you've built up in your head. The United Front doesn't print cartoons of upper class girls like me, I'm afraid."

"No, the only stories written about you are in magazines about class-crossing love," Tom muttered.

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know about those?" Tom blinked, realizing what he had just said, and then just shifted a bit in embarrassment. Sybil smirked, allowing him to wallow in red-face before deciding to move forward. "I'm not some pampered Earl's daughter that has never known a day of hard work before. I do not go 'a-flutter' at the sight of dirt or screech if I chip one of my nails. I was a nurse during the War... I changed men who had seizures and soiled themselves and then held them as they sobbed. I sat next to dying soldiers and held their rough calloused hands and stroked the burn scars that covered their knuckles because there was no one else who would offer them a bit of comfort. I've had to stand by as men I patched up were shipped right back out to the front even as they screamed and begged me to save them. I stood there knowing that for some they would return even more broken. Others would curse my name till their dying day, telling their grandchildren of the horrid nurse that sent them back only to cost them an arm or a leg… and for some their dying day would come shortly." She stared not quite at Tom but past him, the memories come to her hard and fast. "You can't imagine how much blood I've seen. Not just fresh and oozing but foul and infected. The stench that curdles stomachs and speaks of destruction and death. I've touched it… felt it. So much, Tom. So… so much. Do you know how much I've felt in the grooves of my fingers. Sometimes I wonder how I ever managed to scrub it all off..."

Tom cleared his throat, dragging her from the memories of the war that had been and, sadly would come again. For despite what Sybil and Matthew changed the war was one thing that would happen... they were simply too small to stop it. The works of two blessed could not stand up to the ambitions of small minded men. Sometimes she woke up at night fighting off screams as the memories of the war came upon her… and she knew that unlike all others those nightmares would come true again. Once Gwen had even found her in a daze, wandering about the halls of Downton, whispering that she had to find her uniform. She'd been able to play it off as a dream but still… the nightmares remained.

Sybil began to talk again, quickly, as she realized she'd let slip about a war that, while rumbled about in whispers and quiet fears, was far from happening. "I was a wife after that. My father was… less than pleased with our union-" Tom snorted at that, "-and I was stubborn and didn't want anyone's help. I cooked our meals and cleaned our dishes. You offered to get us a maid but I wanted us to save our money, so that we could provide for our children the best of lives. I scrubbed pots and cleaned clothing and helped you about the house. I took PRIDE in it, that I could do this and I wasn't what so many thought of me. So yes, Tom, I know hard work and pumping water with a handle is nothing to me."

"And that is the only reason you did it out there?"

Sybil felt her face grow hot. "Well... I might have been worried if I got too far away you'd run screaming from the estate."

"I'm still thinking about it," he jested and Sybil smiled; she missed the way he'd casually joke with her, commenting on something with such a dry wit that went against the fiery passion so many knew him for. That's what so many never understood about him. They were all far too used to seeing him as the stereotypical brash Irishman to notice his wit and depth. It did her heart good though to hear that, before Matthew's death, Tom and her family had begun to heal together to the point that papa would trust Tom with the state. Her smile fell though as his tone grew serious. "And you are stalling, Lady Sybil. Why did you tell me?" He gestured towards the garage's large door. "You said that Matthew...Mr. Crawley-" he scowled. "You are going to get me fired, you know that right? Using their Christian names and leaving me to look like a fool when I slip up and do the same?"

"Then we'll get my fight with papa over with all the sooner," Sybil remarked. "A part of me doesn't want to but another part is looking forward to it, as I have some new arguments I wish to use."

Tom merely shook his head before continuing. "You stated that Mr. Crawley has yet to inform your sister, Lady Mary, that the two of them are married in that future that has yet to come and that, in his eyes, she is already his wife."

"And he most likely never will."

"So he is courting her without burdening him with this knowledge-" Sybil winced at that, "-so why place the weight on me?"

Sybil chewed on her lower lip a tad, knowing that it made her look like some silly little girl in one of the romantic comedies the acting troupes liked to put on in London but needing the action to steady her nerves before she spoke. "First of all you must understand who Matthew and Mary are."

"This isn't you stalling again, is it?" Tom asked.

"Yes but with a very good reason," Sybil admitted and he finally motioned for her to continue. "I love Matthew like a brother but… he and Mary have never been simple. They trust each other but not fully. They hide things from each other, they keep secrets, they cover up facts and the truth. Each time they claim that they will be honest with each other, that this is the last time there will be lies and falsehoods, but then the next silly little thing pops up that in the Lord's grand scheme truly doesn't matter and once again one of them is trying to keep a secret. They love each other but I swear they thrive on conflict. Not the kind that leads them to screech and scream and slam doors… no, they were much too reserved for that. To collected. But they do love their cloak and dagger. It can be the silliest of things… sometimes I wonder if the two of them won't, eventually, find things to cover up and hide, just to feed their need for concealing.

"They also are forever convinced that they will do something wrong and drive the other one away. No matter how much they love each other and how tight the bonds are between them, to the point that, I wager, you'll be able to tell they belong together after spending a bit of time with them-and don't give me that look, you will be spending time with them both-and wonder at how two people that love each other so much could ever believe the other would turn away from them. And yet… I know Matthew fears he will say the wrong word and drive Mary away and as for my sister…" Sybil sighed, "…Matthew and her kissed yesterday. Their first kiss. I give it a week before the shine is off the apple and she begins to fear driving him away. Craft some foolish reason for the two of them to break up and why it won't work out and it will leave Matthew confused but of course he won't ask what is wrong, it will take the two coming at each other weeks on dread to finally work things out. That is their relationship: being so in love that they fear the love won't survive."

"That… sounds very foolish," Tom stated.

"They're both afraid of change and fear what it can bring… but only change they themselves aren't in command of."

"So they need to be in control," Tom said before shaking his head. "I shouldn't be talking to you about this."

"Why not? I'm not foolish enough to believe servants don't gossip."

"Yes but not with their employers!"

"My dearest friend is Gwen. She's a house maid and I helped her become a secretary. Or, I will… hmmm, time travel can be funny."

"…right," Tom said dryly. "And all this had something to do with your supposed relationship?"

"It has everything to do with it," Sybil said firmly. "Because we are not them! We are the opposite of them."

"Wouldn't being the opposite mean that we hate each other and let the world no it?"

"What… no… nevermind, that isn't what matters!" Sybil shook her head in annoyance. "NO, what I mean is that we didn't let things fester once we finally admitted what we were feeling. Yes, in the beginning we were too stubborn to admit our feelings…" Tom shot her a look and Sybil sighed, waving her hand, "Fine then, it was me. But once I stopped being like that… there were no true secrets between us. Well, small ones, innocent ones. But never like Mary and Matthew." She took a step forward and with the same care she might have used to approach a stray dog, reached out and slowly took his hand in her's. "I couldn't bear to lie to you. To pretend you were a stranger and know that this second, wonderful chance… was built on a lie. I would rather return to that future, where my death awaited me, than be that cruel."

"…you died?" Tom whispered and it made Sybil's heart sore over how pained he sounded at that news.

"Yes," she stated. "Matthew too. We believe… we believe that it is connected to why only the two of us returned to the past. But that doesn't matter. You deserved to know the truth, Tom."

"But why?" Tom demanded once more. "Do you not think it is manipulative to hang the promise of love and family in front of me?"

"Is it more than lying to you and using my knowledge to trick you into loving me again?" Sybil shook her head. "I'm sorry if you disagree but no. No." She released his hand and finally turned her back to him. "I know things won't be the same. I honestly don't want them to be. There is so much about my past life that I loved but there was so much more than could have been better. Pain avoided, joy found. I would rather risk you turning away from me of your own free will than to have you thanks to lies." Sybil closed her eyes and mentally screamed at herself not to cry. She would not cry. She would not.

"I can not claim I am happy with this," Tom said, pulling her from her thoughts. "But I also can not claim I would have preferred what you described. While it may work for your sister, and the way you describe her I imagine it is for the best, for me I would never be able to forgive you for lying to me. Which only serves to make me feel like a sham for feeling frustration and anger at you now. You were in an impossible situation and you chose the best option… even when it was a bad one." He sighed and she could hear him pacing. "It feels as if my life is no longer in my hands! That it has been written for me!"

"It has certainly not been!" Sybil declared. "There are so many things I wish to change, to do better, to never have happen! I am not demanding that you and I repeat our dance because it was horrid! Lovely but… horrid."

"That is an odd way-"

"it took us over four years to finally admit our feelings for each other."

Tom zipped around her so he could see her face. "Honest?" Sybil nodded and Tom rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay… I admit I'm feeling less annoyance at you telling me the truth hearing how big of a prat I was!"

"I was to blame. I doddled. You were a gentleman."

"And if I had left service and used the war to make a name for myself so that I could return to you after a year in a position that would have made it easier to admit your love for me, rather than trailing about shooting you forlorn looks and generally making you uncomfortable?

Sybil shifted awkwardly at how much he'd hit the nail on the head.

"Right, so no matter what happens next we are not doing that." Sybil beamed and Tom sighed. "And I shouldn't have known saying 'we' would make you smile like a loon." Sybil merely giggled and hiccupped at the same time; she'd take this over his anger any time. "Let me ask you… what do you hope happens now?"

'You and I run off together, get married, and have a long and happy life,.' Of course Sybil didn't say that as she knew that would only ruin Tom's accepting mood. Instead she said, "We continue on. We learn more about each other, and don't give me that look because there is plenty I can still learn about you, and, I hope, let something develop between us. I promise I will not press you… and I hope you will try and not let this affect you."

"Don't make a promise you can't keep," Tom said softly before moving and sitting down on a bench. "If it would be alright… I'd like some time alone."

"Of course," Sybil said quickly. "And you don't have to worry about me shadowing your every step, demanding you hurry and decide what happens. I will respect your need to deal with this… I just hope that you will give me a chance."

It would have been lovely if he had told her that she already had her chance. That he could live with the knowledge. But that was the thing of romance tales. No, it was only his silence that greeted her and Sybil, with a sad little smile, made her way out of the garage. She had known this would be a risk and it was one she was willing to take. She had been truthful when she'd told him she couldn't live with lying to him.

She now could only hope that her honesty wouldn't drive him from her.

~A~O~O~O~F~

John Bates had been in many odd situations in his life. The war, prison, service... each of them had their own oddities and awkwardness. One could spend their entire life as a professional soldier or a prison lifer or as a valet and still find moments that were odd and a touch embarrassing. John wasn't one to get squeamish over the less-than-pleasant parts of his current life and he certainly would take Lord Grantham saying the wrong thing over worrying about getting a knife in the ribs in the prison yard. Still, being a valet did have its odd moments.

Such as standing next to his employer's heir waiting for the woman he loved to come down from the Big House with his employer's daughter.

"Well..." Mr Crawley said, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked about. The two of them were dressed in fine yet casual suits (perfect for a day at a country fair without making them look like a couple of roughnecks looking for their neck copper to pay for a mug of ale yet also not making them look like some dandy come to stare at the poor folk), standing just at the beginning of the main road that lead up to the Abbey. John had his cane at his side and a basket lunch that Mrs. Patmore had been kind enough to make for him and Anna sitting at his feet

"Ya can't just take her to a pub or give her a sandwich wrapped paper!" Mrs. Patmore had complained the moment she had heard about John's plans. "Daisy! Get me one of the good baskets! No, not that one you ninny, a good one!" The cook had then turned to John and waged her finger at him. "I won't have it!"

Knowing that it would have been useless to argue John had smiled. "I'll find a way to pay you back…"

"You'll do no such thing!" Mrs. Patmore had scolded.

"I quite agree, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hughes had told him, making her presence known. "Or, now that I think about it, you'll pay us all back. The payment will be the smile on Anna's face when some comes back here."

Stranger though had been his encounter with Thomas.

"I haven't a sister to watch over, Mr. Bates," the footman had said, for once not sporting a cocky little smirk on his smug face. "And I think she could do much better than you. But… for now you are the one she wishes to be with. I won't claim I am beloved in this house… but Anna is. I know you don't fear me, Mr. Bates, as I don't fear you… but you should fear what all of us will do if you hurt her in any way."

John, rather than reacting in anger, had merely nodded. "The only peace I'll know if I do hurt her is that she will have all of you to heal her." Thomas had merely nodded at that and left.

He looked down at the basket and smiled. While he was willing to spend a bit of the money he had squirreled away on making the event fun for Anna he knew fairs could get pricey and he wanted to be careful. A few treats were fine and he wanted them to try a few games of chance and perhaps a carriage ride but going for a meal would drain away much of the money he wished to spend.

'And it will be far more personal for us to go off together than to sit in a pub,' John thought to himself, seeing just why Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes had been getting at with giving him the basket.

"Hmmm," Mr. Crawley said once more, trying to strike up a conversation. "Good weather for a fair."

"Oh yes, quite," John said.

"...still, we need a bit of rain. Farmers are asking for it."

"But they need to be careful. They ask for rain and the good Lord will give us a month's worth. And when they as for it to let up we get a drought."

"Right, right."

The two lapsed into silence.

"Think we'll do well in the cricket game this year?"

"Possibly."

"Yes."

John as pretty sure the actual crickets had fled, unable to stand the embarrassing situation themselves.

"If you wish for me to go on ahead, I can. I'm sure Anna will understand-"

"No no," Mr. Crawley said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't let my fuzzy-headedness drive you away, Bates. Honestly I should be ashamed of myself... when I was just a simple lawyer I would have happily chatted away with you without a second thought. A decade at Downton shouldn't change that."

"A... decade?"

Mr. Crawley blanched at that before laughing weakly. "A year, a decade... this place has a way of making you feel like you've been here forever."

"I quite agree," John stated, glancing at the trees he knew hid Downton from view. "I've worked at several houses, sir, and I have never encountered one so welcoming." He paused, a sardonic smile forming on his lips. "Or, at the very least, they were once they got used to this." He patted his bum leg twice.

"I imagine that caused a bit of awkwardness," Mr. Crawley stated.

"Just a bit," John said with the slightest of smirks, using the same dry humor-filled tone he'd father Lord Grantham when the two of them were playfully teasing each other.

"As much as the two of us standing here together just now?" Mr. Crawley joked back.

"More so, to be honest," John admitted with a rueful shake of his head. "It's been years since my limp returned... for a while it went away only to come back. I wish I could say I grew used to the looks people gave-"

"But you never do. They cut each and every time."

"That they do." John let out a soft sigh. "I don't know what is worse... those that openly stare or those that try to hide it rather poorly."

Mr. Crawley got a far off look in his eye. "Neither. The worst is those that stare at you with pity. Those that judge you as inferior and weak... you either let it get to you or use it to drive you to prove them wrong. They are easy enough to deal with and the emotions they bring the easiest to handle. It is the pity that is the worst. Pity makes you feel... helpless. You can't even get angry at them because you know they are just trying to be kind..."

"...but that kindness cuts worse than scorn," John finished, a far off look in his eye as he thought first of Mr. Carson judging him as utterly lacking and merely his Lordship showing charity to a broken man... and Mrs. Hughes who thought she was showing him a kindness but instead slashed him with a thousand razors every time she stared at him were her sad wet eyes as he limped about the downstairs.

John chanced a look at Mr. Crawley, his eyes darting away the moment the other man's head even twitched the slightest. The lawyer's insights were too exact, too on point, to have been made based on study. For a moment he considered that being the son of a doctor and a nurse had given him such insight but John quickly cast that away; Mr. Crawley didn't merely speak the words but had the slightly raspy voice of one who had experienced looks of pity and of scorn himself.

Mr. Crawley had, at one point... been a cripple.

'But the man looks utterly fit and fine. There has never been a hint he has had a bad limb. And yet...'

"Besides," Mr. Crawley said with renewed cheer, "there is another reason why I won't let you wander off."

"And what is that?"

"Lady Mary would never let me hear the end of it. This was her mad scheme, after all."

John laughed softly at that. "Aye... I suppose you are right there." He shifted slightly, head tilting up. "And I believe you just summoned her, sir." He watched as Lady Mary and Anna finally made their way down the final bend and came fully within their sight. Lord Grantham's eldest was dressed in her plainest, most down to earth walking dress and hat which meant that compared to everyone else she was still well over dressed. It was a light gray color, with a small splash of baby blue upon the torso and with a matching hat adorned with tiny flowers in the same cerulean hue. Not that many would notice what she was wearing as Lady Mary wore, for the first time since John had come to Downton, the brightest smile he'd ever seen upon her face. She was laughing at something, her arm locked with Anna's like the two were old friends and not Mistress and Maid. The burden that had weighed so heavily on her shoulders for the last year long gone and replaced with a giddiness that, while perhaps not proper on one of her standing, could not be frowned upon. Indeed, John would wager that if Mr. Carson saw her now he would recommend Anna and Lady Mary spend more time taking strolls, if only to make the Earl's daughter never lose her laughter.

As for Anna...

'Anna,' John thought with a smile as he looked at her.

There was a touch of nervousness in the coloring of her cheeks; though whether that was from their upcoming time together or from the way Lady Mary was standing so close to her John ouldn't guess. But it was that nervousness that made her so beautiful in John's eyes. While so many servants allowed the grueling pace and at times harsh duties grind them down until all that was left within them was bitterness (and John couldn't help but think of a certain pucker-faced lady's maid) Anna wasn't like that. She still was bright and sunny and was able to feel things other than disappointment and rued acceptance. She was able to be nervous like a school girl or passionate like one of those Feminist Equal Righters or joyful like a bride on her wedding day. It was her ability to care on, to still hold onto those emotions that made one human that made John want to feel such things as well. Oh, he could fake them so well... but Anna made him want to feel love and hope and joy.

"I think we have something else in common," Mr. Crawley stated. "We are both lucky men."

"Ah, there are our dashing knights," Lady Mary said, pulling Anna along as she hurried over to the two of them, the earl's daughter waiting till the last moment before releasing Anna. "Matthew," Lady Mary said with a dazzling smile.

"Mary," Mr. Crawley echoed, offering his arm to her.

"Bates, please do have Anna back whenever you wish and not a second sooner," Lady Mary told him firmly. "I will not be happy if I hear you two returned early."

"That isn't-" Anna began but Lady Mary shook her head.

"Oh, it is needed, Anna. Now then, go have fun!" With that Lady Mary was off, Mr. Crawley half turning to give them an awkward wave as he was practically dragged along the path into the village.

"...I trust that wasn't too painful," John asked Anna once they two were out of earshot.

Anna's shoulders slumped and she shook her head even as a befuddled little grin formed on her lips. "I honestly don't know what has come over her Ladyship. She was never this... open... even before the terrible news about Mr. Patrick Crawley."

"Finding someone you care for can change you," John reasoned as Anna reached down and grabbed the picnic basket, clutching it in her hands as the two began to head into the village at a much more sedated pace than what Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary had chosen. "Make you feel as if you could fly away. I know that's true with me."

"Mr. Bates!" Anna gasped. "I mean... John! You can't just say those things!"

"But I want to. It makes you blush." Anna reached up with her free hand and tried to hide her cheeks. "And you are very cute when you blush."

"Cute?" Anna protested.

"I'd say beautiful but that would only make you blush more..." Sure enough the maid beside him did just that and John smirked.

"Oh... I will find some way to make you pay for that," Anna said in good humor.

"Hmmm... I look forward to that," he said and guided her towards the fair.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: Poor Sybil. It would have been so simple to have Tom be utterly accepting of what she revealed and for them to move on to the wonderful part of their relationship. But that wouldn't be fair to who Tom is. He has just had the rug pulled out from under him and now he needs to deal with this news. And thus we now find ourselves with a reversal of the show, with Sybil being the one knowing what fate has stored for them and Tom the one in a bit of denial. He won't be as logger headed as Sybil but he won't be racing into her arms. Sybil is going to have to earn her happy ending, just as Matthew has been doing.

As for the second half we get something the show never did: Bates and Matthew having a long scene together. I mean, think about it… there are characters in the show that never interacted or did so very little. Anna and the Dowager. Robert and O'Brien. So on. This story allows me to experiment with such interactions and here we have two men who in the show struggled so much to have love and now here have earned it.

Originally the chapter continued on with some of the fair… I'll ask you guys, would you like the next chapter to focus on Matthew and Mary's date or are you ready for me to FINALLY move on to the next arc of this story, which will see Matthew's plan to get out of the War and the Front.

And now we go to our plot bunny! This one takes a common idea in the fan fic community and flips it on its head. Before the very first episode of Downton there is a tiny change: Mary went with James and Patrick on the Titanic, as the plan was for Mary to see her grandmother in New York.

Having Mary on the Titanic would radically alter not only the store itself but the characters. Robert more consumed with grief, making him struggle to continue on. Cora a ghost of her former self when we meet her, blaming herself for encouraging Mary to go visit America; it would take a ton of effort for her to get over that pain. An Edith who never made up with her sister and now acts out almost recklessly because she feels she must live for the two of them. A Sybil who is now more sheltered because everyone worries for her… and thus causes her to act out more. A heartbroken Carson who, if I were writing it, finally decided to take a demotion because he couldn't do his job; he would become Robert's valet and Bates would become the new Head Butler. This in turn would cause issues between Bates and Anna, as it would be seen as Anna being attracted to her boss, but also alter Thomas and Bates' relationship as Thomas would see Bates as a chance to start fresh and I see, in this new telling, Bates being willing to work with Thomas and the two becoming friends while Carson would butt heads with the two.

And of course a Matthew who finds himself with more pressure to be ready to take over as Robert simply can't function due to grief and the family NEEDS him to step up… and would support him taking over while they grief.

We would do a few chapters of this before fastforwarding to the War. Because Matthew would not sign up early (due to Mary's rejection in the original timeline) and also being basically Lord Grantham in all but name would see Robert (recovered at this point but having given up the title) decide to pull strings and get Matthew a position that keeps him away from the Front. While stationed in France Matthew would meet an American nurse who came over to assist the soldiers. She is beautiful and smart but also a hard worker and curses up a storm because she was taught by rough and tough New York nurses. Not the type of woman that the family expects him to marry but he falls for her and brings her to Downton…

…and Cora screams when she sees her.

Because, of course… it's Marry.

A Mary who lost all her memories. Who doesn't remember who she is or her life before. Who was taken in by nurses in New York after she was discharged and eventually became a nurse herself, believing she was just a standard London girl (perhaps have it that her clothing was destroyed when she was pulled from the water and given new clothing by a lower class person on the ship that found her).

What happens next would be up to you guys.

Chapter Text

"Winner!" the booth operator called out as the final milk bottle fell to the hard rice-filled sack Matthew had sent hurtling into the tent. "And the first winner of the day! Seems the future Earl of Grantham has a strong arm and a sharp eye!"

"Just luck," Matthew said, pointing to a small stuffed rabbit that was barely bigger than his hand.

"That was a peculiar way to throw," Mary said as booth operator went to grab Mathew's prize. She was staring down her own set of bottles, the first of her 3 rice balls having failed to even come close to the milk bottle tower. He could tell she was slightly annoyed, wanting to win the game with as much ease as he had, she may have come to no longer see him as a rival but that didn't mean she didn't want to beat him. "I thought for a moment that you'd send the bag flying well past them but it landed perfectly down. And the height you managed was certainly not what I expected. Where ever did you learn that?"

Matthew smiled. "Just something I picked up, I suppose." He wasn't about to tell her that was how one properly lobbed a grenade into a fox hole. Send it high enough so it got over the barbed wire, but not so high that the Germans could see it coming and have time to react. There was, as sad as it was to say, an art to dealing death and he'd found his skill was in lobbing explosives. It was an ability he'd learned quickly, as he'd seen what could happen when one misjudged the distance. The men under him had complained when he'd had the practice with holey socks stuffed with dirt and rocks during the rare times they weren't in the trenches but after they'd seen the first man send his explosive too short and blow off half his face they had taken to the exercises. Matthew had held it as a matter of pride before that final fateful charge that had ended the war for him that not a single man in the regiment he commanded had died because of a grenade tossed by a British hand.

Later, when he'd come to Downton and needed a way to put the ghosts of war behind him it had been, of all people, Carson who had suggested the outlet he'd been searching for.

"If I might be so bold, sir?" Carson said, drawing Mathew from his thoughts. Robert and him had been sharing a glass of scotch, enjoying a quiet moment before once more joining the ladies who were all a flutter about Mary and his wedding, when talk had come of war and how Robert had expressed his small pleasure that at long last there was someone in the house that understood what it was like. The ladies could never hear of such things and Robert didn't feel right swapping war stories with Bates, what with his bad leg. "In poor taste to share tales of daring with him like that" Robert had told him.

Matthew had smiled at that, the corners of his mouth pinched as he struggled not to glower. There might have been grand adventures in the Boer War but the Great War had only been a living nightmare. It enraged him at times to see and hear so many think that the war had been some noble adventure. Once, while walking with Mary, she had pointed out two village women who had attended a concert at Downton and handed feathers out to the men who hadn't volunteered, shaming them and calling them cowards. When Matthew had asked if William had been one of the ones to be embarrassed so Mary had admitted that he had and there had been no stopping him at that point. He could still see their wide eyes and pale faces as he stormed at them, calling them murderers right in the middle of the street. They'd stammered and protested but Matthew told them of William, of how he died because of that 'oh so noble' war while women like them had done nothing but sit in their warm homes with full bellies and safe beds yet felt that God had graced them with the right to judge. Mary had taken his arm to try and drag him away and it had only been her fearful face that had caused him to calm… and then whisper, in the most fierce of quiet voices, that the moment Robert passed and he was earl he would see their families driven from Downton.

They'd never spoken of that moment. And Mary never asked him of the war. In fact, when others had tried to engage him she had been kind enough to deflect away.

But Mary wasn't with him at the moment.

Thomas had said it best one night, when he'd gotten so drunk that he'd admitted to Matthew that it wasn't women that interested him. "The vicars might say it is a sin but I don't bloody well care," he had admitted in the dark of the night, the two of them sitting at the great table despite how scandalizing that was. "Sin is nothing. There isn't anything Hell could throw at either of us that would be worse than those trenches."

He'd hidden his annoyance though and allowed Robert to tell a story of riding through Africa one day without his socks, smiling in all the right places. Finally, when he'd had his fill Robert had moved to join the ladies but Matthew had begged off, playing up the injury in his back to be allowed a few moments more to sit. Robert had believed him and left and Matthew had let his smile collapse... only to belatedly remember that Carson was there.

"Of course, Carson," Matthew said.

"I can't say I quite understand what you went through... I have had the privilege of never being on a war front so I fear it may be crass of me to give advice. But it would seem to me that you need to find some way to take parts of what occurred and... turn them into things that have use in times of peace and not just times of war."

Mathew so badly wanted to make some glib comment, to ask Carson if he meant that Matthew should do drill marches through the halls or practice digging trenches on the lawn but he bit his tongue. The butler was trying to help and didn't deserve any of Matthew's bitterness.

So instead he asked, "And how would you suggest I do that, Carson?"

"I believe you must find pastimes that use what you have learned on the battlefield but allow you to explore them in more... peaceful ways. Controlled ways." Carson pursed his lips. "Hunting would be my first suggestion but I do not know sir if that is such a good idea-"

Matthew though held up a hand. "Actually, that might be a rather capital idea. I do admit that I am a much better shot than I was when I first came here. Would be nice to actually bag something for one."

"Perhaps not a pheasant though," Carson added. When Matthew raised an eyebrow at that the butler shrugged. "You may have noticed Mr. Bates doesn't assist during the hunts and it isn't because of his leg... many guns going off bring about bad memories, he said, and I found it quite cruel to punish him so, especially when Thomas and Will- when we have the footmen."

"Yes, quite," Matthew quickly admitted seeing the logic in that. "Stalking though might be better then. Just myself, in the peaceful quite, able to enjoy nature but also hunt something that can't shoot back at me..."

"There are other pastimes too," Carson said. "Lawn sports and such you might enjoy..."

It had been that conversation that had led Matthew to try out a wide range of sports and games, with Mister Heyliger de Windt's "Parlor Quoits" becoming a fast favorite of his and something he'd even managed to get Robert to enjoy in the first timeline. They of course never called it by the rather vulgar American name 'Cornhole' (such a filthy, barbaric name for a game of skill and subtly… but that was Americans for you) but the two of them had had a smashing time of it and even Tom had taken part, discovering that unlike Cricket he was actually able to play the tossing game. During the fall, as Mary had grown more tired with the coming of their son, it was common for her and Cora to sit on the lawn and watch the three of them compete, Mary at times cracking jokes at their expense when one failed. He hadn't had time to purchase the supplies needed to play in this timeline but he did look forward to it, as it would be a fun game to play with Robert again.

"Drat," Mary complained as her second toss failed to knock down any of the bottles save one. "I do so hate games like this. There were many things I demanded Papa let me try my hand at but Cricket was never one of them... I seem to have the tossing skills of an orangutan."

"Perhaps my way might work for you," Matthew offered.

"Oh, I couldn't! I would send the bag hurtling skyward or cause it to rocket backwards and crash into some poor soul's face."

"Not at all." Matthew moved behind her and he felt her stiffen as he brought one arm around her so he could gently grasp her wrist while he rested his chin on her shoulder. He could feel her body stuttered slightly at how intimately he was touching her but she very quickly relaxed and allowed him to guide her. "It is all about the swing of your arm." He rocked her arm back and for several times, stopping right when she'd need to let go. After several practice attempts he stepped back and Mary, without any sign of doubt, let the bag fly and was rewarded with the sound of all the bottles clattering and falling from their perch.

"Winner!" the booth attendant declared, Mary beaming with the sweet taste of victory on her lips as she pointed to a small stuffed bear, the same size as the rabbit that was now tucked in Matthew's pocket.

"I do say you are a rather good teacher," she said as they began to walk towards the Grantham Arms; Mary having decided early on that she wanted an adventure and would dine in inn's dining area.

"I am glad," Matthew said with a smile.

"Are you?" Mary asked. "Truly glad? And happy? I hope you are." She shook her head and scoffed. "Listen to me, babbling like Edith."

"I find it rather cute," Matthew said, the two of them stopping to watch as a glassblower showed off to a small crowd how he made some of his pieces. "And to answer your question... yes, I am glad. And I am happy."

"I truly hope so. It took a while for me to realize just how much your life has changed... it took Sybil drilling it into my head for me to understand... but now that I do know I do so hope you are happy."

"I am, Mary, that you don't not need to worry about." The two of them began to walk with Mary looking about the faire with a smile and Matthew fighting the urge to kiss her senseless. While he was enjoying this time with her, as the two of them had never truly been out together like this during his first living of his life (as their own pigheadedness had ensured that what should have been time spent getting to know each other and enjoying life was spent with bitterness and awkwardness) another part of him hated that he could hold her in his arms. 'Sometimes I think the French are right and we British are too repressed. If we were in Paris I could pull Mary behind a building and kiss her till all the blood rushed to her cheeks and no one would say a word. Here we probably caused a scandal with me showing her how to throw that rice bag.' Matthew mentally chuckled before speaking out loud, "So, this will be quite a first for you... I imagine you haven't dined in many pubs or hotels."

"You would think that, Matthew, but you would be quite wrong."

"Oh? Do you sneak out at all hours for a wee drink? Maybe you and Anna secretly have a night once a month where you share a pint?"

Mary laughed at that. "If I were to do that Anna would be so scandalized and embarrassed she'd still be blushing by the time Christmas came. No, nothing of that sort. I will admit it has been years since I've been there but I have, in fact, dined at the Grantham Arms."

Matthew offered his arm to her. "This is a story I wish to hear."

Taking the offered forearm Mary continued. "First, you must promise never to tell Mama or Granny, as I imagine that the two of them wouldn't be happy at all to find out. Now then, it was a first months after Sybil was born and Edith had come down with a terrible cold that left her confined to her bed. Mama had made an appointment for me to get a new dress for Sybil's christening but didn't want to leave Edith with just our governess and Granny was unable to come so Papa volunteered to take me, which was quite a surprise to all but I suspected he was up to something before we even left. Once we got the dress he told me, "Mary, my dear, I think you and I should go on an adventure!" I was of course excited and agreed at once and he told me that first we needed to get something to eat but we couldn't go back to the House, for that would alert everyone else. So he took me to the Grantham Arms. Oh, we were so sneaky about it..."

Matthew smiled. He'd never heard this story and it made his heart soar that in this life he could learn things about the woman he loved and their relationship wouldn't just be filled with him pretending forever and ever that everything she told him was new. Thus with a grin on his face Matthew led Mary into the small village inn, the tale of her and her father sneaking about Downton and sampling treats swirling about him like a pleasant mist.

~A~O~O~O~F~

December 1913

"Well, this is certainly going to be a rather interesting affair, considering the unusual guest list," Mrs. Hughes stated as she entered Mr. Carson's office. They had just gotten done with their breakfast and soon would begin with the chaos that would come about when the family began to wake up. Already Ms. O'Brien had been rung for but the lady's maid had been expecting and turned in early the night before and awoke an hour before anyone else that morning. Her Ladyship had been fretting and fussing about the upcoming evening's party for weeks and when Lady Grantham was worried about a party she tended to get little sleep. This was something even the upstairs knew about as Mr. Bates had prepared Lord Grantham's spare bed at his Lordship's request. The Earl knew his wife and Mrs. Hughes had little doubt he'd slipped away the moment her Ladyship had drifted into a fitful sleep; if he didn't she was bound to keep him awake at best and smack him in the face at worse.

Mrs. Hughes fought back a chuckle as she remembered how, 5 years back, his Lordship had been forced to lie to his guests and claim he had hit a branch while riding to explain the black eye Lady Grantham had given him during a rather fitful rest.

"Normally I would not take kindly to gossiping about whom his Lordship wishes to invite to a holiday party but I admit that the choices made have left me scratching my head, at least in some cases." Mr. Carson made a note in one of his ledgers before setting it aside and selecting another.

"You really should begin teaching some of staff how to care for those books," Mrs. Hughes stated.

The butler frowned at that even as he gestured for her to take a seat. They had about 20 minutes or so before Carson would need to go upstairs to wait for his lordship to arrive down for breakfast; Mr. Bates had begun to ring the bell once his Lordship was done and that allowed Carson to have more time downstairs prepping things rather than having to stand at attention for minutes on end in an empty dining room. "Are you saying that I can not handle my duties?"

"No but we are all human, despite what you may think of yourself, and a day may come where you need your rest." Mr. Carson opened his mouth but Mrs. Hughes smiled slightly and cut him off. "Such as being Lady Mary's hero and needing rest afterwards from defending her honor?"

"Yes... well..." Mr. Carson blushed at that and Mrs. Hughes smiled all the more. While the old boobie didn't like to brag it was clear that it was a matter of pride that he'd been able to step in and defend Lady Mary's honor against that Turkish monster. Even after he'd been allowed out of bed he'd worn his wounds like they were medals presented by the king himself, standing tall and proud and doing nothing to hide them. He'd waved off offers to help and continued on with his normal duties but there was a sparkle in his eye that would have been better found in Thomas' eye than his own. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for Mr. Bates to know a bit. He did well stepping in for me after all that and while I doubt he'll ever seek a position of butler none would look down on him understanding what I do. And he has a good mind for it… yes. Yes, I do believe you are right."

"It also might be wise to show William and Thomas." Mr. Carson glowered at that and Mrs. Hughes held up a hand. "William may very well one day replace you as the butler here at Downton and it would do him well to learn from you now. You've seen that he wants to learn and better for him to study under you now than to try and find his way on his own years down the road. As for Thomas he too will need to learn if he hopes to continue on, if not here then at another estate, and you must admit that he has gotten better in recent months."

"Well... yes." No one could pinpoint what had caused the snarking footman to change. Perhaps it had been seeing William hurt by Mr. Pamuk or Lady Sybil and Anna defending him from Mr. Pamuk's vile threats (Mrs. Hughes had known for years that Thomas was a silly flirt... and that his eyes lingered more on a pretty man than a woman... and if Lady Sybil hadn't stepped in to deflate Mr. Pamuk's blackmail Mrs. Hughes would have done so; though she may have resorted to beating the man with a candle stick till his jaw was broken… no one hurt Mrs. Hughes' boys and girls). But whatever the case Thomas had grown up a bit. Oh, he still had a snide remark at times and he and O'Brien liked to gossip far too much for Mrs. Hughes' tastes but he was far better than he'd been a year ago. Even his battles with Mr. Bates had settled down to verbal jabs; the two of them could at least sit at a table and one time she'd even caught the two of them with Mr. Branson teaching young William how to play cards. They'd never be friends but gone where the days where she worried that Thomas would do something foolish to try and get rid of the valet. "Still, I'd prefer to wait a bit more with both of them... let them mature and show they are ready to learn before I let them see how it is done." He let out a 'hur-umpf'. "And I will NOT allow Thomas free reign of our inventory ledgers."

"Fair enough."

There was a loud bellow that caused them both to job.

"What in the world?" Mr. Carson exclaimed as the roars grew louder. Mrs. Hughes stood up and opened the door just in time to see Daisy rush past, the girl's face pale but, thankfully, not streaked with tears. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

Both she and Carson flinched when Mrs. Patmore let out a string of yells that, while not filled with curse words, were colorful and creative enough that it had even the two old hands of service wincing. ""Daisy, I doubt everything is well if Mrs. Patmore is roaring like a demon from the fiery depths of hell."

Daisy rung her hands nervously, glancing back towards the kitchen. "She's just upset because she knocked the flour over. She says Virginia put it in the wrong place but she didn't. Accidents happen even to the best of us, I tried to tell her that but she said that she doesn't make mistakes like that and I shouldn't cover for stupid girls that don't know how to put things away. I'm going now to get more so we can continue on."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "I'll talk her-"

"DAISY!" Mrs. Patmore called out in anger. "Would you hurry it up you daft girl? You aren't running a bloody hedge maze you stupid-"

"She's with me, Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. hughes called out, knowing that the cook wouldn't talk back to her especially when she put a bit of steel in her voice. But just in case she added, "She'll be there in a moment." She nodded to Daisy who smiled even as she bunched her shoulders up and hurried along. Mrs. Hughes closed the door and Mr. Carson shook his head in annoyance. "I will talk with her and remind her this is a great house and not some London soup kitchen."

"Do so, please. I let her run the kitchen as she sees fit but we can't afford to have all the girls quitting on us; she's already driven two away and forced us to hire more in. I do not want to step in, Mrs. Hughes, but I will if I need to." He let out a weary sight. "Cooks bellowing like drill sergeants. And it's only getting worse. It seems since the summer she's only gotten angrier. I'm surprised Daisy has managed to not become a trembling mess with the way she yells at her." The butler sighed. "We just got Thomas to stop bullying William; we seem to get one issue fixed and another pops up."

"Such is service," Mrs. Hughes said, retaking her seat. "And besides, tonight is going to be stressful on all of us so I'm willing to cut her a small amount of slack." At Mr. Carson's dark look she said, "Only a small amount."

"The very smallest of amounts," Carson grumbled, casting an eye towards his door before returning to look at her. "As you said, a very odd guest list. There are the usual suspects, as the Americans would say... the Dowager-"

"Which will surely mean the meal will be filled with some rather interesting comments," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile and Carson finally blessed her with a smile of his own. "Mr. Crawley and his mother too but that is to be expected."

"On more than one count," Mr. Carson said.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. It had been shortly around the time that Mr. Bates and Anna had come to her and Mr. Carson and, while fumbling and stammering and blushing like children, admitted that they were courting one another that it had been made clear that Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary were doing the same. In fact Anna had confided in Mrs. Hughes that Lady Mary had been the one to insist that she and Mr. Bates get the time they had to go to the fair and Lady Mary had even walked with Anna down to meet their gentlemen, treating the whole thing like two friends having a day together. While Anna and Mr. Bates had been formal in their addressing of the situation (wishing that there would be no trouble as in some households the staff seeing each other could see them fired; thankfully the Crawleys had never been like that and accepted that at times maids and footmen would fall for each other and were happy for it so long as it didn't affect their duties) Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley had made no grand announcement... it just became clear that the two were now together. Where before their placement at the table hadn't matter they now would always sit across and next two each other at dinners. It was common to find the two of them chatting away in the parlor, at times ignoring everyone as they laughed and traded tales. For Mr. Crawley not to come to this winter's meal would have been a sign that something was terribly wrong.

The other count though was Mr. Crawley's taking of a more active part in the running of Downton. The party was not just an early celebration of the Christmas season but also to commemorate Mr. Crawley leaving his practice so he might fully work with Robert. While Mrs. Hughes wasn't in every meeting (as there were plenty of things she didn't need to know about, especially with the running of the estate) she'd learned that Mr. Crawley had begun working with some of the villagers and tenants to help secure Donwton's fortunes. Business, to once more borrow from the Americans, was 'booming'. Mrs. Patmore herself would only buy Downton Honey, made by the local bee farm, and it was growing common for certain jams and cheeses from the village to be requested at meals by guests. She found it all rather odd and different but so long as it supported the house and ensured that all that worked there continued to have positions she would be happy.

Another part of Mr. Crawley's expanding involvment in Downton was helping with the planning of this holiday party. He had suggested, what with the holidays always being a rather busy time in London and it being seen as rather crass to invite non-family to dinners that were within a week of Christmas, that it might be a wise idea to hold a party in the first month of December. He had convinced his Lordship and her Ladyship to hold not a Christmas party but a Winter Party, to welcome in the season; both winter and holiday. Lady Grantham always did enjoy having a reason to gather together a wide range of people and showing off the elegance of Downton and had quickly gone along with the idea with his Lordship following shortly after. In turn Mr. Crawley had gotten all the Crawley girls involved and soon the entire family had been working together to plan the event.

'It is good for them all,' Mrs. Hughes thought. 'They will need to know how to do such things when they are running homes of their own.' Lady Sybil had been working with Mrs. Patmore on the food, suggesting a long list of familiar dishes that would be pleasing to all and chase away the cold December chill. It had been rather surprising that the young woman knew so much about the kitchen as Mrs. Hughes couldn't remember the last time ANY of the Crawleys had come downstairs. The only time Lady Grantham had interfered with Lady Sybil's selections was to suggest a particular dessert one of their guests, Sir Anthony Stranton, loved but Mrs. Patmore had claimed it was too late to prepare such a meal, leaving her Ladyship disappointed and Mrs. Patmore in an even darker mood than she had been. Lady Edith had been placed in charge of the décor and Mrs. Hughes had to admit that she had truly made Downton shine. As for Lady Mary she had worked with Mr. Crawley on the guest list (with final approval by Lady Granthan of course) and they had chosen faces new and old to attend.

"Then there is Lady Rosamund, which will be rather nice as it is so rare for her to come for Christmas nowadays," Mr. Carson said.

"I think it is her Christmas gift to herself, to not have to spend the holiday with the Dowager," Mrs. Hughes teased and Mr. Carson smirked at that.

"Again, normally I would not allow such talk… but I can not deny what is probably true." His smile fell though as he continued. "Then there are the Greys…"

"To be fair it will only be Lord Merton and his son Timothy. Larry will not be returning."

"I would hope not. We lost our best wine bucket thanks to him. Still, I do not understand why they were invited."

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "Perhaps Mr. Crawley knows how important Lord Merton is to Lady Mary and wishes to ensure there is no hard feelings between the families. She is his goddaughter, after all."

"Mmm… perhaps. But what of these guests that Lord Merton is bring?"

"Gen. Lothrop and his wife? Apparently the colonel is an old friend of Lord Merton. They went to school together, from what I hear and they are very close. When Mr. Crawley heard he would be visiting during the time of the party he invited him as well. Very kind of him, I might say."

"I don't know how I feel about this man I have never even heard of dining at Downton, even if he is a good friend of someone like Lord Merton. I don't even know if he is in any of the Peerage!"

Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes. Christ himself could descend from Heaven to dine at Downton and Mr. Carson would throw a fit that he wasn't wearing white tie. "Gen. Lothrop is a member of his majesty's army, I'll remind you, and a high ranking on at that. Considering that his Lordship was a part of that very army and Gen. Lothrop outranks him I don't see a problem with him dining here. And while the only title he has to his name maybe be one he earned himself he is one of Lord Merton's closest friends and I feel that speaks rather highly of him."

Mr. Carson had the decency to blush as he held up his hands. "Peace, peace. I admit defeat on this measure."

Smiling at that she added one more jab. "And besides, one never knows when a man might be knighted or give a title… it wouldn't it be nice for Downton to be able to say we knew him before he achieved his standing?"

"Perhaps," Carson said. "But what of these others that Lady Painswick is bringing with her? Businessmen and newspaper owners…"

"The businessman is the son of a duke and will inherit the title after his older brother died and the newspaper owner is knighted so there isn't much to complain about there. Besides, I imagine his Lord and Ladyship wished to inject a bit of life into this party… one can only dine with the same people so many times, after all."

"I don't know, I dine with all of you every night and I am quite content."

Mrs. Hughes smiled at that, reaching over and patting his hand. "Well, I appreciate that at the very least." She rose and brushed her hands over her dress. "And now I must make sure the maids are getting all the guest rooms ready and that Thomas and William are actually getting in a brief rest today… tonight will be a long one."

Mr. Carson muttered to himself in agreement as she left.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: We get a taste of Matthew's thoughts on the war, because of course he is thinking more and more about it. He knows it is coming, like, as the poem goes, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" And yes, I know that is about post war, so sue me.

We also get a rather BOLD Matthew touching Lady Mary in a rather intimate way in public no less. No kisses or such, as he isn't that bold, but still… Matthew is daring in this second life and it seems Mary doesn't mind!

After that we get some Carson and Mrs. Hughes moments and discussing the guest list. We know from an earlier chapter that Gen. Allen Lothrop is Matthew's key to getting himself, Thomas, and William off the front and now we move on to that scheme. And in canon-related events Mrs. Patmore's eyesight continues to worsen and Sir Anthony's favorite desert causes issues but a bit earlier this time. And for once I didn't treat Daisy like crap! I know… I'm surprised to. Here, have an omake of how Daisy ended up at Downton with her job:

Daisy looked around, confused. This had been a rather odd family trip, with her parents bundling her up and driving in their horse cart to the forest before they'd shoved her out. Her brow furrowed as she remember her mother calling "You're free girl! Go! Shoo!" and then driving off as fast as they could.

"I say girl, what are you doing here?" a heavy set woman in a cook's outfit called out, spotting Daisy staring at the big bright ball in the sky that always made her eyes hurt but father said was pretty to look at and she should do it often (he also told her to go out in the rain and stand there with her mouth open but she always ended up gagging before she could finish their game). "Heavens child, come in here and dry up!" the woman called, shuffling back towards the door of the large house.

Daisy didn't know what to do. She'd never met the other woman before. She thought back to what her grandmother used to always tell her.

"Daisy, you're as dumb as a stump and twice as ugly! If a strange woman that looks like a witch invites you into her house and tells you to crawl inside her oven and clean it I say go for it!"

So she shrugged and followed after Mrs. Patmore. And that's how she got her first job at Downton.

…yes, I'm horrible, I know.

On twitter I said this chapter would have a tom and Sybil scene. Well… I ended up adding so much to this chapter that I decided to split it in half. Saves me time.

Our plot bunny today Plot Bunny is based on my favorite episode of Frasier. I would place it Season 1, maybe middle of the season. It comes out that a famous writer is coming to Downton as he wishes to write a book about the Crawleys. Robert has read his books about other elite families and knows that the author writing about them would be a major thing for their standing so he wants things to go right. But he also knows that the author is temperamental… he wants to talk to all members of a family and if he can't he becomes enraged and will write a scathing book about them. One family once had an aunt not show up and the book that followed made them laughing stocks. As such he promises that everyone will be there.

The first issue that arises is that Edith, who took the train into London to visit Rosamund, has been delayed and probably won't get back till the next day. Robert, fearing that this will drive the author into a rage, comes up with a frankly insane idea: pretend ANNA is Edith. Quickly Anna gets roped into things and Mary and Sybil are treating her as their sister.

Except then more news comes down; Violet is a no show (her car has stalled). Thinking quickly it is decided to have Isobel pretend to be Violet. But who will take the place of Isobel? Why Mrs. Hughes, of course! So Matthew has to come, pick up Mrs. Hughes, and take her back to Crawley House just so they can come back while Isobel needs to be made up to better look like a Dowager. But then a telegram arrives and Robert learns that the author hasn't heard about Patrick and James dying and he believes they are alive and he wants to talk with them. Cue Carson being roped in to play the part of James and Thomas being Patrick… and Thomas and Mary have to pretend to be a couple. Tom is roped to be a footman when William comes down with the flu and Bates needs to be Carson… and to replace Bates Molesley is gotten to pretend to be Bates (complete with him pretending to have a horrible limp… and a dead arm because he really gets into the role!).

Through this all Sybil is getting annoyed that Robert is acting so insane and barking orders and not standing up to the author and his insane demands. So right before the author arrives Sybil has Gwen be her (much to everyone's surprise)… and Sybil dresses in footmen's gear and pretends to be a footman named Samuel. She even has Gwen cut her hair in a boy's cut! Tom finds this hilarious and Robert has no choice but to go along with it.

And just to make things truly insane when the author first arrives he questions why Matthew is even there (as he believes Thomas-as-Patrick will be the heir after Carson-as-James) and Robert lies and says that Matthew is courting Edith…who is being played by Anna.

So we have Mary having to pretend to be engaged to Thomas who is pretending to be Patrick and that Carson is his father. Isobel is pretending to be Robert's mother. Gwen is Sybil and Sybil and Tom are footmen. Bates is Carson while Mrs. Hughes is Matthew's mother and Matthew is courting Edith who is really Anna. And Molesley is Bates.

And when Violet DOES show up late… well, she is Cora's mother, of course! Complete with Violet just utterly hamming it up pretending to be Cora's American mother. And when Edith shows up just when Dr. Clarkson arrives to check on William… well look, it's Dr. and MRS. Clarkson!

It is a night of role changes and chaos as the Crawleys work to keep the whole thing together. I see moments like Anna and Matthew awkwardly having to pretend to be flirting with each other while Thomas and Carson bicker to the point that the author really sees them as father and son and Mary struggles to keep control. Isobel mocking Violet to her face (things like "Oh yes, I am quite set it my ways… I do say if I saw a street urchin I would rather hit them with my buggy than give them a copper') while Violet happily pretends to be a brash American who mocks Matthew's mother… who is Mrs. Hughes. A scene where the author's valet goes down stairs and catches Tom and Sybil making out (because of course they would)… with both of them as footmen… which leads to talks of homosexuality and Thomas-As-Patrick using his station to defend gay men everywhere (and maybe even having him announce that he is gay and he's breaking it off with Mary when things REALLY go insane… bonus points if he claims he is in love with Matthew and kisses him just to really screw things up because at this point Thomas figures they are all doomed anyway so why not go out with a bang!). A moment where Daisy asks Mrs. Patmore who SHE is and Mrs. Patmore sarcastically declares that Daisy is the princess of france… cue Daisy later on having been dressed up by Sybil to walk in as the Princess of France, much to everyone's shock and Sybil's utter delight. Just a snowballing lie that keeps going and going and going.

Chapter Text

Violet watched as the footman, William, finished pouring her tea and stood up to return to the wall. "William, a moment if you would?"

"Of course, milady," the footman said, swallowing slightly but otherwise hiding his fear well as he stood ramrod straight and at attention.

"None of that, please," she said, waving her had dismissively. Normally she got a small thrill over servants trembling at the sight of her, as it proved that even with her age she was still powerful and strong of will that she could make a young buck shiver in fright. If she couldn't turn heads with her beauty she would ensure they kept an eye on her out of fear. It was petty, she knew, but something she utterly enjoyed. Yet today that isn't what she wanted… not with this young man. "I wanted to know how your hand is."

"My hand?" William asked only to quickly clue in to what she was getting at. "Oh yes, my hand. Very well, thank you. I forget sometimes that I broke it."

"You may forget but I do not," Violet said firmly, reaching out at patting that very hand. "You broke it defending dear Carson and before that you stood with Mr. Crawley against that vile brute who… well, you protected Lady Mary and Lady Sybil. That is something I will never forget, dear boy, and it warms my heart that you were not maimed doing so. Not permanently." She looked up and her lips twitched as she saw Robert enter with Carson on his heels. "Ah, Lord Grantham is here. I won't keep you a while longer."

"Yes your ladyship, thank you your ladyship," William said, straightening up and hurrying out of the room as quickly as one could while remaining polite. Violet merely shook her head and smirked; sometimes the young could be so cute when they were terrified.

"Mama, how good to see you!" Robert said with a smile as he kissed her cheek.

"Come now, Robert, you knew I was coming today and it isn't as if I live across the pond so no need for that." She waited until William was out of earshot before turning to the butler. "The boy, William, wasn't lying to me, was he Carson? His hand is well? If he can't handle the strain I could take him on and send over a boy from my house to replace him. It would be easier for him as I certainly don't entertain as much as Robert here. Perhaps Phillip…"

"Young William is perfectly healthy, Lady Grantham," Carson said politely and with a hint of a smile. "But I will remember what you suggested, should I learn that the injury has returned to cause him pain."

"They can do that, can't they?" Violet asked before turning to Robert, a sudden concern filling her that the young man that had helped Matthew rescue her granddaughter could become injured again. "That is what happened with your valet, is it not? He was shot and the wound healed only to return?"

"Yes, Mama, that is exactly what happened. But Dr. Clarkson is sure that William will be fine and will not suffer from his injury anymore."

She snorted at that. "I suppose we must trust Clarkson. Though, I admit that I have grown to think that it might be time for us to send him to London… my friend suggested the other day that it is entirely proper to send doctors to conferences and hospitals so they might learn of new techniques for better healing. He has done well so far but I do fear letting him grow stale much like bread left upon a counter for far too long. If he is to care for all of us I would have him be as knowledgable as possible."

"Your friend suggested that?" Robert asked with a raised eyebrow. "That sounds rather liberal for a friend of yours, mama."

"You make that sound rather insulting both ways," she complained. "That my friends are all corpses that long for the days of serfdom and that I could never hope to make a friend with modern ideas."

"My apologizes, mama. That was unfair. Who suggested it?"

Violet felt the world slow to a crawl, so that a second seemed to last hours. There was simply no way she'd EVER admit that the friend she'd been referring to was Cousin Isobel. 'I'd never hear the end of it from either of them, because of course Robert would never be able to keep that quiet. That woman would find out I'd actually taken one of her suggestions and use it to gloat from her high horse until judgment day and the trumpets sounding.'

"Lady Margaret," Violet smoothly lied. "You wouldn't know her… she is an old woman, of course, and I know how old women give you quite a terror."

"Mama, I meant nothing-"

She waved her hand dismissively, letting out a little huff. "Oh Robert, don't deny it. You have always been frightened of wrinkles. Sometimes I wonder if that is why you primp yourself in your mirror for so very long." She turned to Carson and said with a conspiratorial tone, "He has been like that since he was a boy, fearing old age. Why, I remember once when the Earl of Rainwood came for a visit and Robert had nightmares for a week. Yes, the man had a face only a skeleton could love-"

"I beg you, please say no more," Robert pleaded.

"I suppose you are right. After all, we have more pressing things to focus on, rather than telling of how you trembled like a leaf at the sight of liver-spotted hands." Robert was so easy to deal with; when he got on the wrong path, or at the very least the path she didn't want him on, all one had to do was hold out a carrot and like a hungry horse he would follow after it, happily trotting back to the correct path. It was rather amusing, all things considered, how like his father Robert was. Patrick had been much the same way; oh, he loved to believe he was in control but at best they were equals and at his worst she knew how to subtly lead him about to the correct answer.

Not for the first time in recently months Violet wondered if Robert having only daughters was a good thing. Mary, Edith, and Sybil weren't easily distracted like Robert was. Mary might let a subject drop but she never forgot, both the good and the ill. Those that treated her with kindness earned a loyalty most would kill for and those that hurt her would realize just how cold revenge could be. Edith clung to facts and details and could bring them up against whenever she needed, using them like shields and swords. And Sybil was like a rabid dog sinking her teeth into a piece of meat when a subject came her way. Violet feared that if Robert had been given a son by Cora the child would have been like him; that being so easily led by cunning women was in the Crawley males' blood. And while that benefited Violet it would not years from now when she was gone and not there to guide Robert or any future heirs along the right path.

'The men of Patrick's line,' Violet thought, her mind turning from her son and husband. 'But Matthew's line seems to breed men of strong wills and convictions.'

Robert and Cora liked to make fun of her when it came to her researching potential matches for the girls. 'Looking in the stud books' as Robert had once called it. Yet they never considered for a moment that she would look into Matthew Crawley, the country lawyer made heir. They just assumed that she would be satisfied with Robert's word. Foolish to be sure. Violet had looked deeply at Matthew Crawley and his father Reginald and what she'd found had impressed her. Not just Matthew… she hadn't needed to research him to know that he was a smart man who knew when to listen and when to heed only his own council. After their first tea time together (which she had to admit she had greatly enjoyed, despite her early reservations, and she needed to invite him to her place soon for another chat; the boy made her feel young again!) she had realized that. No, it had been his father, the doctor who somehow was more radical than his wife ('Isobel was the conservative in the family!') yet managed to achieve so much with his life. Violet wasn't as foolish as people thought her to be when it came to the middle class. It still made her laugh that her family thought she didn't know what a weekend was and took her dry wit for serious befuddlement. She didn't know all the workings of a small house but she did understand more than people realized and she knew that Reginald Crawley had worked hard to become a doctor and that he had known how to balance between being flippant with his wealth and being a miser. It was something that too few of her peerage understood… like Robert.

Yes… having Matthew as heir would be good. With him and Mary to raise the future earls their dynasty would be secured. Both men and women of sharp mains and solid bases upon which the foundation of Downton could settle easily.

"…will be good to see Rosamund again and I hear that she is bringing a few guests to add to our rogue's gallery for tonight's dinner."

Violet raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh? Just who have you invited, Robert? Peasants? Boot blacks? Americans?"

"Nothing of the sort and it was Matthew who helped create the guest list. Sir Anthony Stranton is coming… I believe Cora wishes to make a match between him and Edith though I am against it-"

"I quite agree… the man is far too old for Edith. With Mary finally settled there is no need to settle with Edith. We will find her a proper groom, one better fitting her."

Robert nodded. "I told Cora as much. I also warned her that she was focused on marrying the girls off now and in five years loathe that they are away."

"Yes, it does seem that all parents are far too concerned with getting their children to adulthood only to realize they miss their little ones being little ones."

Robert nodded and continued on. "Lord Merton and his younger son, Timothy, have been invited as well."

"Not Larry."

"Certainly not Larry."

"Very good."

"Instead of Larry he is bringing an old school friend of his, Gen. Allen Lothrop. I've never met the man but from what I gather he comes from an upper middle class family and has made himself quite an important figure within the military."

"Hmmm… but not a prospect for Edith, of course."

Robert waved her off. "No no, he is married. His wife is visiting her relatives in Dover."

"Good. While a military man is good enough and he could very well see himself move into our circle, I'd rather Edith find a younger man and one of more noble bearing."

"Then I am afraid this dinner won't work well for that. Matthew suggested inviting Evelyn Napier, to show that there are no hard feelings, but he declined, as I'm sure Matthew knew he would."

"Polite on both their parts, and smart." Violet smirked slightly and shifted. "I heartily approve. Still, no one else for poor Edith?"

"Not unless one of Roseamund's guests pans out."

"With her who knows," Violet said with a scoff.

Robert though merely glanced at her. "Come now, mama, be fair… you didn't believe Matthew could fit in so well here and he has proven us all wrong."

"Almost magically so," Violet said, something tugging on the back of her thoughts, like a needy child wanting attention. "Have you noticed anything odd about Matthew?"

"What do you mean?"

Violet picked up her tea cup and took a sip before answering. "Nothing vulgar or wrong, of course… just… odd." When Robert stared at her blankly she sighed. "I know you are going to say that I am picking at fabric hoping to find a loose thread but don't you find it even a touch odd that Matthew has so easily fit into our lives? Even James and Patrick needed a bit of time to adjust but Matthew has slid right in. I'd claim it was his breeding but Cousin Isobel came stomping through here like a bull in a china shop… only with less grace. Yet Matthew has been able to so easily fit in with our lives."

"And that is a bad thing?" Robert asked. "You would prefer that he stumble and clomp about? Track mud in and want to dine with the servants."

"Must you always take what I say to such extremes?" she complained.

"Only because you bring yourself so close to the edge," Robert teased.

Violet scoffed. "I merely mean that I find it strange that Matthew has managed to do so much with so little conflict. Sybil and him became like brother and sister after a day, you saw him as a worthy heir after a single meeting, and he has helped Edith become a more confident woman." She'd noticed that her second granddaughter and begun to truly emerge from Mary's shadow since Matthew had arrived and she would have only thought it because of aging if now for Edith many times referencing advice Matthew had given her. "He even charmed me. The only ones that he didn't enchant right away were Cora and Mary and with the latter…"

"And again I ask is that such a horrid thing?" Robert pressed. "This is all we ever wanted… if I could not have a son all the better that my eldest truly love my heir. Mary never loved Patrick, she loved what he would give her. Now… now I would say if Downton was lost to us all Mary would follow Matthew wherever he went. Sybil found a champion in Matthew and Edith a true friend. We have been blessed mama… please don't go looking for dark corners."

"I'm sorry Robert but it is in my nature… there is always a darkness in every person and you can't have a rainbow without a storm." She sipped her tea again. "Mark my words… there is something more to Matthew." She paused before adding, "I only hope that whatever it is… it is for the good of the family."

"You mean the good of Downton?"

"No."

~A~O~O~F~

As he drove along the well used packed road many thoughts were going through Tom Branson's mind. The first was that he was quite happy that it hadn't snowed in the last few days. While he knew many of the upper class loved the snow and looked upon it as a thing of beauty for him and the servants it was an utter pain that served only as an annoyance. Especially when driving. One had to be a hundred times more careful than they had to be on a normal day, as he had to watch for ice patches that would send the car skidding about or deep drifts that would suck the auto right in. Having snow now would only add to the annoyances that normally came with driving, such as holes in the ground or fools who didn't realize just how fast a car could go and thought nothing of walking in front of one. Winter driving was one of the few times that Tom could honestly admit that a horse and carriage would be better, despite what the bloody song said about carriages getting stuck.

His second thoughts were on the young woman that was sitting just behind him. The one that, in another life, he had loved and married.

'If I weren't still feeling like my brain was swimming about in rum I'd rather enjoy telling my mum that little piece of information. I wonder how she'd take it, knowing that her dear Tommy was apparently destined to marry a Lord's daughter.'

Of course he knew it wasn't destiny. Lady Sybil had been clear that she and Mr. Crawley had been sent back in time and were altering the past to make things better, or at least how they thought things would be better…and did THAT bring up ethical and theological concerns that kept Tom up at night. That meant that there was no true destiny but rather what they, beings who while one could suggest had far greater knowledge than mere mortals should have were still mortal themselves, believed was better.

"We are the authors of our own fate," she'd told him when he'd pressed her for answers.

But there was nothing forcing him to be with Lady Sybil. She had even admitted as much to him, that if he felt that the knowledge she had shared was too much and if he wished to leave his position she would not stop him or sabotage him. That she wasn't a god that could control him or rewrite him. He had the right to decide what happened with his life.

And he'd decided to stay.

Because he had to concede… the more he grew to know Lady Sybil the more he could see himself falling in love with her.

The infuriating woman who had dropped the cannonball on his gathered and understood world had been true to her word, he'd give her that. She hadn't pressed him to run off with her on some whirlwind romance. In fact after that first visit at the garage the two of them hadn't had a true conversation between them. Oh, there were times when they talked but it was always in the car and there was something else there and it was the standard conversations a driver would have with his employers. In fact Tom spent more time chatting with Lady Edith and Lady Grantham than he did Lady Sybil. The middle daughter of the Crawley family had found out that he was a fan of history and had excitedly begun to engage him in conversations about this event and that, with Lady Edith at one time suggesting a book he hadn't read before and bringing it the next time she saw him, wanting his opinion. As for Lady Grantham they would mostly talk the standard business of deliveries and chores she needed him to run but occasionally she would ask about the houses he'd worked at and even once asked his opinion on a suggestion Mr. Carson had made concerning the hall boys, wanting to get the opinion of someone closer to them.

'Seems all the Crawleys are friendly with their help,' Tom thought to himself.

More often than not though Tom listened as the family chatted, it easy for them to forget that he was listening. The rich tended to forget that servants had ears and Tom at times found himself with information the likes of O'Brien or Thomas would give their left ear for. Not that he'd ever go revealing their conversations but he could see the temptation. One could learn a lot about a person when they talked with someone they were comfortable with and didn't remember that other ears were listening in. He would have thought it an act by Lady Sybil, a way to drop hints to him without saying them to him directly, but most of the conversations came about because of her sisters or her mother and even once her Grandmother the Dowager and Tom could tell that she was answering honestly and naturally.

And what he had learned… proved that what she claimed was true. Not the time travel part, oh no… if Lady Sybil began telling her family that she was from the future and was reliving her life she'd been sent to an asylum at worst or a convent at best. No, it was the other things she'd told him, about her desires and dreams and how she wasn't like any Earl's daughter he'd ever met or heard of before that were proven true. One only had to listen as her mother or her sisters teased her about the vote and how she spoke up in defense of giving women the right to decide who governed them to know this was no trick. One couldn't fake raw passion. She was something that bucked the established norms, who dreamed of a better world, an equal world. When Lady Edith spoke of Gwen, the maid that Lady Sybil had befriended, she spoke with great optimism and praise for the other woman and how she would prove to all that she could better herself. When discussions came to politics it wasn't with the bored, aloof tone most young women would adopt but the passion of a true champion of women's rights.

More than that… he found that what she had said of their romance, that his future self had fallen in love with her spirit and mind and not merely her looks… was proven true.

Because Tom could see himself loving Lady Sybil.

'But I won't,' he thought to himself. 'Or at the very least I can't. That… that would just lead to chaos.' Lady Sybil, despite being mature beyond her years, still seemed naïve to Tom as she honestly believed she would be able to convince her family to endorse their union. Tom knew that life wasn't some fairytale where the story ended with all holding hands and singing their joy at all their problems being settled. No, life was the Agony Columns in the London Times, where people went from one pain to the next and you had to fight for every scrap of happiness you could. Lady Sybil would probably call him pessimistic… Tom preferred to think of it as keeping his head on straight and his eyes clear.

"What are you thinking about?" Lady Sybil asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

"What was that?"

"You had such a concentrated look on your face… is there something wrong with the engine? It sounds well to me."

"And how would you know what a engine should sound like, m'lady?" Tom asked.

The Earl's daughter squared her shoulders. "You repaired cars in our old neighborhood on the weekends to help earn us a bit extra money. Many times at our house, as it was easier than lugging your tools about. I would watch when I wasn't cleaning and you'd tell me a few things. I admit I will never be able to build one but I at least know when an engine sounds right and when it is screaming like it is about to come tumbling out."

Tom ignored the whole thing about their 'old neighborhood' and focused on the engine part. "Well, you are better than most. I swear, and I mean no offense, but I could throw a metal rod in the engine and your father wouldn't know something was wrong and assume the engine was supposed to sound like that."

Lady Sybil snickered. "Yes, I am afraid that papa is quite rubbish when it comes to modern advances. He is willing to learn, of course, but he is prone to making mistakes. Which is odd because Granny is utterly against keeping up with the times but when she does, dragged kicking and screaming mind you into the future, she does marvelous."

"Some people are like that," Tom reasoned and he went around a bend. "I've known people that would make wonderful butlers but are happy with being valets and I've seen people almost recklessly try and get promotions before they are ready."

"Hmmm," Lady Sybil murmured to herself. "You still haven't told me what you were thinking about."

Tom, not wanting to admit that it had been Lady Sybil that he had been thinking about, instead said, "Just thankful that we didn't get snow yet, milady. It can make the drive all the worse."

"Not just when it's on the ground but when it finally melts away it leaves the road a ruddy mess," she stated with a huff. "Make you feel like you're on one of those bucking bronco grandmamma is always telling us about."

Tom raised an eyebrow at that and glanced back at her. "You have to go riding a lot after a snow?"

"In... in my first life," she said, stumbling over her words.

"...well, go on then," Tom said motioning for her to continue. "You've already admitted that you traveled back in time there is no reason not to spill your secrets now."

She smiled but glancing away at the road Tom could see that the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "It wasn't the fact that it was in my previous life that made me pause... it was why I was on that road." Tom turned back to watch where he was going and to give Lady Sybil the chance to gather herself. He had found that many people were willing to talk more, especially about painful or awkward things, when they didn't have to look someone in the eye. Even better if there were no eyes on them. An upper class man would shut their mouth if he glanced their way but if he kept his eyes on the road they suddenly opened up like he was a bloody shrink. "There were times where we got the notice that someone was being brought in to us and Dr. Clarkson and I would have to race to the train station in the ambulance because... because they didn't treat those boys the way they deserved." Her voice grew softer and Tom actually slowed down a bit so he could hear her. "They'd cram them onto boats and trains on filthy cots that were stained with blood and bile... there were times men died not from the wounds on the battlefield but the diseases and infections they got trying to get home. We would race to get them back to the hospital, so they could actually be cared for with a bit of love but... I remember every bump. Every jolt. Every scream that came because we hit a rut in the road. One time a man was so bad Dr. Clarkson ordered the driver to stop and we moved the poor soldier, no older than some of the hall boys, out into the snow to try and lower his temperature. He was so hot... so hot..." She swallowed and Tom fought the urge to look back at her. "When we lost him... Dr. Clarkson pulled him from the snow and... and have you ever made a snow angel? I used to love to do that, even if mama complained I got my clothes all wet. Lay in the snow and wave my arms and look at what I made when I stood up. When we lifted his body up though it wasn't an angel I saw but a demon, red of blood and twisted and crooked." He could hear her tears falling. "You are the one that believes in the Lord, Tom. Your faith is so important and it's so much stronger than mine. But... that day showed me the Devil was real. He was lying there... mocking me."

Tom didn't know what to say. What could he say? What words, what comforts, could he ever hope to give this poor woman who had lived through hell and now faced a second go?

"And that just proves that God is real too," he finally said. "Because if there such evil... and you could face it and continue on... that must mean something."

"Yes... I suppose so," Sybil said, reaching over and tentatively patting his shoulder.

The two of them rode on in silence after that, not saying a word till they approached the train station and then it was merely directions as they worked to prepare for the arrivals. Tom was rather pleased that he'd timed things out well and Lady Painswick was getting off the train mere minutes after the two of them arrived on the platform.

"Who is this gentlemen we're picking up? I know some other friend of her's is coming later and I need to pick him up in a few hours but who is this gent?" Tom whispered to Lady Sybil, craning his neck to try and spot Lord Grantham's sister. He'd seen a few photos of her in Downton so he knew who to look for but he had a feeling Lady Sybil would spot her aunt first.

"Not her latest paramour, apparently," Lady Sybl said with a giggle. "She was quite clear on that. He is a friend tough, a newspaper owner who she recently has come to know. She invited him to come to Downton for the dinner and Papa agreed to it... I think he is hoping for an article about him that he can show off at the club... Aunt Rosamund!" Lady Sybil quickly darted forward, waving her arms over her head and grinning as an older woman, maybe 3 to 5 years older than Lady Grantham, with red-blonde hair and a look that reminded him much of the Dowager, walked over and allowed Sybil to kiss her on the cheek. "I've missed you!"

"I can see that!" Lady Painswick declared, placing her hands on Lady Sybil's shoulders and looking her over carefully. "You've grown so beautiful..." she stared into Lady Sybil's eyes, her smile dimming slightly. "And you've matured as well..." For a moment Tom wondered if the Earl's sister had figured out her niece's secret but then Lady Painswick was all smiles again. "Come, we must collect my luggage and be off! I so do wish to see Robert and Cora..." She frowned looking about with her brow furrowed. "And where is he?"

"Your new friend?" Lady Sybil teased.

"And only that, let me assure you! It is rare for a woman to meet a man she can have a conversation with and I think you'll all love him. He is quite witty. Oh, and don't worry, he is between us in ages so I haven't brought an old billy goat... ah, there he is!"

Tom watched as a man who was at least a decade younger than Lady Painswick disembarked, his eyes twinkling as he looked about the station. He seemed like a man who had traveled the world and now returned home at long last and was taking in all the changes (or how little things had changed) to the place he'd known so well. He was a tall man with brown hair and a youthful face that made him appear younger at first glance then he truly was. There was a wisdom in his eyes though and Tom could tell this was a man who understood the world, roses and warts all.

"Terribly sorry, I got caught up talking to someone," the man said before accepting Lady Sybil's hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

"This is my niece, Lady Sybil Crawley. Sybil, may I introduce my good friend Sir Michael Gregson."

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: Well, between pulling something in my left hand that makes typing utter agony and having a cold that left me with a 100 degree fever and one night hallucinating as said fever broke (something about complex designs and then about a war) I finally have gotten this chapter out. More character stuff, but some small reveals like Violet cluing in more that there is something off about Matthew and Tom and Sybil developing their relationship.

Oh, and Michael Gregson is coming to Downton.

So two Plot Bunnies for today and the first is a rather odd one and it comes from a comment someone made about a Game of Thrones scene that I decided was so funny and would work for Downton Abbey. I would place it either in Season 1 or 2. It is morning and Lady Mary wakes up utterly confused. Her head is killing her, she is in the drawing room rather than her bedroom, she is wearing a man's suit(!) and she has no memory of what just happened. Looking around she spots Matthew who is lying on the floor with a black eye and a shaved head, his dining-garb torn. On the other side is Sybil who has her hair in pigtails and for some reason her face is painted blue. And finally there is Edith who has her dress on backwards and there is a baby lying beside her. There are no servants and Robert and Cora are missing.

What the hell just happened?

Inspired by 'The Hangover' the story would see Mary, Sybil, Edith, and Matthew struggling to remember what just happened and where their parents had disappeared to. Wacky hijinxs would follow.

The second idea is one that occurred to me as I was getting over my fever and wanted to come up with a plot bunny that would feel more in line with Season 2 of Downton (My favorite season). I would place it in season one. It would begin with Cora and Robert getting news from a lawyer that he needed to see them concerning the death of Mary's old wetnurse. None of the family would remember her (obviously) but Cora would state that the woman had been young and just given birth to a child of her own. Cora would be sad that the woman died but not sure why the lawyer needed to see them. When the lawyer would arrive he'd bring with him a priest and the two would reveal that they were asked by the wetnurse to hear her confession, so she might be absolved of her great sin. The priest would state that the wet nurse confessed that two nights after Cora gave birth the nurse wasn't paying attention… and baby Mary died in her crib.

Of course the family would be confused. Mary isn't dead she is sitting right there, alive and while.

Except Mary isn't Mary Crawley. The Wet nurse, fearing she'd be sent to jail for murder… took her own child, her bastard daughter… and swapped her for the dead little Baby Mary. Mary Crawley isn't Robert and Cora's daughter.

Dun dun dun.

Now Edith is the eldest child and Mary is no one in some eyes. Some would instantly see Mary as a liar (even though it wasn't her fault at all), others would believe it a lie, and others would defend her. It would be interesting to see how characters reacted… would Carson still hold Lady Mary in high regard? Or would he see it all as a lie and become bitter around her? Would the likes of Tom see this as a great injustice… and would it be because of what the wet nurse did OR because the Crawleys treat Mary like a stranger? And how would the family deal with the fact that they have been raising a stranger's child? How would Mary stand the fact that her vaulted belief that she is better than most because of her blood… is a lie? That she is the child of a wet nurse who got pregnant out of wedlock?

One of the things I'd do is have Mary decide she couldn't stay at Downton until this was all settled… somehow. And Matthew, being Matthew, would take her into Crawley House. This could lead to some fun stuff too, like Mary deciding that if she isn't an Earl's daughter she doesn't need to behave as one and deciding to embrace her 'middle class roots'. Learning from Isobel how to cook and how to manage a small house.

It would be up to the writer to decide if Mary is really Mary or if the wet nurse's story is true. Or if it even matters.

Chapter Text

"Do you ever pause and truly consider how much your life has changed?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Cora asked, looking up from the bit of embroidering she was doing. Robert knew that she didn't actually have to embroider anything but it was a nice way to keep her hands and her mind busy, something Robert was grateful for. He loved his wife dearly but if left to her own devices she would so easily work herself into such a state that there was no way to get her out of it; the only way to survive was to duck one's head, hold on for dear life, and wait for her to crash and burn, as the Americans were so fond of saying. Even something as simple as this, an early holiday dinner, had left her in a state even with Matthew and Mary bearing much of the burden. Robert understood, of course, that this was something important to Cora but honestly he didn't think it was so utterly drastic as she was making it out to be. Matthew had a year of being heir and the awkwardness had been buffed away only leaving the shine of a brilliant young man who would one day guide Downton onward. Mary was settled as well, as Robert was quite sure that Matthew would soon come to him to finalize the engagement between the two of them. Edith was next and would need much of their focus but she was still young and Robert was hopeful that a decent match could be made and it all wasn't as dire as Cora made it out to be. And then there was Sybil.

'Sybil... sometimes it feels as if she is the eldest of my children. While Mary and Edith were bundles of nerves as their first season approached Sybil has become a beacon of patience.' Robert had noticed ever since they'd lost Patrick that Sybil had become... older. Not just in body, of course, because that was a given, but in spirit. She had become an old soul; one only had to look into her eyes and realize that the tragedy had affected her greatly. Sometimes someone would mention a death and Sybil would get a look on her face that Robert had only seen on his mother's features, the stare of one sadly quite familiar with death. 'It's because she sees life is fragile and short. Patrick shook her to the core. Her fever and delirium the day the news broke hardly helped.' Once when he'd visited her she'd looked at him with red eyes and begged him to tell her where her baby was. He hadn't thought about it then but now he wondered if someone had left slip the news about Patrick and in her fevered state dreamed that she was one of the unlikely souls who'd been trapped in that ship, her befuddled mind creating a woman's worst fear of being trapped and near death and only able to focus on one's child...

"Robert?" Cora asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

"Sorry, I had begun to wool gather, it seems."

Cora smiled at that. "Thinking about how much life has changed?"

Remembering what he'd first asked her Robert nodded. "Yes, I was, though not about the changes that first prompted my line of thought." He set aside the book he'd been reading, a delightful little collection of short stories concerning the lives of a long line of lords Matthew had recommended to him, and turned to smile at Cora wistfully. "There are days, even now, where someone says 'Lord Grantham' and it takes me a moment to realize they are speaking to me and not my father. Where I enter a room and expect to see Old Wilson the Butler watching me with those massive eyebrows of his. And just now I was struck by the fact that I still think of this as Roseamund's home, that her room is down the hall from mine, and yet here I am waiting to welcome her like one would a distant relative."

Setting the fabric she'd been working on upon her lap Cora looked at him and smiled softly. "Yes, I know exactly what you are talking about. Even now, after all these many years, I wake up expecting to be in New York with my mother already holding court in the dining room while my brother decides what new adventurous scheme he wishes to be a part."

"And now I fear that same feeling when the girls leave us. That one day they will view Downton no longer as their home but some old house that they are familiar with but holds little emotional connection with them."

"They will never feel that way, Robert. We have had many happy memories here and I am sure the girls will always see this as their home even as they make homes of their own."

He just shook his head in response. "It is things like this that I feel I should have been prepared for long before they came to pass. Do you ever feel as if you missed a step when it came to growing up?" Robert asked. "It is as if when I reached 18 I stopped aging mentally or missed some step that everyone else took. Ever since then I have merely been pretending to be an adult, being actually a child in a grown man's body, hoping that I can bluff my way through life without anyone realizing that I haven't actually matured." He shot her a dark look as she opened her mouth. "And whatever joke you are about to make I've already thought of them all. The benefit of being surrounded by cunning women."

Cora chuckled lightly as him having figured out that she was about to tease him. "As easy as the jests are I also must admit that there are times I feel much the same way. There are times where I feel like I am a child playing house, putting on my mother's shoes and prancing about serving empty tea cups." Robert smiled slightly at that as Cora continued on. "And in these last few months it has felt much as you described, that life has changed between the fluttering of my eyes. Mary comes into the room and I swear that it was just yesterday that she was small enough for me to pick her up. I expect to find Sybil playing with her dolls and instead she is nearly a woman grown."

"But that doesn't stop you from trying to shove them out the door as quick as you can."

She let out a huff at that. "Oh come now… you were worried about Mary after Patrick's passing and now you want to reverse course?"

"Not reverse course… merely not race so quickly towards losing them all."

"I think it's sweet that you wish to keep our girls here forever, happy and lively, but the thing of it is that they won't be either if we keep them locked away." Cora reached over at patted his hand. "Besides, even if Edith and Sybil eventually marry we'll still have Mary."

Robert though felt his shoulders slump at that. "Perhaps… perhaps not." He rubbed his hands together, resisting the urge to crack his knuckles. It was a terrible habit and unbecoming of one of his station yet still there were times when he truly felt the urge to do so, as if that simple act would break the tension he was feeling. "I get the sense that while Mary would like to stay at Downton Matthew will desire some time apart from us."

"You truly do?" Cora asked, not startled at all at Robert so casually discussing Mary and Matthew marrying. It was clear to the entire family that it would take an act of God to separate those two.

'And perhaps not even that,' Robert thought before continuing. "He hasn't said it outright but I gather that Matthew is not the type of man who would be happy starting his married life surrounded by inlaws without a moment of privacy. Even with the size of Downton our presence would linger. No… I wouldn't be surprised if he asked for one of the other estate houses to spend at least their first year or two wed. And after that… I wonder if Mary, having a taste of true freedom, would want to return. To go from running her own home to having terms dictated by two old codgers like us."

"Of course she would!" Cora exclaimed. "This is her home!"

"For now," Robert said as Carson came in.

"Lady Roseamund and Sir Michael Gregson have arrived, my lord."

"Thank you Carson." Robert rose and tried his best to smile even has he felt a horrid feeling of melancholy steal over him. "I wonder how long it will be before Carson is announcing one of the girls like that."

~A~O~O~O~F~

"How late do you think they'll be up?" William asked as he cut into the bit of ham that was on his plate.

"They'll be up for as long as they wish," Mrs. Hughes said firmly but kindly, always the lighter touch when it came to the servants when compared to Mr. Carson. "And we will serve them for as long as they need us too."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

The housekeeper nodded before gathering up some of the thick pork stew Mrs. Patmore had made. "So I suggest you worry less about how long the party will be and focus on eating your fill."

While normally the servants didn't get such grand fair for lunch Mr. Carson was always more willing to allow them something special and hearty just before a major party. For the likes of William and Thomas they would only be able to sneak quick bites between courses, darting down to get a drink of tea or a mouthful of bread before they hurried up with the next platter. Good etiquette demanded that they wait till all upstairs and been fed and every thirst slated before they indulged but it was a horribly kept secret that the kitchen maids would ready some quick morsels for the hard working footmen along with the hallboys and the other various members of the staff that were kept coming and going throughout the evening. Even Carson, with his love of rules and decorum, had been known to quietly sneak a small sip of water and a bit of biscuit from time to time when a party went overly long.

For much of the rest of the staff they would find themselves front loaded when it came to their tasks, a large lull as the party truly began, followed by a final late night rush before they were finally able to go to bed. For Anna especially the day would be a mad mix of rushing about and time consuming lulls. Currently she had little to do, as all the girls were out and about. Lady Mary was with Mr. Crawley going over the final plans for the evening while Lady Sybil had gone to the train station to greet Lady Roseamund. As for Lady Edith she had gone into town to pick up several late-arriving papers; Anna didn't know why but for the last year Lady Edith had become even more concerned with current events than Lady Sybil. The quiet wouldn't last forever and Anna knew that soon she would be hurrying about helping all three of the Crawley sisters prepare for the dinner. Gwen would be there to assist early on, bless her, but Lady Mary would insist that Anna alone handle her hair and clothes and while Gwen was quite good with Lady Sybil when it came to Lady Edith Anna was the stronger hand in helping the young woman prepare. No, Gwen would be dismissed early while Anna would have to manage the entire affair. After that would come the next large lull of the night before finally well into the night (and perhaps even past midnight and into the dark hours just before morn) she would be called again to assist the girls in changing into their nightwear before Anna would finally allowed to go to bed.

'Hopefully they will all go to bed together,' Anna thought to herself. 'That way I can sneak in a quick nap instead of racing up and down the stairs as each decides to retire.' While it was expected that Anna be at the ready at any time and that her uniform was in perfect order so long as Mr. Carson didn't see her the girls wouldn't mind in the slightest if she showed up with sleep in the corner of her eyes and a few wrinkles in her uniform from lying down upon her bed. Lady Mary had even teased her once that she should just sleep in her room so that the girls could awaken her when they were ready but Anna would never be so bold.

Of course it wasn't a quick nap or time spent reading a good book and enjoying a warm drink that Anna was looking forward to during the party. No, it was the chance to spend some time with a certain valet that had her excited. Even if they didn't do anything special the fact that the two of them would have a long spell to simply sit together was quite welcomed.

Finishing her last piece of buttered bread Anna rose from the table, giving Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes a polite nod before heading out into the hall. The rumbling murmur of the staff talking to themselves was replaced by the quiet of the downstairs...

"Oh, now why did you put that there? Now it's gone right into the bloody sink, you daft girl? You think his Lordship wants his cake tasting like soap bubbles?'

...and the stream of insults directed at Daisy and the other kitchen maids by an enraged Mrs. Patmore.

"You know, the claim that all the dragons are long gone," John said with a twitch of his lips as he ambled up to her.

"That is terrible," Anna said with a smile.

"But it is rather like a drake in her cave, isn't it?" John continued with a shake of his head. "Poor Daisy."

"Hmm... but perhaps it is for the best." When John gave her a look Anna shrugged and smiled impishly. "After all, if she can survive Mrs. Patmore on a tirade then she can handle anything life throws at her."

"DAISY! WHERE DID YOU PUT THE BUTTER?!"

"Right there, Mrs. Patmore."

"...of course it's right there! What do you take me for, an addle-minded fool who has fallen off a turnip wagon! Now get back to work, all of you!"

John leaned back slightly. "You know, I had a bullet go through my leg but I think I'd rather be back in war than walk in there right now with bad news."

Anna let out a small huffing laugh at that before moving on away from the kitchen and towards the back door. Thomas and O'Brien wouldn't go for a smoke for a while and that meant that the small outdoor area the two liked to frequent was free of snooping ears seeking out a juicy tidbit. It was far too cold to wander out (Anna didn't know how Thomas and O'Brien did it as there was nothing on earth that would see her wander out on such a cold afternoon in just her uniform) but standing in the doorway was enough for her. It might not have been something magical to most but with the fallen snow upon the courtyard it made even that dirty and well used place look special.

"If this were some romantic tale told in one of the papers we'd stand amongst the freshly fallen snow as the stars shone down on us and I held you from behind, drawing warmth from each other," John said as he stood beside her, his body just close enough to hers to be seen as too familiar by anyone who happened to walk by.

Anna snorted. "And I suppose we'd be dressed in the finest clothing and just found out that you are some long lost prince and I am the heiress to a grand fortune?"

John snorted at that. "Now that would be a lovely one to see. I doubt Lord Grantham would take well to calling the man who dresses him 'my liege'." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and added, "But I would like to see you dressed like a princess one day."

"I can do without that," Anna said with a roll of her eyes. "I've felt Lady Mary's arms after a ball and watched her stop fighting the shivers that threaten to overtake her because she was stubborn and wouldn't admit half the dresses she wears are simply not suited for the winter months. I will take a warm coat over any of that, thank you very much." They lapsed into a comfortable silence and Anna found herself rather pleased that she and John had found a happy medium between silence and speech. She'd never truly understood what Lady Mary had meant when she had complained about Mr. Patrick Crawley's need to fill every single silent moment with rambling comments nor her complaints about other suitors during her first season being little more than wooden statues that stood there and did nothing. But with John she had come to see how the right balance meant everything. He knew when to speak up and engage her but also knew when to be silent and allow her peace. Where others would have demanded to fill their evenings, as they worked on stitching buttons and cleaning garments at the table, with idly chatter he was happy to be silent, stealing only the occasional glances.

"You'll need to find something nice to wear tonight, though," John finally told her.

"Whatever for? Just us sitting in the common area. It's not like I'm going to be attending the dinner."

"No but I've asked Mr. Carson last week if the two of us might take a few hours to head down into town once his Lordship and the girls were dressed and he agreed so long as we returned by 9. I've arranged for the Grantham Arms to have their private room set up for a nice quiet dinner for the two of us."

Anna turned and stared at him, her hands on her hips as she glared at him… though there was a smile on her face. "You are going to spoil me, John Bates, if you keep up with acts such as that."

"You act like you shouldn't be spoiled."

Refusing to comment on that, as no matter what she said she knew he'd turn it around into a compliment, Anna instead said, "People are going to talk if we keep sneaking away like this."

"Anna… people are already talking." He gave a slight half shrug and flashed a bemused smile that both warmed her inside and infuriated her. "We've been subtle but not that subtle."

"So… everyone knows?" Anna asked, startled by the idea that what she had thought was a private romance had been revealed to the downstairs.

"Knows, discussed and whispered about, accepted and now seen as normal," Bates said with a smile before looking over his shoulder and moving to the side as Mrs. O'Brien came walking towards them, her hand at her side with a familiar cigarette holder clutched in her fingers. "Excuse us, Mrs. O'Brien, we were just discussing our plans for tonight. I'm taking Anna to the Grantham Arms for dinner once the party starts. Will be back by 9pm latest though."

Anna swallowed, waiting for the insults and the slights to come. The mocking of the two of them behaving in a way unbecoming the staff of Downton, O'Brien's clear jealousy that Anna got to head out, dark looks that promised rumors and gossip to be spread to the entire house. She could practically hear O'Brien's grumblings about Anna and John taking advantage of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes kindness to get out of work and she steeled herself for the verbal slings and arrows that were to come. How they shouldn't be together, how they shouldn't be enjoying their lives before delivering a veiled threat to make their lives hell for daring to find a bit of happiness in the world.

"Well, if you are going to be out and about you might as well pick up an order for me. Her Ladyship has been wishing to have some of Mrs. Taylor's preserves but I haven't a chance to head down and place an order for some and it always takes her a few hours to get those things ready and by the time it is I won't have a chance to head down there. I'll send a hallboy down though and have him ask Mrs. Taylor to drop some off at the Grantham Arms for you to bring back with you."

"Of course," John said with a smile as he took Anna's hand in his own and with that O'Brien hurried outside to begin her smoking. Thomas went by while Anna stood there, utterly flummoxed, with him giving just a sarcastic comment about John making a good door to keep the cold out before joining his cohort. "See? Known about, talked about, accepted."

"I… I just…" Anna stammered as John led her back inside.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"…of course everyone knows, Anna!" Mary exclaimed as the maid worked on her hair, Sybil watching with a bemused smile as the poor maid's cheeks went through several different shades of red. "I mean, you haven't been flaunting it but we've all seen how happy you've been these last few months and how you and Bates find a way to stand next to each other whenever possible."

"Papa came to us a few months ago asking us to talk with you, actually," Edith said with a wry grin from her spot on Mary's bed. "He wanted you to inquire about Bates, as he'd noticed how happy he's been these last few months-"

"Floating on air I believe is the term he used," Sybil chimed in. She didn't want to mock poor Anna but the situation was just too funny, especially when she remembered how her father and come to them fumbling with his words. He'd clearly needed their help but hadn't been comfortable in the slightest asking for it. Sybil had found it both amusing and cute.

"-and he was afraid that he was on some new pain medication for his leg and he feared he was becoming addicted to it."

Mary let out a huffing laugh. "I could make some coarse joke about him being addicted to you but that would be rather low-class of me." Anna ducked her head, embarrassed, but Sybil could see that the maid's reflection was wearing a rather pleased little smile. Mary waved her hand dismissively. "I think Papa got that all in his head thanks to… Pamuk." Mary had gotten better, able to actually say the name of her attacker, but Sybil could tell that her sister still had leagues to go, assuming she ever truly got over her traumatic experience. "He sees signs of taking illicit drugs everywhere. Silly of him, really. As if Bates would ever handle such things."

Sybil hid her smile behind her hand.

"So everyone knows that you and Bates are together so there is no need to worry anymore," Edith stated.

Mary chimed in, "But by all means do not take this as an excuse to begin kissing him senseless throughout Downton."

"Though it would be funny to see Granny react to that!" Edith laughed, Mary and Sybil quickly joining her. "So have no fear, Anna, everyone knows about you are spoken for. Thus the only ones who will tossed to the wolves are Sybil and I."

Mary arched an eyebrow at that. "Oh? That came out a bit more bitter than I would have expected."

Edith opened her mouth to protest and Sybil, not wanting yet another fight among her sisters (she quite literally had enough of that for two lifetimes), spoke up. "What's wrong? I thought you were looking forward to 'your turn'." 'Unlike me,' Sybil thought to herself. She knew it was cruel to think about, and she knew that she should also be working to make Edith's life better, but part of her wanted to keep Edith searching for quite a long time so that her mother would keep her focus on getting her sister married and not on pairing off her. 'The first born must marry, be they male or female. The second born it is expected. The third can be an afterthought. Oh, they'll want me to marry but they'll be focused on Edith first.' She knew it was vanity and arrogance to even think it but Sybil knew the conceptions her parents and Granny had concerning the three of them. Mary was the cunning but determined one, like a wild stallion that needed just the right trainer or else she would run wild. As for herself her family saw her involvement in politics to be a passing thing, a hobby like painting or writing poetry that would fade as time went by. With it gone all that would be left would be her beauty and her reputation as the 'kindest soul in Downton', meaning that she would be the easiest to marry off.

'Kindest soul. I wonder if they'd think that if they knew just all I have done to protect the family.'

But Edith? Her parents and Granny seemed convince that Edith would be a struggle, acting as if she were some hunchback troll that they kept locked in a cellar and fed fish heads to. While not the same type of beauty as Mary or herself (for Edith favored their father more than their mother), Edith still beautiful in her own way. More so she was someone who could better mold her life around another person's. Sybil loved Tom but that didn't mean there hadn't been growing pains in their marriage and the less said about the madness that was Mary and Matthew's first courting the better. But Edith? Sybil knew when she found the right person her marriage would be the easiest.

"…so it is less being bitter and more dreading being the sole focus on mama's meddling. I've seen how she was with you and it has given me plenty of warning about how she'll be now that it's my turn."

"Hmmm, you are right on that count," Mary said, inspecting her hair before nodding. "Thank you Anna, we can manage on our own. You need to dress for your own dinner." Anna bowed her head and hurried off, a blush on her cheeks and a smile tugging on her lips.

Edith let out a weary sigh. "I fear that mama will be in far too much of a rush to marry me off and will shove at me the first man she sees."

"Not the first man," Sybil teased. "I don't see her forcing Thomas or Carson on you."

"But perhaps Bates but only if she wished to see Anna fight you for him," Mary snarked.

Edith wasn't amused though it had little to do with Mary's quip. "Mama asked you to invite Sir Anthony Stranton, did she not?" Sybil forced herself not to glower at that; if she had her way she would have kept the wedding-ruining bastard as far from her sister as she could. She rued the fact that there was no good way to get rid of Sir Anthony as she had Larry Gray… not that she hadn't considered drugging him as well. "I have a bad feeling that she is plotting to force him upon me."

"Well, I would certainly hope not!" Mary exclaimed, putting on her gloves. When she turned she leaned back slightly, clearly startled to see Edith and Sybil staring at her in shock. "What?"

It was Edith who found her voice first. "I would have thought that you would claim that I should latch myself onto his leg and never let go for he is my only chance of avoiding being a spinster."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!" Mary groused. "I merely mean that you are better than Sir Anthony Stranton."

"Really?" Edith said incredulously.

Mary finally stood up and walked over to Edith, moving to sit down on the bed next to her and taking her hands in her own. "Edith dear, I will never claim that I have been the best sister in the world. In fact I would wager that when I look back on my life one of my greatest regrets will be wasting my chance to be the sister you deserved. But I do want you to be happy. I truly do. Maybe it is because I have finally found my own happiness… perhaps it is because of all the darkness from that night so many months ago has shown me that there is so much evil in the world and that the only way for us to survive is to stand together, the Crawley Sisters against the world… but what I desire now is for you to be happy. And being a nursemaid for some old man just so your children can inherit some estate is not it."

Edith, in the quietest of voices, murmured, "Matthew suggested last year that I shouldn't seek out a lord at all. He said that I needed a modern man, someone who had made his fortune with his own two hands. To start a dynasty instead of continuing it."

"And Matthew proves just how wise he truly is," Mary said, it clear to Sybil that her sister was thinking of her own pain that had come from the Crawley Family Fortune being tied to a title that must pass to a male heir. "So just know that if Mama does try to force Sir Anthony or any other corpse on you I'll be there to make some quip and draw attention away from you."

Sybil laughed at that. "And I will rant about the vote and make such a scene that Sir Anthony will go screaming out into the night!"

Edith, clearly fighting back tears at the kindness Mary and Sybil were showing her, nodded her head quickly. "Thank you. Hopefully… hopefully it won't come to that. But I appreciate the gesture." With that she stood, smoothing out her dress before moving towards the door. Mary made to follow her only for Sybil to catch her by the arm.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered.

"Dear Sybil… you should always be proud of me," Mary teased.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: So I know some people complain about chapters like this as they feel they are 'filler'. But here is the thing… with a story like this we need these chapters to show how the characters have changed. To see how Mary falling in love with matthew early has altered her. How Anna and Bates are handling having a more… natural relationship. So on. Don't think of them as filler… think of them as catch ups before we hit the next major plotpoint… which is coming next chapter when Matthew meets Gen. Allen and the party truly begins.

Now then, our plot bunny. And in honor of Halloween let's go with something rather… spooky. And silly.

The Crawley family has lived in Downton Abbey for ages. And when I say ages, I mean that literally. Centuries really.

For you see, the family of Robert Crawley aren't exactly among the living.

No is quite sure when the Crawleys traded warm beds for dirt filled coffins but for the family being undead doesn't mean one can ignore tradition. After all, they might be vampires but they are still British aristocrats and hells below they don't want to have a scandal! One still throws lavish parties… they just ask their staff to make sure they have some A- bottled and ready. After all, when one is competing with lordly werewolves, witches, and phantoms it is important to keep up appearances.

Only now their orderly world has been thrown into chaos. Patrick Crawley, Robert's chosen heir, has died his final death. Not on the Titanic, but with his father at the hands of the latest Van Helsings. That leaves Robert forced to summon one of his still-human relatives to take over as the future heir of Dowton.

Imagine Matthew Crawley's surprise then when Lord Grantham summons him to Downton… and he wakes up without a heartbeat, holes in his neck, and Robert and Cora happily introducing him to his new Brides: Mary, Edith, and Sybil.

Obviously a vampire story with humor the story would focus on Matthew dealing with the strangeness and insanity of him suddenly being a vampire… and now married to all three Crawley Girls, who would be his vampiric brides. How you wish to deal with the servants (undead, ghouls, vampires themselves, or just humans who figure it is easier to just work for said vampires) is up to you. As is how sexual the story gets… keep it repressed Downton or lots of lemons with Matthew and his three wives. Introducing other monsters would also be interesting… maybe Tom comes from a line of irish werewolves? Bates is Victor Frankenstein's most successful attempt at creating life and Anna is a mummy that Robert brought back with him after the war? Isobel is killed within the first chapter but comes back as a ghost to haunt Vampire Violet? It's up to you!

Chapter Text

Several years back when Robert and James had been at his preferred London Club, Boodles, a discussion had broken out concerning the requirements for membership. Boodles was well established with both official and unofficial requirements and while there always arose the occasional idea of changing something it never did. But this time had been different as the change suggested had been the age limit. There was nothing truly written in the bylaws but it was generally accepted that a man had to be at least 35 before being allowed to enter the club on his own without invitation and it was preferable that they be 40 or more. There was a desire to keep things dignified and respectable at Boodles and even with those that were born and raised in the upper class there was a drive in the young to be far too loud and boisterous. Even Robert, looking back at his youthful days, could see that to be true of himself. Alastair Brown had one mentioned that young lions roared and bellowed their desires while the old lion knew how to slink and stalk and get what he wanted without nearly all the trouble. Robert was chagrined to admit that he had been more of a roarer than a stalker in his younger days. It was why he'd argued against any move to lower the age limit, preaching like a minister giving a sermon that to allow those that had not earned their place through a life well lived would bring downfall upon the club.

When he'd turned to James, ready for him to support his claim, he had been startled when his cousin had taken up against him. Well, that wasn't quite true. More that James had shrugged and stated that he wasn't opposed to the idea as much as Robert (but that was enough to place him against him in Robert's eyes). When a reason had been demanded of James he'd shrugged.

"The club has become rather stale as of late."

"Whatever do you mean?" Robert had pressed, trying to understand how his cousin could be so willing to toss out tradition.

James, sitting in his favorite chair and swirling a glass of brandy, had looked up at Robert with an almost lazy stare. "It's always the same tales and stories. We come here to socialize but more and more I find myself dreadfully tired. It feels like I have gone to select a new novel from your library only to find I have read every book on every shelf and know each and every plot. There is nothing new. Nothing exciting." He'd rolled his left wrist before continuing. "Don't you long for something to shake things up?"

"I would say not," Robert had sputtered. "Life is hard enough without adding challenges to it. I would rather have a stable one rather than one with chaos."

"And I would argue that a life without new interests and aspects is a rather boring affair." James had sighed and cut Robert off before he could continue. "I am not saying we need to invite any Joe-Boot-Shine off the street but the solution is clear: we need fresh blood. Someone to shake things up and get us to live again. So we might have new adventures instead of only dwelling on the old ones."

Robert had scoffed at that notion but now, as he stood in his own drawing room and listened to the excited buzz in the air as his family conversed with both new guests and old he found himself sending a silent prayer to James, apologizing for doubting him.

The holiday party had only been truly going for 20 minutes (that was when Cora, needing to be fashionable late as they said in the States, had finally entered) but already he was ready to call it a roaring success. The dull and often predictable conversations that often floated about the drawing room before the meal, ones where polite words came more from expectations than from an actual desire to converse, had been replaced by interesting and thoughtful discussions that had him honestly wondering if he might convince Carson to delay dinner an extra ten to twenty minutes just so they didn't have to end. Though nothing about the drawing room had changed save for a few festive decorations (utterly tasteful and not at all showy; he'd been to a few estates where the lords and ladies made it look like someone had shaken Father Christmas until all his festive adornments had rained down upon every surface) it felt to Robert as if it were some new and exciting place purely because of the new voices that had been added. New voices, as James had predicted those years ago, made the familiar faces of Downton think upon new thoughts and brought new twists to old tales and ideas.

Off to one side Cora was chatting with Sir Anthony and one of the two guests Rosamund had brought with her, Mr. Jefferson Bryant. Robert's sister had claimed that he was a businessman who sold furniture but that was like saying Robert was a man who owned a spot of land. Mr. Bryant made his living finding rare pieces of furniture, restoring them, and selling them in his London shop for the British elite. And that had been for the simple projects; Mr. Bryant also tackled strange and odd requests for pieces and would seek out the materials needed in order to create the requested items. Robert had marveled at the man's job which seemed to be a blend of his cultured life with the tales one could find in pulp papers. The man had told him a ripping yarn about Lord Tonwood requesting a desk be made for his wife the Lady Tonwood from the blue door of her childhood home, one that she fondly remembered. The problem had been that Lady Tonwood had grown up in India, her father the crown's representative there, and the building that had once been Lady Tonwood's home had fallen into the hands of rebels who were against the English hold of their country. Mr. Bryant had spoken of covert schemes and death defying exploits all in the quest for the door and Robert had only stepped away because he knew that he had to be a good host and greet everyone.

'Not to say that the others that were invited aren't interesting,' Robert thought as he glanced about the room. Sir Michael Gregson, the newspaper owner that Rosamund had also brought along, was chatting away with Edith and Sybil. While Robert had enjoyed talking with the man, who had a sharp mind for politics and an even sharper mind for cards (and Robert wondered if he might not be able to arrange a game or two after dinner for himself, Matthew, Sir Michael, and one of their other male guests) he hadn't be as enthralled as his daughters were. 'Not surprising… his ideas are a bit too radical for me but are just right for the girls… at least in their minds.' He frowned slightly at that. 'Cora would perhaps claim it wasn't a matter of being radical and more that the new ideas are too young for me.' He sighed and reasoned that perhaps that was true. Sir Michael had been telling him of his belief that a proper paper should have some input from those that would read it. That made sense, as Robert wouldn't want a bunch of American cowboys taking over the papers he enjoyed, but Sir Michael's idea of having women actually write for his paper… to edit it and create it? That was a step too far for Robert, who had problems with old maids writing those advice columns mama enjoyed let alone being so involved in creating and covering the news of the day, but he could see why it would appeal to his independent daughters. 'Lord above knows they like to tell the world their thoughts.'

He smiled slightly as Edith laughed at something Sir Michael said, Sybil soon joining in. Robert briefly worried about his daughters both showing interest in the same man but soon it was clear that where Edith was truly enjoying Sir Michael's company Sybil was merely being polite. He wasn't the most observant man in the world, Robert would be the first to admit that, but he knew his children and could read their emotions well. He might not know the SOURCE of their feelings but he could tell when they were feeling them. Sybil wasn't faking her enjoyment as she did with Larry Grey (and thank goodness that prat hadn't been invited; he couldn't afford to buy more wine buckets) but if someone else drew her attention away she would happily go off to have a different conversation. With Edith… well, Robert had a feeling that she would be most displeased if someone tried to force their way in.

'And the two most likely suspects to do that are detained,' Robert thought in relief as Cora, moving to lead Sir Anthony over to where Edith and Sybil were, was intercepted by mama and Cousin Isobel, the two older women of them quickly engaging the two. 'I don't know if Mama planned that but I wouldn't be surprised. Cora is far too desperate to make a match for Edith now that Mary is all secured. But Sir Anthony is an old man who will only get older and mama clearly sees that as much as I do.' Robert had no problem with his daughters ending up with older men, as there was something to be said for a man that mellowed out with age rather than some rash youth who would rather rush out and conquer the world rather than be with his wife, but he didn't want them to be widows in their 30s… and that would be Edith's fate if she ended up with someone like Sir Anthony. 'It would be different if Edith's prospects weren't strong and our family was facing further troubles but with Mathew and Mary all but prepared to march down the aisle we can ensure that Edith has a match that suits her and not one that Cora wants purely because she wants to rush things. Let Edith have some fun being the center of attention, now that Mary is no longer drawing all the gazes like a candle light draws moths.'

As for his eldest she was far too busy chatting away with Rosamund to play about with Edith's joy and emotions. Perhaps it was because she'd finally found her own joy but Mary had been a far better sister to Edith and to a lesser extent Sybil since she and Mathew had made their courting official and for that, more than all the good he'd done for Downton, Robert was thankful to have Mathew around.

As if summoned by Robert's thoughts Matthew walked over, a pre-dinner drink in hand and a smile on his face. "It seems that things are going rather well," he said, looking about the crowded room. "Lord and Lady Whitefork were just complimenting me on the décor, not that I can take all the credit for it." He gestured towards the tasteful fresh pine garland and springs of winterberries that had been placed about the room, as well as the newly arrived wreath that hung on the wall.

"Allow me to give you the best piece of advice I can provide you, my dear chap," Robert said with a slight twitch of his lips, "always take credit no matter how little you were actually involved in things. It's expected."

"Even if the person who actually did it all is standing there?" Mathew asked.

Robert chuckled. "Even then." He considered what he'd just said and held up a finger. "Unless it was Cora who arranged things… then do even think about taking credit." He paused, lips pursed. "Or Mary. And Edith and Sybil, just to be on the safe side."

"Mother wouldn't even let me try," Matthew said with smirk. "What about Cousin Isobel?"

"…give her credit for everything, even if she weren't a part of whatever was brought up." Matthew nodded in agreement and raised his glass in a mock toast.

"Lord Grantham, Mr. Crawley," Lord Merton said as he walked over to them. "Might I introduce you to my dear friend, the distinguished Lieutenant-General Allen Lothrop."

Robert turned and offered his hand to the newcomer. Lt. Lothrop was a solidly built man with light brown hair that was going straight past gray and moving towards white along the temples and sides. He had a round face and a large thick mustache that bobbed with every little movement of his lips. He would have looked rather non-threatening if it hadn't been for his eyes, which were startlingly sharp and held a calculating intelligence that spoke of the man taking in all around him and retaining every detail. He was of average height but avoided the weight gain that many military men (Robert himself included, if he were to be honest) seemed to have to deal with and that helped make him appear all the more powerful in Robert's eyes. Even wearing tails Robert could tell that Lt. Lothrop was a forceful man that he'd want next to him in a cavalry charge.

"I don't know about distinguished, Richard," Lt. Lothrop said with a slight smile, holding out his hand to Robert. His grip was like steel wrapped in fine soft leather; not so much painful as firm and ungiving.

"You are always far too modest, Allen," Lord Merton stated. "Thank you for inviting us both, Lord Grantham. I do believe my sons were growing tired of the two of us sharing war stories in the library and at the dinner table. A chance to be away from us will do them good."

"Better than tales of us during our school years," Lt. Allen jested. "I believe Tim and Larry can recite all our favorite memories from heart at this point."

"Nothing wrong with remembering pleasant times," Robert said. "Or making the dark ones a bit more light."

"Indeed, indeed," Lord Merton said, accepting a glass from a passing Thomas, Matthew replacing his nearly empty glass while Lt. Lothrop waved off the footman.

"None for you?" Robert asked.

"Oh, I don't touch the stuff, Lord Grantham. I will stick to water."

"He is a teetotaler," Lord Merton said as Robert waved over Carson and requested something non-alcoholic for Lt. Lothrop. "Doesn't smoke either."

"Truly?" Matthew asked.

Lt. Lothrop nodded, his eyes sharp and fierce even as he kept his voice down. "If I had my way no man in the army would imbed in either while serving. Alcohol can cause shakes and dull senses. The enemy doesn't wait for you to give over a night drinking before calling for a raid. In fact back in the day one of my favorite tactics was to make my men create all the sounds of a roaring party so that our enemy would be lulled into a false sense of security only to be ready for them with bayonets and bullets."

"And it certainly has nothing to do with your cousins, does it Allen?" Lord Merton teased. Robert stared at his friend and the other lord shrugged. "Lt. Allen is proof that those not born with a lordship can rise up rather well… and his cousins are proof of how far they can fall."

The soldier glowered. "My extended family are criminals, braggards, and buffoons. They could have done many wonderful things had they not fallen into their bottles. They disgrace the name Lothrop and Oakwood."

"Good then that you'll eventually be Lord Oakwood then," Lord Merton stated. To Robert and Matthew he said, "Allen's father is the second son of the previous Lord Oakwood and his uncle is the current one."

"Lord Trevor Oakwood!?" Robert exclaimed quietly. "Not the one whose daughter-"

"The same," Lt. Lothrop said darkly. "There is a reason I don't advertise it. He never had a son so the title will eventually pass to me. Leaving me to clean up the mess my dear cousins have made of the family name. As if I didn't have enough to worry about." He shook himself from his dark thoughts and continued. "As for tobacco… well, do you know how many men have died going out for a smoke and gotten a sniper's bullet in their skull as they struck a match? Fools, allowing their addictions to get the better of them!"

"Always a cheery one, Allen," Lord Merton stated dryly.

The military man sighed. "My apologizes, Lord Grantham. I am… passionate about the safety of the men that serve under me, even now that I no longer am in a battlefield role."

"Quite alright," Robert said, waving off the apology even as he lowered the glass he'd raised to his lips. He could understand Lt. Lothrop's frustrations. For the family party the Crawleys had been lucky that there were very few black sheep in their family but he knew of others in his circle that weren't so lucky. Lord Oakwood's daughters had been gossip fodder for years and Robert didn't envy the old warrior having to rebuild the family honor after they had so utterly destroyed it. As for the tobacco and drink…"I had a commander during my time with the Riders who warned us about smoking during the dark of night. Only took Billings being shot to drive the message home for me. Afraid it never made me stop but I'm not beholden to it like most."

"Ah yes, Richard told me you were with the Riders." Lt. Lothrop's eyes suddenly went wide. "Lord Grantham, Richard told me that you had a valet named Bates… he wouldn't be Major John Bates of the North Riding Volunteers, would he?"

Robert was taken aback by Lt. Lothrop's question and it took several moments before he could answer. "Bates was a member of the North Riders when I was their colonel… he served as my batman. But last I knew he was a Second Lieutenant." As soon as the words left his mouth Robert suddenly felt very foolish. "Of course that was years ago so I shouldn't be surprised that he is… was… a Major."

Lt. Lothrop shook his head, his voice hard and his words dripping with disgust as he spoke. "He would have been a Colonel if not for that damn woman. If I ever get my hands on her I'll petition that she get the noose, her being a woman be damned!" The soldier steadied himself. "My apologizes."

"My dear man, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Whatever has you so mad and what does it have to do with Bates?"

"You don't know?" Lt. Lothrop asked in surprise. Robert shook his head and the soldier sighed. "No, I suppose you don't. From what I've heard John Bates is the kind of man who would not trouble you with his issues. He was a good soldier who understood the need to keep things private and to not burden others."

"Do you believe it is your right to tell it then?" Lord Merton asked, clearly guessing that Lt. Lothrop wanted to reveal whatever he knew about Bates to Robert.

"Even if it isn't I ask you tell me now," Robert pressed. "I assure you it can't be worse than the nightmares I am dreaming up now. I had been led to believe that Bates had been forced out of the army due to his leg. Now it seems there is much more to the tale."

"There is," Lt. Lothrop said darkly. "I will not trouble you with the lies and only cut to the truth: the army and the government failed Major Bates. In our rush to avenge a crime we jailed an innocent man whose only sin was honoring a woman who was unworthy of him."

"Blimey, this sounds rather intense," Robert stated while Matthew stood by silently listening and drinking. "What happened?"

"Years ago Major Bates' wife-" Robert wanted to ask him to stop at that, as he'd never know that Bates had been married, but Lt. Allen continued, "-became entangled with the blackest sort of men. Cuthroats and criminals who wish to appear to be legitimate businessmen until they wished to get their money. She had a taste for gambling and a greater taste for bad bets. Kind words from the bookies became threats and thus to save her own skin she stole the regimental silver to pay off her debts."

Robert shut his eyes, it suddenly clear to him just what happened next. "Bates claimed he was at fault, did he not?"

"He did but only because the army pressured him. The men in charge of investigating were lazy; I and other senior members have looked over the case and found many pieces of evidence that prove Major Bates' innocence. But they were only interested in closing the case and as such Major Bates was stripped of his rank and sent to prison."

"Proud bugger," Robert said with a sigh before latching onto something Lt. Lothrop had said. "You still call him Major Bates… does that mean…"

"A lawyer he employed uncovered it all several months back. Vera O'Malley, for she is no longer Vera Bates, fled to America and the Pinkertons have been hired to track her down and bring her back… in chairs if need be. I'd say a bullet in her brain would work but I want to look that woman in the eye before she faces her final judgment. As for John Bates his record has been cleared and his rank restored… along with a pension."

"Crickey," Robert whispered. "I didn't know."

"Lord Grantham, I would very much like to meet your valet before I leave… I wish to offer him my hand and my apologies for what happened to him."

After that little bombshell the conversation turned to more innocent topics. Lord Merton shared some stories of he and Lt. Lothrop at boarding school while Matthew and Robert discussed the push they were making to have Downton become more self-sufficient. Lord Merton was especially interested in what Robert and Matthew were doing and Robert had a sneaking suspicion that Lord Merton would be asking for Matthew's advice in the future to help the Baron revitalize his own land. Eventually the talk had turned to what they thought the new year would bring, their hopes and desires and expectations. Robert glanced at Matthew who had remained silent; his own wish was that at the next year's party he might introduce Matthew as his son-in-law and not merely his heir.

"And what of you, Lieutenant?" Matthew asked. "What do you believe the new year holds for you?"

"I know what I have to look forward to," Lt. Lothrop said, accepting a glass of water with a small orange slice in it that Carson had brought just for him. "Paperwork and pain."

"What makes you say that?" Matthew asked.

Lt. Lothrop shook his head. "I do not wish to bring anyone down… I shouldn't have said a word."

"You've already hinted at it, Allen, you might as well take the plunge."

The lieutenant sighed. "I know many have looked to the continent and seen just what the Kaiser and his allies have been doing. I know plenty believe that family relation and mutual respect will keep the peace but I hold no stock in such things. War is coming, Lord Grantham. I wish to the heavens that it wasn't but it is. And as such I must prepare even if others will not. Gather food and supplies and such. Because you know what they say…"

"An army marches on its stomach," Robert said, remembering the old call.

"So you are gathering supplies, Lt. Lothrop?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, though that isn't what I'm dreading. It is dealing with all the businesses and warehouses and suppliers. Making deals, organizing everything, the eventual broken contracts, inflated prices, 'misplaced' shipments..."

Robert stared at Lt. Lothrop in shock, not believing what he was hearing. "You aren't suggesting that companies and suppliers would purposely milk the army purely to line their pockets! I know the Americans can be cutthroats-"

"Americans? Oh, they are bad enough but it's our own countrymen who cause me the most headaches. With Americans it's all upfront usually. It is our own countrymen who lie like Lucifer himself."

"No!" Robert said, utterly scandalized. The idea that loyal subjects of the crown could do such things… could allow their own greed to drive them to rob from proud young men serving their country had him seeing red. "Surely there must be so way to stop them!"

"Oh believe me, Lord Grantham, I don't just let them do whatever they wish. There is a reason I was placed in full command of the supply chains for our army. The ones that are just lazy and brash are easy enough to deal with, as they I can threaten and bully and intimidate." He smirked and patted his hip. "Sometimes firing a service revolver in the air will get a greater reaction than pleading to one's better nature ever will." Robert chuckled at that, as did Lord Merton, though Matthew raised an eyebrow at that; Robert figured his heir was probably thinking about the legal ramifications of firing a weapon in a warehouse. "But it's the smart ones that are the troublesome buggers. The ones that go about it through loopholes and carefully worded contracts… three years back I signed a contract to get boots made but the maker requested that larger sizes cost triple his quoted cost. I thought nothing of it, as obviously bigger boots need more leather… but then he brought in his 3 year old son and declared his foot to be 'the average I will make my boots' and thus any size above a child's was a 'larger size than expected', meaning that I was left with either paying the vile piece of filth or sending our boys out in ill fitting footwear."

"Disgusting," Robert growled, gripping his glass.

"Simply vile," Lord Merton said with a shake of his head. "But there is little Allen can do. I've even made inquiries to friends of mine in Parliament but they've been unable to assist. Once the contract is signed it is near impossible to get out of it."

"That is the problem with corporate contracts," Matthew said with a sad shake of his head. "I used to deal with double talk and loopholes like that all the time. Of course there were times when I was able to find loopholes of my own to turn the tables. You know-"

Robert stared at Matthew, a smile blossoming on his ace. "Matthew! Of course!"

"I'm… I'm sorry?" the young man said, confused.

He turned though to the soldier, gesturing widely at Matthew. "My good man, Matthew here was a lawyer who specialized in corporate law before he became my heir. Dealing with contracts and deals like the ones you must conquer were his bread and butter. He could assist you with those traitorous businessmen and their tangled contracts and ensure that everyone is doing their patriotic duty!"

"Does Matthew get a say in this?" Lord Merton teased and Robert instantly felt his face heat up. He was thankful that his mother wasn't in earshot for if she had been he was sure she'd have made some scathing remark about Robert once more leaping without looking or volunteering to do something… when it wasn't actually him that was doing the volunteering.

"Of… of course he does. I merely-"

Matthew though held up his hand. "Robert, its fine. You're right… this is something I have experience with. Certainly more than anyone you would be able to turn to in the army, Lt. Lothrop. I find what you've told us to be just as repulsive as Robert and Lord Merton but unlike them I can do something to help… no offense." Robert held out his hands, silently projecting that he wasn't offended at all. "With the winter months upon us there isn't much to do at Downton… the projects Robert and I are working on are in their slow period and as much as I enjoy Downton's library I would be lying if I didn't admit that I could use some… fresh air. Or dusty air that comes from flipping through contracts. If, of course, you are interested."

"Very," Lt. Lothrop said, genuinely excited. Whatever he was about to say next was cut off by Carson ringing the dinner gong. "We'll talk about this later."

Robert smiled as he watched Matthew and Lt. Lothrop walk off. It always amazed him how easily Matthew made friends with people, able to connect with them and build connections.

'What good fortune that Lt. Lothrop was invited to dine by the one man who can help him,' Robert thought with a shake of his head and a smile before heading to the dining room, pleased at how he'd been able to bring the two together.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: Oh Robert… if only you knew just how tangled the web really was…

So Matthew's plan is finally revealed: Lt. Lothrop deals with supplies for the army and has issues with corporate contracts for said supplies. Thus Matthew now has an in with the military man that, in 7 months, is going to be one of the most important men in the war effort. A man that, when he sees just how good Matthew is at his job, might just decide that it would be a waste of his talents to be cannon fodder on the front line and Matthew would be better served at his offices in London…

Lt. Lothrop is going to be a major supporting character in 'Season 2' and the war storyline and it was fun to introduce a bit of him here. A bit more coarse than what we normally get at Downton but by no means someone unable to easily deal with the elite… he comes from a wealthy family even before he remember that he is an heir himself and his role in the military earns him respect from many and his friendship with Lord Merton also allows him to easily slip into the world of Downton.

So I know this is a bit shorter than normal but I felt that the next two POV sections wouldn't work with this chapter and, let's be honest, I've been having so many problems with deadlines that I need a short chapter or two to get caught back up.

In exchange for the short chapter I give you three Plot Bunnies.

The first one is very basic but would open up a ton of fun creativity. It would take place in Season 1 and have one small change: Matthew knows that he is in love with Mary well before the show had him realize it. As such, with the holiday season in full swing, Matthew decides to in secret send Mary gifts… inspired by the 12 Days of Christmas.

Now, you could go the comedy route and have Matthew actually buy Mary the actual gifts… including the birds. So… so many birds. OR… you could go the sweet route and have Matthew buy gifts inspired by the song but are still touching and wonderful. For example, a statue that is a partridge in a pear tree. For the turtle doves perhaps a painting of them in flight. Three French hens could be a trilogy of novels set in France. So on. It would be up to the writer. I would focus on mary getting the gifts, trying to figure out who is giving said gifts, maybe even enlisting Matthew to help figure out who it is without realizing it is him and thus getting closer to him…

The second story idea is inspired by a pair of Lois and Clark stories I read YEARS ago (like, 10 to 15 years ago) called Swap Meet. The idea behind it is simple… Matthew and Mary have just had their kiss in the snow at the end of the Christmas special when there is a flash of light… and suddenly hear someone call "CUT!" They look around and find the snow has stopped because someone turned off the snow machine, people are mulling about packing up machines, some guy named Julian Fellows is saying that they did a great job while the director barks orders, and someone who looks like Anna only wearing a sweater and blue jeans and claiming her name is Joanne Froggatt gives 'Michelle' a coffee.

Meanwhile, Michelle Dockery and Dan Stevens just got done filming their fifth take of the kissing season only to realize the director is gone, there is none of the crew, and Jim Carter comes out and address Michelle as 'my lady' while Hugh thinks that Michelle is actually his daughter…

Uh oh.

Thus we have Mary and Matthew warped to our world while Michelle and Dan are in Downton. How will Mary and Matthew deal with the modern world. And what will Michelle and Dan alter in Downton? That's the fun of it all!

The final plot bunny is a crossover. Why did Matthew die? What caused his car to crash? Another vehicle?

What would you say if it was a time displaced Mexican mariachi band?

Seriously.

Matthew wasn't supposed to die. His death radically alters reality and leads to darkness in the future (no kidding). Thus it is up to a special group of people to go back and prevent his death. A resurrected assassin. A tech inventor who can shrink. A hacker from the future. A con man mage who loves to spoke. And a surly criminal who loves fire.

Yes folks… Downton Abbey meets Legends of Tomorrow.

How will Robert deal with a group of women who wear pants and don't believe in corsets. Or bates with an inventor who can totally fix his leg? Or Carson with Mick the drunk who thinks it would be fun to watch Downton burn.

And most importantly of all… how will everyone react when a time displaced Sybil arrives with our savoir, Beebo the God of War?!

Chapter Text

Cora did her best to smile. She knew she should be happy… the dinner was a complete success. There was no denying that. Yet joy was the last thing she felt. No, all she felt was a mixture of annoyance and frustration.

She knew, of course, that she had no right to be upset. From any way of keeping score the dinner had been a complete and utter victory, proving to what few doubters there might have been that Downton had not just recovered from the tragedy of James and Patrick's deaths but had actually flourished. They had proved to the world that the Old Crawleys and the New could blend together and build upon each other's strengths to make a more grand future. Matthew's bold influx of new faces mixed with the old guard had made it a lively affair that had taken the dry conversations that one could rattle off in their sleep and injected new life into them. But not too much life... Cora knew that Robert's mother had worried for the briefest of moments that Matthew would allow Isobel to set the guest list and they would find themselves overwhelms by radicals and the night would end with the family barricading themselves in a bedroom while Isobel and the leftists tried to recreate the French Revolution. Thankfully those fears had been put to rest quickly as Matthew had selected guests who had ties to Downton but had never been invited; not through fault of their own but simply because the ties were too far stretched or it just had never occurred to Robert and or her send an invite. Friends of friends, neighbors whose circles were still dignified but ran differently from theirs.

General Lothrop had been the most brilliant choice; he reminded her very much of an older Matthew, able to straddle the line of the upper middle class while also being heir to a grand estate (Cora had been utterly shocked to learn the modest and plain spoken General would one day be Lord Oakwood, as that family had gotten a horrible reputation for being wild and scandal-prone). Robert had naturally gravitated to him and Cora suspected the two would soon become fast friends, which was good because Robert needed more men in his life that he could talk to other than Matthew and the help. Even more impressive was how Gen. Lothrop had managed to charm the Dowager by simply not trying to charm her. Where others would have complimented her or tried to get on her good side the man had been utterly frank and honest without being insulting and that had won Robert's mother over.

Of course that wasn't to say that the other guests were bores. Rosamund's guests had been a delight as well and were only overshadowed by the General purely because of a force of will. But they were people Cora would happily welcome to Downton again and showed that sometimes even Robert's odd duck of a sister could manage to bring about change in the best of ways.

No... the dinner so far had been a success by anyone's count.

'So why do I keep trying to find reasons to call it a failure?' she thought to herself as she nibbled on a piece of tender lamb, dripping with a delicious sauce that complimented the meat very well. It was one of her favorite meals and normally she'd be quite pleased with it but tonight she found herself annoyed because it was so familiar.

Even as the guests murmured their delight over the dishes Cora fought not to scowl at the fact that Mrs. Patmore had refused to listen to her and had stuck with the tried and true meals. She'd asked her to cook some new dishes, something special for their winter dinner, but the cook had shook her head and refused. It didn't matter that one in particular Cora wanted was a pudding that Sir Anthony so loved and Cora was desperately trying to make the man feel welcomed and pleased with Downton… no, Mrs. Patmore had claimed it was too late to change the menu and she couldn't work under such conditions. Which was rubbish because Cora had changed the menu far later before and the cook had never complained. But this time she had informed Cora herself that she simply couldn't do it, her tone as she had argued against the alteration getting to the point that it had bordered on insubordination. Honestly, if Cora hadn't feared putting the dinner in untested hands she would have spoken to Robert about sacking Mrs. Patmore right then and there.

'Even if Robert wouldn't have done it,' Cora thought to herself. For all his bluster and posturing of being a firm hand when it came to the estate her husband was actually a very light touch when it came to the running of Downton. More than once he had complained about this person or that, like his valet before Bates, but had always backed down after a word from Carson or Mrs. Hughes in the person's favor. And he never fired people himself… no, Robert liked to leave that in the butler's capable hands. 'Oh, stop grousing about it,' she told herself, her face never betraying her internal argument as she looked about the dining room. 'He's a good man with a good heart and you love him for it so stop acting like it is such a negative thing!' She stabbed another piece of meat with her fork and sighed ever so slightly, 'besides, it is good I never went to him about this. Everyone loves the meal… the only one not happy with it is me and even I am finishing all that is on my plate!'

She just couldn't stop herself. While everyone else was happy and satisfied with the evening she kept finding reasons to pick it apart. All the women had complimented Mary, Edith, and Sybil on their dresses, telling them how beautiful they looked; she was annoyed with what her daughters had decided to wear, thinking that they had been far too daring. Sybil's was for a woman grown, not a child who hadn't had her first season. Edith's was too tight and the slit cut far too high. And the neckline on Mary's was just obscene. Yet Cora seemed to be the only one who thought so. The fact that even Robert's mother had stated how beautiful all three of them looked showed how off she was in that assessment. Many had complimented her on the decorations and while that was the area where she had been given the greatest control she still felt like more could have been done. She hated how Mary and Matthew stuck so close to one another throughout the pre-dinner drinks, as they should have been mingling separately, but no one batted an eye and Isobel had called it young love with a breathy pleased sigh. Mr. Bryant had even offered the chair Cora had selected for him to Mary so she and Matthew could sit next to each other… that simply wasn't done but Mary happily took it! And no one said a thing! The conversations at dinner flashed through a wide array of topics and many times Sybil spoke up and gave her opinion and despite Cora shooting her dark looks her youngest continued to talk when she should have been silent… yet it didn't matter. Mrs. Bryant seemed quite charmed with Sybil and Rosamund had even declared that Sybil seemed far more mature than women twice her age and wished to have her at some of her tea parties rather than her usual circle!

Had the whole world gone mad?

'Or is it just me?" Cora thought with a sigh, watching as Sir Anthony tried once more to strike up a conversation with Edith… only for Edith to return her focus to Sir Michael.

Oh, Edith wasn't being rude at all; she wasn't brushing the man off or actively ignoring him. But it was clear to Cora that Sir Anthony wanted to engage with Edith far more than out of mild politeness… but her daughter simply wasn't interested. Not in him, in any case. Sir Anthony was having better luck talking with Matthew, who seemed to sense what was going on and would jump in to ask the owner of Loxley House about how he was modernizing his estate and offering his own suggestions. Cora grit her teeth at that, annoyed beyond reason that Matthew was helping Edith ignore Sir Anthony only to in seconds catch herself and realize how foolish she was being. Matthew was being a good host, chatting with a guest and making him feel welcomed. Mary too, for she had even once engaged Sir Anthony so that Edith and Sir Michael could resume their conversation. Cora suspected that Sybil was, in her own way, working to steer Edith away from the match that Cora was trying to set up.

'And that is the problem,' Cora mentally told herself. 'I am the only one that wants to set them up. Robert was utterly against it and when I told his mother she flat out called me a fool. "He is too old for Edith. She would be playing nursemaid before she was thirty and a widow before forty. Is that what you want for your child, Cora?".' The Lady of Downton mentally rolled her eyes. 'Of course I don't but can't they see that Edith needs to be settled… Sybil too! Matches must be made now!'

'Why?' a traitorous voice in her head asked. 'Why rush?'

'Because it is expected.'

'Maybe if it were Mary who had no prospects but Edith and Sybil? Edith still has plenty of time and you just said that Sybil was still a child… can't have it both ways.'

Cora took a sip of wine. 'They need to be settled,' she thought to herself stubbornly.

'You didn't mind Mary taking her sweet time. She wasn't even engaged to Patrick.'

'It was official enough.'

'Oh?' the voice in her head taunted, sounding more and more like Violet. 'Funny how when it is Mary you are willing to wait but with the rest you can't wait to push them out the door. Had Patrick left Mary four years ago and selected another woman to be his bride would you have pushed her to marry within a month? Or would you have told her you would find a better match, one that would make her happy?'

Cora couldn't even fight against herself as any argument she could think of she already had mentally countered.

'You have made your life all about Mary… your focus has always been on her. No wonder so many whisper that Mary is a brat… don't deny it, you saw and heard it when Matthew first came! How she felt she could scorn tradition because she was Lady Mary Crawley! You let her get away with murder! And you've forgotten you have more children than her… and even after you remembered you still have fallen back into old habits: Mary is settled so let's rush Edith along so it is done. You would have her be in a miserable marriage just so you could be finished quick!'

"Thank you, Thomas," Cora said out loud, taking a piece of fish from the plate he offered. She listened to the conversations swirling around her: Robert and Richard Grey discussing a proposed hunt at Cavenham Park; Matthew and Violet the a Sherlock Holmes story that had come out the previous year (it seemed that Matthew had gotten the Dowager hooked on the detective's adventures); Mrs. Bryant asking Sir Anthony about his sister; Mr. Bryant, Rosamund, and Isobel chatting about the man's most recent trip to America, working for one of the Roosevelts; Edith and Sir Michael chatting about Sir Michael's paper, The Sketch, and his decision to include more in-depth reporting targeted towards women.

'I've never seen her so happy,' Cora thought suddenly and a wave of great shame filled her. How very sad was it that the happiest Cora had ever seen Edith… was when she got a bit of attention from a man she'd just met. And what did that say about her as a mother that her daughter was truly coming alive in front of her and all Cora cared about was throwing a mental fit because the man she had already decided Edith had to marry hadn't been selected? 'This is my daughter's life… how can I be so petty?' She blinked her eyes, tears stinging at the corners, as she realized just how cruel she had been. Not just to Edith by ignoring her and deciding what she needed instead of actually asking… but to everyone else by deeming the dinner a failure only because she wasn't getting her way!

"Mama, are you alright?" Edith asked suddenly and Cora realized that her sorrowful epiphany had been witnessed by several people.

"Quite… quite," Cora coughed, reaching for her wine glass.

"Are you sure?" Edith asked, concerned. "You looked as if you were ready to fall to pieces."

"Oh, nothing like that!" Cora said with a weak laugh. "It is silly… I think I swallowed a bit of this wonderful meal badly and I didn't want to make a scene by coughing."

Violet raised an eyebrow at that. "Well now, one can commend you for trying to keep decorum but we wouldn't think less of you for trying to stop yourself from choking!"

"Are you sure you are quite alright?" Isobel said.

Cora waved them off and took another sip of wine. "I feel more foolish than anything else. I was attempting not to draw attention to myself and here I am doing just that. Let us move on. Edith dear, I saw you quite engaged just a moment ago… I dare say you've barely eaten a thing." Edith cringed slightly at that, her cheeks turning pink as she clearly waited for Cora to admonish her right there at the table. It made Cora's heart ache all the more. "What has drawn your attention away?"

"Oh… nothing, Mama."

"Hardly nothing," Cora said, trying to keep her voice as open and light as possible. 'I'm not going to scold you, my darling…' she mentally pleaded, 'I just want to know about you. Truly.'

Edith shifted before finally saying, "Sir Michael and I were discussing his beliefs in the power of women in shaping society."

Sir Michael nodded, dabbing his lips with his napkin as William took away his plate, Thomas doing the same for Edith while Carson switched Cora's wine glass with something better suited for dessert. "Indeed, Lady Grantham. It is my belief that we can never truly grow as a society unless we listen to all voices. Wealthy and powerful men will commonly create scholarships for the less fortunate because they know that sometimes greatness hides in the lowest reaches of society and all it takes is a helping hand to bring it to the forefront. But while we do this for men we so rarely do it for women and I for one wonder how much better our lives would be, how more advanced we'd be, if we allowed all to have a voice. What great… writers-" he glanced at Edith who smiled shyly, "or medical professionals-" his eyes seemed to stop for a moment in Sybil's direction, "-or others are we losing out on?"

Sybil, clearly listening, nodded her head in agreement but didn't say a word, instead merely gazing at Sir Michael with a curious look. Mary too had been drawn into the conversation and while Matthew was still talking with Lord Merton Cora could tell that he had one ear towards this topic.

"Take my profession, for example," Sir Michael continued. "There are many stories that could have been more easily broken if women had been allowed to be reporters far sooner… and even now, with some barriers being finally moved aside, they aren't on equal footing as with men and that is quite foolish. I have met plenty of male reporters who are lazy and or unimaginative… but I have never met a female reporter who was like that."

"Most likely because they knew if they were they'd never be given the chance," Cora stated.

"And you don't find it sad that women must deal with such standards every day of their lives?"

Cora did, actually, though she didn't voice that out loud. And the fact that she didn't speak, as she was concerned about appearances, only quietly proved Sir Michael's point as she knew that if she were a man she would have been able to say such and few would have thought much of it. 'Larry Grey can make such a mess of our dining room and if we were to invite him back people wouldn't gossip all that much… but if it had been Mary to do so in the Grey household she would find herself shunned from all aspects of society within a day!'

"I must say, that is a rather daring world view," Violet stated and Cora quickly realized that the small, quiet conversations that had been going on had ended and now everyone was joining in on this conversation. "But don't you think it is rather unlikely to occur?"

"Only because there will be plenty of women who decide they'd rather stay in the shadows," Sir Michael stated.

"Out of fear?" Isobel asked.

"Out of intelligence. Women begin showing they can wield power and suddenly men will realize whose actually been in charge the entire time."

Robert, Richard Grey, and Mr. Bryant muttered at that while all the women shared secret smirks. General Lothrop merely chuckled and when Mary glanced at him the old solider shrugged.

"I've known for decades that I am lord and commander in the field… and Mrs. Lothrop is the general in the house," he told Mary, who nodded in approval.

"But what of the men who don't agree with your comments?" Sybil chimed in.

Sir Michael rotated his hand about while Thomas brought in dessert; Cora bit down her annoyance that it wasn't Sir Anthony's favorite pudding, the one she'd tried to get Mrs. Patmore to make, but at least it was one of the cook's best desserts and would work well enough to end the meal. "I have found that the men who bellow the loudest about women becoming independent are the ones most likely to be cast aside by someone better." Robert opened his mouth only to snap it shut, catching on to the trap Sir Michael had laid. Edith, for her part, giggled lightly and soon everyone, even Robert, were chuckling over Sir Michael's verbal chess playing and how the Lord of Downton had nearly stumbled into it.

"Well, I for one believe Sir Michael is merely ahead of the curve," Sir Anthony said, dipping his spoon into his pudding.

"Yes," Edith began, "I do believe-"

Whatever Edith was about to say was cut off by Sir Anthony's bellow of "OH GOOD GOD!". Cora whipped her head about, watching in shock and horror as the man brought his napkin to his mouth and for a moment she feared that he was about to have some episode that would require a doctor.

It was nothing of the sort as it was quickly determined that the pudding had been so heavily salted that it was simply inedible. Carson quickly whisked away the offending dessert, Thomas and William assisting before their scurried off to the find something more palatable, and dinner continued on as it had been with only a few comments.

It was only Cora who noticed Matthew and Sybil share an amused look and for a moment the mother's intuition that Cora held from raising three strong-willed girls reared up and screamed that this had been a rather poorly done prank. But just as soon as she thought that she pushed it aside… it made no sense. Ignoring the fact that Matthew had put so much work into this dinner that ruining it with a salty pudding was a foolish move… how would they have even done it? The pudding could have only been made, at most, a few hours ago and Cora had been with Sybil the entire time and Matthew had been with Mary welcoming guests. Mary was a rebellious sort at times but she would never cover for Matthew so he might sneak down to tamper with the dessert; not if it meant ruining the reputation of Downton. Her eldest would rather cut off her own hand than do that. And if he had disappeared she'd have made mention of it. And then there was the fact that it would have been near impossible to get down to the kitchen without someone noticing; all the girls had, in their youth, snuck down to try and sneak sweets and each and every time someone had seen them and reported back to Robert or herself. She would have known…

'No, this was Mrs. Patmore. Revenge for my demanding she make Sir Anthony's pudding? Or something else? Robert will handle it, that is for sure.' Cora watched as Matthew and Mary chuckled about something… and Sybil caught Matthew's eye and smirked. 'What is going on?'

~A~O~O~O~F~

John Bates had no delusions that the dinner he and Anna were having was anywhere near as grand or wonderful as what they were having up at the Abbey. And in all honestly it wasn't as good as one of Mrs. Patmore's basic but filling meals. The woman knew how to cook and while the staff would never get the same complex dishes as those upstairs she still worked to make their own meals rather wonderful. That said though, the meal at the Grantham Arms was rather delightful. He'd gotten them the private room and other than the few times the cook's assistant had come in with their plates he and Anna had been left alone, able to dine in peace with only each other's company.

Thankfully the dinner conversation had been rather loose and free-flowing, not at all as awkward as it had been when the two of them had started having their little alone times together. When the two had first begun to court each other (and John was man enough to admit that while he had been the first to make it official Anna had been the first to take the steps towards turning their relationship from 'people who work in the same estate' to 'people who care for each other deeply') it had been awkward and bumbling.

Anna had later admitted that John was the first person she had truly cared for… even when she'd been a young girl she had assumed that she would never find someone to be with. When Gwen would speak of finding husbands Anna would merely go along with her rambling conversations while mentally answering that for her there would be no husband or squirming pink babies or little house to call her own. He didn't know yet what had happened that had made her decide never to become involved with a man but Anna had been firm that she would never love someone like that.

Until she met him.

As for John himself he too had sworn off love but for different reasons. Partly because he respected the vows he had taken with Vera… and partly it was penance for his actions when he had been with her.

'Of course, knowing what I know now… Vera got off far better than she deserved.' He mentally slapped himself though before he could think about his now ex-wife. 'You will not ruin this by dwelling on her. She is gone, at worst hiding in America for the rest of her days and at best about to be shot dead by the Pinkertons. Leave it be.'

The fact remained though that when he and Anna had first begun to see each other as more than friends it had been… awkward. They had fumbled about, trying to be casual without being too casual, overthinking things at times and stressing out about little details that now, with hindsight, John could safely say didn't matter. It was humorous now to think about it but back then it had been anything but. He had been so scared of doing the wrong thing, not realizing that Anna had been feeling the same way. That each had worried that one little slip up would ruin all for them. Only now, having grown to know Anna and who she was, did John see how foolish such a thought was. It would take far more than saying the wrong thing and ruining a mood to drive her away. The same was true for him.

So the two of them sat and ate and they talked. They spoke of many things, from the mundane to gossip about the staff (while never as bad as Thomas and O'Brien even they would find humor in the wild claims that spread about this member of the staff or that) to tales of their own pasts. Sometimes they would exchange quick back and forths and other times one of them would go on for long periods, weaving tales and stories while their companion listened. John in particular loved to listen to Anna talk as it was so rare to see her get excited back at Downton. There she was friendly and pleasant but there was a sense that she had to remain on guard, to be proper and obey the expectations set for her. Could never truly be herself because of the role she was expected to play. Here though, at the Grantham Arms? She could be as open as she wanted, getting excited or frustrated as much as she wanted without Mr. Carson or O'Brien looking down their nose at her or the likes of Thomas or Mrs. Patmore shaking their heads and wondering why she was so happy. She laughed openly and smiled a true smile, not the slight one that barely tugged at her lips that she had to don amongst everyone at Downton.

It made his heart ache, how beautiful she looked when she was truly and completely free to be herself.

John took a sip of his wine; one of the reasons he knew he'd never be able to replace the likes of Mr. Carson (despite what some in the house believed) was that he had a palette that was utter garbage when it came to wine. He'd had a sip or two of the wine served at Downton when Mr. Carson wanted a second opinion and he'd always gone with the butler's opinion because honestly wine was wine. Robert had once told him that you could taste 10 to 20 different flavors on your tongue when you had a truly fine wine but for John it was just one taste and so long as he didn't spit it out in disgust it was good.

"You know the Grantham Arms was built just after Downton was finished?"

"Was it?" Anna asked, surprised. "It doesn't look that old."

"They've renovated and repaired it often." John cut into his dinner, a fine piece of honeyed ham, and continued on. "It was actually the son of the Earl who completed Downton, I believe the third Earl but I could be wrong, who asked that it be built. He remembered a similar building during his youth, before the Crawleys came to Downton, and he wanted to be able to slip away from his duties and go get a pint. He was a simple man who had never expected to become an Earl as he was the third son but his brothers both died and he was left with Downton. Or so the story goes." John looked around the simple room and smiled. "This building is as much a part of Downton as the Abbey, don't you think?"

"Why do you care so much about this place?" Anna teased as she buttered a roll.

"I merely find it interesting," John said.

Anna leaned forward, a playful smile on her lips and her eyes sparkling with amusement. "No… it's more than that. You've brought up the hotel several times now… wanting my opinion, it's history, it's layout… what has you so interested in it all of a sudden? You rarely visit… in fact other than tonight I can't remember the last time you were here."

The sounds of Pamuk thrashing as he died from his forced overdose filled John's head but he refused to allow that rapist to ruin his evening and banished the man to the same dusty corner of his mind that he'd sent Vera.

John shifted uneasily in his chair, the nerves he had been working so hard to keep under control rearing up and making him jittery. He'd been trying to think of the best way to do this, to address this, and hadn't even decided how to broach the topic let alone handle it once started. But now Anna was looking at him waiting for an answer and every second he didn't say a word made her stare at him with even more confusion and the tension was building and-

"You know about what Vera did to me… framed me and tricked me into confessing."

"And you were proven innocent of all charges," Anna stated. "Your record was cleared."

"More than that, Anna. It seems my case caught the attention of some powerful men and they not only restored my rank but gave me a promotion to Major."

"That's wonderful!" Anna declared before pursing her lips. "I assume though they won't try and get you to reenlist?"

Bates waved her off, patting his bad leg. "No… even if it weren't for this I doubt they'd bring me back. What matters though is my pension."

"You got one?" Anna asked, delighted. "John, that's-"

"I didn't just get my pension instated," He said, cutting her off. "They paid me back for what I should have made had I retired instead of been sent to prison."

"That's… that's… over a decade's worth…"

He nodded, still amazed himself at the thought of just how much money the government had given him. When he'd gone to London to finalize the entire agreement his lawyer had been forced to call a doctor after John had become lightheaded from the news of the government repaying him for all the damage done. He'd just wanted to be free of Vera and having his record cleared had been a bonus. But the payment? That had been beyond his wildest hopes to the point he'd never even considered it! Hell, with how the government was he wouldn't have been surprised if they had found a way to make HIM pay THEM. And yet there were the pounds now sitting in his bank account…

"What… I just can't…" Anna shook her head. "I can't even process how much money that might be." And then she began to snort and laugh, John staring at her with concern as she held up her hand. "I'm sorry… it's just… we work for Lord Grantham and yet it is your pension that seems like so much money to me."

John shook his head and joined in with the laughter. "Believe me, I understand. It's easy when it is them but for one of our station?"

"What do you plan to do?" Anna asked. "It's a lot but I gather not enough to retire."

"No… not with it just as it is." John reached over and gripped her hand. "Anna… I've bought the Grantham Arms." She blinked, clearly processing what he said. "I bought it Anna… that's why I wanted to know what you think! The sale will take some time and Mr. Lorrings has agreed to stay on at a salary and manage things well into the new year so I can get everything in order and understand all that needs to be done… but I've bought this place!"

Anna just gaped at him before squeezing his hand. "That's… that's wonderful, John."

He swallowed hard. "Is that a yes?"

"A.. a yes?"

He closed his eyes. "Remember when we talked about our dreams? What we wanted out of life?" He shook his head and growled. "I'm doing this all wrong. All nervous and bollixing things up." He released her hands from his and reached into his pocket, selecting the box that he'd gotten in London three weeks back, when Robert had decided to take Matthew to his club. Only Mr. Molesley knew, as he had gone with him while their employers were out, and the man, while a bit rattled at times, had been very helpful as John had made his selection. The box had been sitting in the back of John's sock drawer, hidden away lest the likes of Thomas come sneaking about, and every day John had looked at it and gripped it in his hands and told himself that it was REAL. "You'll… you'll forgive me if I don't get down on one knee…" he pull the box out and held it out for Anna to see," as I think it would ruin things if you had to help me up."

And with that John opened it to reveal the small but tasteful diamond ring.

"Anna Smith… will you-"

"Yes," Anna said, cutting him off as she both laughed and cried at the same time. She leaned over the table and pressed her hands against his cheeks, her lips touching his with a spark and fire that reminded John of mortars going off… but in the best possible way. "Yes… I will marry you."

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: So for those thinking this was merely a filler chapter…nope. Not only did Bates fulfill his dream of buying a hotel… but he and Anna are engaged!

Much quicker than canon, too!

One fun fact: John's rather bumbled proposal? Based on how my father proposed to my late mother. He told her "(his brother) says Spring would be a perfect time to build a house" and when she said "Okay?" (confused) my father asked "Is that a yes?" Only when she said she didn't understand that he revealed the ring.

…my parents weren't overly romantic types, for as much as they loved each other (if you don't believe me my father spend nearly a year living in a hospital room so my mother wouldn't be alone… the last month of her life he slept in a chair beside her bed in the ER and refused to leave).

Now then, onto the plotbunny.

This time I'm going with something very simple: what if, in Series 2, Matthew had never gone back to the front and stayed touring Britain? And what if there was an accident with a deranged and dying soldier in Downton and when Mary attempted to stop him… he shoved her over the second story balcony and she fell to the ground, breaking her back?

Basically, what if the wheelchair arc in Series 2 had happened to Mary? What if she woke up unable to walk? How would Sir Richard handle it? Matthew? The family? Mary herself? Because for how terrible it was for Matthew… a women in the 1910s and 1920s being paralyzed? Unable to have children?

Yeah, that would cause problems.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Hughes sighed as she looked over at Anna, hating that she wasn't able to talk with the maid and find out just why she had returned from her dinner with Mr. Bates looking as if she had been given all her hopes and dreams on a silver platter and then asked if she wanted seconds. Of course Anna wasn't smiling now, as the sweet soul could never truly so openly flaunt her own happiness when it was clear someone was upset. And how could she miss something was amiss with the sounds of Mrs. Patmore alternating between raging and sobbing in the kitchen, which everyone was avoiding like the plague? So instead of being able to talk with one of her favorite members of the staff Mrs. Hughes was stuck standing by the entrance to the kitchen trying to decide just how she was going to handle the cook who had just ruined the first dinner thrown by Lord Grantham's heir and his soon-to-be wife?

(not that he'd asked for her hand yet but honestly if Mr. Crawley didn't soon he was as big of a fool as many of them had believed him to before when they'd first heard of him)

"How bad is it?" Mr. Bates asked, stepping up to her and taking off his hat, Anna already retreating to her room. When Mrs. Hughes shot him a look he shrugged. "Some of the kitchen maids were talking when we came up to the house… something about destroying pudding?" They heard Mrs. Patmore let out a curse that made Mrs. Hughes' hair curl just from the fierceness of it and Mr. Bates grimaced. "But I imagine that it is more than that."

"Actually that is about it," Mrs. Hughes said. She went on to tell Mr. Bates about the salted pudding that had been served to the Family and their guests. "The problem is that the pudding was eaten by Sir Anthony, who made his… displeasure… quite known, from what Mr. Carson says. He's rather upset about this, as you can imagine."

"And what did William or Thomas say?" Mr. Bates asked. He held up his hand, apparently sensing that she was about to press him on his statement. "I've worked here long enough to see that what Mr. Carson thinks is a grand disaster for his Lordship is rather mild to the rest of the world and what is a mighty success is merely a normal day that went well. Thomas will only see the negative but he won't take it to the extreme Mr. Carson does and is more likely to focus on what it means for the staff rather than the family. As for William he is rather young so he will most likely not see any issues with what happened and only give the facts. Combined all three and the true picture of what happened appears."

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth only to click her jaw shut and sigh. "You have a way of seeing things for what they really are, don't you Mr. Bates?"

"Merely able to watch and observe, Mrs. Hughes."

She shook her head at that. That was putting it lightly. Thomas had whispered to enough people that Mr. Bates was a sneak and no one truly believed it as how could someone as nice as Mr. Bates be a sneak? Yet more and more Mrs. Hughes was seeing that there was more to the valet than he let the world see. He seemed to always be in the right place but never intruding. All went to him, trusted him… and as such he knew things that the likes of Thomas would kill to know. She was suddenly struck by an old line she'd heard was from some French book, one that she hated associating with Mr. Bates… but fit him all too well: la plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas.

The most beautiful trick of the devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.

"Mr. Carson feels that Sir Anthony was utterly humiliated and that the honor of Downton has been destroyed forever. He has gone to his office to fret about how Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley will never be able to live down what happened here and Downton will be blacklisted for generations. He fears for their future children and how they will be doomed to marry far below their station. As for Thomas he is convinced that since it was Mrs. Patmore who made the pudding and that she refused to make the dessert her ladyship requested that the poor woman will be cast out into the cold before the night is over. He is also whispering, though not very loudly, that Carson will get the boot as well for not dealing with the issue when it first appeared. As for William he doesn't quite understand what the problem is as it was just a bit of salty pudding and Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary seemed to find the whole thing rather humorous."

Mr. Bates raised an eyebrow at that. "Lady Mary found it funny? That doesn't sound like her."

"I suppose we are all used to seeing her as utterly emotionless that the idea of her being mirthful is a strange and odd thing."

"So it sounds like the pudding caused some problems but nothing the family can't move past," Mr. Bates stated with a small shrug. "Larry Grey utterly embarrassed himself at Downton but I haven't heard of him being isolated and shunned too badly."

"I suppose you are right," Mrs. Hughes said before they both heard something crash in the kitchen. "But that is only part of the problem, isn't it?"

Mr. Bates glanced at the kitchen, stroking his upper lip with his index finger. "Yes… she's only gotten worse these last few months."

"I should have put a stop to it when she first began in on Daisy. I mean, when she began in on her heavily. She always was tough on the girl but when it went from firm lessons to unjustified harassment I should have stepped in to stop her."

"You aren't the only one that should have said something," Mr. Bates said gently. "We all stood by and let her go after Daisy… didn't see until it was too late that she was being far too cruel." He shook his head, staring at the kitchen once more, Mrs. Hughes noticing that he was gripping his cane so hard that his knuckles were turning white. "If she'd targeted Anna…" For the most part Mrs. Hughes, like much of the staff, saw Mr. Bates as a kind soul, one filled with wisdom and kindness that any member of the staff could go to for advice or aid. He'd rapidly been seen as the kind father to Mr. Carson' stern one, something Carson didn't mind as he understood that a house ran better when there was a clear division between those who comforted and those who held the rod and he was happy to play his part. But there were moments where one saw beyond the smiling face and gentle nature and glimpsed the vicious warrior within. When they were all reminded that smiling Mr. Bates had been a soldier and that he had killed. But then, with strength that came from an iron will, he pulled his anger back within himself and turned to her. "Still, fretting about what we could have done won't help Mrs. Patmore now."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "You believe that she is in trouble?"

"You don't?"

"…yes, but I was hoping you'd tell me that I was worrying for nothing."

"I wish I could. I truly do. You aren't in a position I envy. Mrs. Patmore is a friend of yours, she has served Downton a long time… but she has mistreated the kitchen girls, she's snapped at other members of the staff, she refused a request from her ladyship, and now she is brought shame to Downton, at least in Mr. Carson's eyes. None of that are things people can simply brush aside."

"Not just in my eyes but everyone's, Mr. Bates," Mr. Carson said, joining them. Mrs. Hughes felt sorry for him as it was clear from his creased brow and heavy-lidded eyes that he was emotionally and mentally drained."I find it pitiable that so few see just how grave this disaster is for the Family."

"It was one mouthful of pudding," Mrs. Hughes argued. "He didn't leave in a huff, did he?"

The butler puffed up a bit. "Only because he has a great respect for Lord Grantham and a greater respect for presenting a dignified front, though I doubt anyone would have blamed him had he overturned the table and demanded to be shown out. That doesn't mean he will forget what has happened and the damage we have done to his character. We have embarrassed a knight of the realm and made him into a foppish clown in some penny-circus and the word will spread that none can trust Downton not to do the same to them!"

Mrs. Hughes stared at the butler, wondering just at what point his little choo choo had gone off the tracks, while Mr. Bates merely said, "Sir Anthony could flip the main table?"

Mr. Carson blustered a bit before taking a breath. "Metaphorically, of course." Mrs. Hughes pressed her lips together as hard as she could in fear that she would laugh and set the stuffy butler off. Oh how she cared for that man but he did not like it in the slightest when he was made fun of, especially when he knew in his heart of hearts that he deserved the mockery. "But the fact remains that because of Mrs. Patmore's actions Downton now finds itself in crisis."

"We're sure it was her who made the pudding?" Mr. Bates asked. "Not one of the kitchen maids? Honest mistakes have happened, after all, and I'm sure his Lordship and her Ladyship would understand."

Mrs. Hughes let out a weary sigh. "She tried to blame Daisy when we first got the news but William stood up for her. Said that Mrs. Patmore herself was making the pudding and that she'd even told Daisy to go away- not in those words, mind you- and let her handle it."

Mr. Carson nodded gravely. "She then tried to blame William himself, claiming that he had done something but of all people it was Thomas who stood up for him, telling her that she couldn't just blame others for her mistakes. After that I told everyone to leave save Mrs. Patmore and informed her in private that I needed to think over things before we would speak." There was another clatter of dishes being washing far to hard, if Mrs. Hughes had to guess, and all three of them winced. "She's been like this ever since."

"Something will need to be done, though I don't know if I have the heart to do it," Mrs. Hughes said sadly.

"That is the role we must play. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Mrs. Patmore has brought this down upon her and she only has herself to blame."

Mr. Bates glanced at towards the kitchen, where the cacophony had once more turned into quiet murmurs and moans of distress. "Well, she has been under a large amount of stress."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head though. "I beg to differ, Mr. Bates. While I do sympathize with having to train new kitchen maids and deal with the many changes these last few years have brought that doesn't excuse her actions."

"I wasn't referring to that," the valet said with a casual air. "I was referring to her losing her sight."

Mrs. Hughes' whipped her head towards Mr. Bates so hard it made her neck hurt.

"What are… you think…" Mr. Carson stammered.

"I don't think, I know," he said with a sad smile. "She's particular with where things are placed in the kitchen; doesn't like it when someone moves something without her knowing about it. You've seen her snap any anyone who comes in before they even have a chance to pick up some sugar or a spoon, warning them to not mess up her domain. Because she won't be able to find it again easily. She works not by sight but by memory." Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to claim that it was just Mrs. Patmore being her normal stern self only for the valet to cut her off with his next point. "When I first came here she would leave once a week to go down to the village and talk with the local bakers, to see if they had learned of anything new that she might try. And once a month during the spring and summer she'd travel to a farmer's market to look over the spices and such. She didn't go this year and in fact she hasn't left Downton in almost a year. On what days off she does take she spends the time in her room."

Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson shared a look, both wondering how they had missed that. Mrs. Patmore always enjoyed her trips to Ripton and the other small towns in the area, returning with new ingredients and ideas for dishes. While she hated new equipment, feeling that if you couldn't make something with the pots and spoons you already had it wasn't worth making at all, she loved to discover new ways to make her dishes even better. Yet she had found excuses this year, usually about how Daisy was lazy and needed to be constantly watched, that kept her from going. Both felt a flash of guilt at failing to notice how she'd basically become a hermit within Downton.

"She takes her meals in the kitchen after the other kitchen staff has eaten and rarely joins us…" Mr. Carson finally said, his anger and bluster reduced to fragile words. "I know it is common for her to not join us for meals but she used to do so for special occasions. Not anymore. And to dine by herself? I thought… I thought it was just wishing to be by herself."

Mr. Bates nodded. "If you are able to watch her you'll see she is very slow when eating. She's afraid of making a mess. And for all her complaints about Daisy you'll notice that she is putting more on the girl than one would expect. Daisy isn't a cook's assistant yet but she's treated as one. Mrs. Patmore doesn't chop vegetables or work the stove anymore… she just barks orders. And for what dishes she does make she has someone else assisting her. The pudding is the first thing she's handled completely on her own in a while… because normally it is rather simple to make."

Mrs. Hughes felt herself sway slightly. "That's why she denied her ladyship's request for Sir Anthony's favorite dessert… she simply can't make it. She couldn't read the receipe! Oh, the poor dear."

"Yes," Mr. Carson rumbled, rubbing his forehead with one of his large worn hands, "but that merely shifts us from one problem to another."

"I know that!" Mrs. Hughes snapped, instantly holding up her hand. "I'm sorry… that was unkind of me."

"I have a bad feeling unkind will be a title thrown at both of us before the end of the night, unless something can be done. I doubt very much even his lordship, with his understanding and kindness, would keep on a blind cook who ruined a meal." Mrs. Hughes wanted to argue against that, by everything in her soul she did, but she just couldn't. Because she knew he was right.

Mr. Bates shook his head though. "Talk with her but don't do anything drastic. I'll talk with Lord Grantham tonight, see if he can't think of a different route to take."

"With all due respect, Mr. Bates, it should be I who discuss with his lordship the termination of a long standing member of the staff."

"And with just as much respect, Mr. Carson, you know how his lordship is. Thrust something at him and he will react quickly and many times incorrectly. Give him a day or two and he will come to a conclusion that helps all and makes us all wonder why we didn't think of such a solution." The butler glowered for a moment before letting out a sigh and nodding ever so slightly; it was well known that Robert Crawley could be rash when life suddenly shifted only to regret his actions later. Mrs. Hughes was staring at one example at that moment: his lordship had fired Mr. Bates (why for none of the staff had ever learned) only to make a great scene of dragging Bates out of the car he was to take and telling him to go inside before admitting to Carson he'd been wrong. "And with that I believe I will head up now. I'd like to have time to prepare for his lordship finally coming to change and I imagine he will have to discuss with me."

"Of course," Mr. Carson said. "And thank you, Mr. Bates. I hope you do not take my… outburst at your suggest… in a negative light." The valet smiled and shook his head and Mr. Carson let out a sigh of relief and Mrs. Hughes quietly thanked the Lord above that Downton had the likes of John Bates and Anna Smith and hoped that would remain true for main years to come.

"Mr. Bates?" Mrs. Hughes said as the valet turned to leave. "You'll beg my pardon in how rude I and everyone else has been, seeing the state of things. How was your dinner with Anna? You both seemed rather joyful when you returned."

"I should say so," Mr. Bates said with a sly grin. "Anna has agreed to marry me and by this time next year the two of us will be running the Grantham Arms. Goodnight." With that the valet turned and limped away, leaving Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson to stare at his retreating form.

~MC~MC~MC~

"I want to go down there so badly," Sybil whispered, keeping her wine glass close to her lips so that no one could easily read her lips. "Just wrap her up in my arms and tell her that it will be all right in the end."

"You know you can't," Matthew warned her, much to her annoyance. Mostly because she knew he was right. "I know she means a lot to you, that she taught you how to cook, but we have to let this play out."

"I could at least tell Mrs. Patmore that she won't be fired." She watched as her sister chatted with Mr. Bryant, apparently rather interested in a chair that he had been commissioned to make for some baron's daughter. Normally Mary didn't care about furniture, prefering clothing and such (Mary was fond of saying that you could place someone in a squat mud hut and as long as they wore the right jewels and gowns they would still look like a queen) but his work in taking rescued wood of cultural interest and turning it into fine pieces had clearly grabbed her attention. It was respecting the past while making something new… something her sister could respect.

"You'd only make things worse," Matthew said slightly, keeping his tone polite but firm. "We can't solve everything with future knowledge."

"It just drives me mad, to know how the mood must be down there as we stand here chatting and relaxing. They all must be so terribly worried. Ready to think they all of them will suffer because of that pudding." She shook her head, disgusted in the unfairness of it all. "We don't realize how small things for us are grand disasters for them. That what we can laugh off leaves them shaking with fear. Tom was always fond of telling me how this action or that, which I couldn't even remember, caused a panic downstairs. He used it as an example of how our way of life was horrible and must be torn down to create his worker's paradise."

Matthew tilted his head a bit at that, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You don't sound as offended by that as you should."

"I lived in Ireland for over a year and was a nurse for nearly 4 years. Plenty of time for the bloom to come off the rose, as it were. The reverse, I would say, of what happened with you?"

Matthew chuckled at that. "So the lawyer became a blue blood and the Earl's Daughter became an Irish revolutionary."

In a lower whisper Sybil adopted a rather good Irish accent. "I won't be tellin' if you won't, boyo." Matthew clearly forced back a snort of humor and Sybil smirked as she reverted to her natural accent. "You'd be surprised how handy that came. It's hard to shop at the grocer talking like an earl's daughter." She swapped again. "But tell the dosser whose acting the maggot when he should be packin' me groceries ta hurry it up? That works rightly."

"I would pay good money for you to do that in front of your father… or your grandmother."

"I'd rather not give granny a stroke," she said, slipping easily back into the posh tones of high society.

Matthew smiled at that before the corners of his mouth drooped ever so slightly. "How is Tom?"

Sybil was startled by that. Matthew had not agreed at all with her decision to tell Tom the truth. In fact it had led to the first true fight either of them had ever had. In the past Sybil had raged at her parents and with Tom while Matthew had fought with Mary far too many times than Sybil could count, but during both of their lives the two of them had gotten along rather well. But when Sybil had revealed to Matthew that she'd let Tom in on the secret of their traveling back in time Matthew had stared at her, demanded she repeat herself three times, and then he had gone utterly cold before finding her father and telling him that Sybil wished to take him for a walk, to show him a church he had expressed interest in. Sybil had been mildly confused by his sudden actions but his reasoning had become clear once they were alone in the woods: he didn't want any witnesses when he began yelling.

It had worked well for Sybil. She didn't need any witnesses when she yelled right back.

They'd screamed themselves hoarse, unable to find common ground. What had followed had been silence, horrible silence, which hadn't ended with agreement but instead Matthew just walking away. She wasn't used to that; when she fought with Tom or with her parents there were growls and ranting and cold words, maybe someone storming off with a huff (usually her) but within a few hours, maybe a day or two, things would be settled.

Matthew had refused to speak with her for nearly 3 weeks.

She had attempted only once to break him out of his vow of silence. She had approached him in the street, hoping to force the issue. He had, without ever opening his mouth, politely walked her back to Downton, passed her off to a confused Carson, and left, sending word later that he wouldn't be attending dinner that night.

Her anger at his pigheadedness had finally given way to depression. She'd grown used to talking to him, confiding in him… for him to ignore her made her feel once more completely alone. It didn't help that she couldn't turn to Tom, as she had promised to give him space, to let him come to her. She finally told Gwen about the fight (not what had caused it, only that it had happened) and her dear friend had told her that the best she could do was to give Matthew time. She hadn't liked that answer but seen that it was her only choice. And when he had finally approached her and offered his terms she had accepted: they would go about things like normal but she was not to discuss Tom until he brought him up. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, that she couldn't come to him for help until he decided that he was ready to help, but she had accepted it.

And it seemed not Matthew's exile from assisting in her love life was over.

"…coping, I suppose," she finally said. "He's had enough time to accept what I told him. He doesn't think I'm mad but…" she let out a tired sigh. "He doesn't like the idea that his fate is written in stone."

"Tom was always independent," Matthew said. "He could play his role, he could adapt, but he never became the person we wanted him to be… instead he made us compromise. He would dress the part and attend the parties but we had to change too."

"I suddenly have a vision of him burning the union jack at the dining table and then asking Carson for a box for the ashes."

Matthew laughed lightly at that, shaking his head. "Oh, nothing that terrible. In fact he managed to get along well before I… died." He made a face and Sybil did as well; it was hard to think about, the fact that they had both passed on. Sometimes it mad them feel like ghosts who were walking the halls of a home that they were haunting. "It took a while… for the first few months he did all he could to avoid anyone other than family. Your mother and father decided to begin holding dinners again about 2 months after you passed but Tom always took his dinner early and then would hide in the nursery with Sibby. But after about 5 months he began to join us… and it wasn't awkward. Well, the first one was but not because of Tom being there because he was the chauffeur but because he was the widower who was finally allowing himself to live again. But after that he blended quite well. No one looked at him and wondered why he was there. We welcomed him. And he… he welcomed us."

Sybil bit her bottom lip to keep herself from crying. "That's all I ever wanted. All I want now."

"It will happen. Just give it time."

"But that's the problem," she said, watching as granny and Cousin Isobel began to debate something; with the two of them it could be anything. "I'm not sure if he will. I told him that I would give him time but-"

"That was your mistake," Matthew interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"Tom and I became good friends after we began to manage the estate together. Very good friends. And I learned with Tom that you can't press him too hard on things… but you also can't step back and wait for him to make a decision. He won't ever take an action, not unless he is truly desperate."

"That's not right though," Sybil argued. "I know Tom… when it comes to life he is fiery and passionate!" She lowered her voice before anyone noticed their conversation. "He doesn't back down. He stood up to papa-"

"That was a matter of anger. And pride. Of belief. But friendship? Love?" Matthew motioned for her to follow him and they walked out of the room, Matthew chuckling like she'd just told him a joke. No one batted an eye as it was common for the two of them to disappear; if it wasn't clear that Matthew loved Mary with all his heart Sybil was sure her family would believe the two of them were a couple. As it were her parents and siblings had accepted that Sybil and Matthew saw each other as sister and brother and had a close relationship. The two of them moved to stare at a random painting, Matthew sipping from his glass before he continued. "When he first told you he cared about you… how long was it till he brought the topic up again?"

Sybil licked her lips. "I… I think several months."

"And after that? How many times did he bring it up? Just him? Not you?"

"Not often," she said in a small voice. "But… but he was the one that finally said he would leave-"

"Because you gave him no choice. He gains his courage when it comes to friendship and love when he has no choice. But otherwise he waits and watches. And that is what he is doing now."

"But I promised I'd give him time!" Sybil exlciamed.

"And so you have. But now it is time for you to go to him. I'm not saying you need to be as brash as you were… but you can try and be friendly with him. Give him space but know when to go to him."

"You make it sound so easy."

Matthew laughed. "Oh, if I am doing that then I apologize! It will be bloody painful… more so than wooing Mary I'll wager. With her I knew exactly how she would come at me and how to deflect her blows, parrying every strike while also making my own against her heart. It was a fight but I knew every attack she had. You and Tom are going to dance but neither of you will know the steps first and you'll be hearing different music. Sometimes he will lead, sometimes you. That is just how things will be. It will be up to you to know when to start and when to follow."

"…I suppose getting him drunk and having my way with him is out of the question?" Sybil teased.

"Very much so," Matthew said with a smirk.

The two of them glanced towards the pallor, Edith's laughter filtering out to them. They couldn't see her but they could hear the joy that rushed past her lips, unfiltered and unstoppable. It was the laughter of someone who was truly delighted and amused and didn't care if the world heard it because they were just so happy. And the world didn't care because how could one hate such a wonderful sound?

"Edith seems rather pleased with Aunt Rosamund's gentlemen guest. You say that you met him before, in our previous life?"

"I did," Matthew stated. "But only for a short while. Mostly at Duneagle… the chap was rather poor at hiding the fact he had come to see Edith. But he seemed like a decent sort, save for the issue of his wife, which he claimed he was cleaning up. Edith began writing for his paper… it was the first time I'd seen her truly step out of the shadows and into the light."

"Wait," Sybil said, turning to face him, confused by what he had just said. "His wife?"

"He was married," Matthew confirmed, "but his wife had… well, there is no proper way to put this… she had lost her mind. He had her placed in an asylum and according to him the doctors had no hope of her ever growing well. Rather sad, of course, but it did give me pause about allowing him near Edith. No matter how she was he did make a vow… in sickness and in health."

"But he isn't married here," Sybil stated. "Aunt Rosamund told me. And he never has been. Do you know when he married her?"

"Before the war, I believe he said." Matthew's brow furrowed at that. "Yes. Before the war. It was the death of two of her brothers early on, some of the first casualties if I remember correctly, that drove her mad to begin with and she attempted to kill herself with some awful drugs but all those did was destroy what hopes for a return to sanity she had left." He looked towards the parlor, jaw working. "He said they had been married for several years… you are sure Rosamund said he was unattached?"

"Positive!" Sybil exclaimed.

Matthew raised his glass to his lips only to lower it again without taking a drink. "He wasn't a knight when I met him. And he certainly hadn't purchased parts of Sir Richard's empire." He glanced at Sybil, a forced smile on his face. "I think we need to rejoin the party. I have a question or two for your aunt."

"And I for granny," Sybil said, the two reentering the room before splitting off, Matthew heading towards her aunt who was chatting with papa while Sybil found her grandmother sitting alone, her 'conversation' with Cousin Isobel at an end. "You were trying to play nice, weren't you granny?" she asked, taking a seat next to the Dowager Countess.

"Hmmm, it should be me lecturing you instead of the other way around. I'm not sure how to feel about you being so mature… makes me feel old."

"Well don't worry… I heard someone once say 'you are a woman, British, and rich… you'll outlive them all'."

Granny smiled at that. "Well, one can only hope. Now, why have you come to chat with me? What mad scheme are you and Matthew plotting? Don't deny it… no one else may have noticed how you left but I did. You two always sneak off now when you are scheming… though I'll admit I rarely discover what sinister plan you've hatched."

"Nothing sinister, I can assure you. Merely… concerned and deciding on the best course of action." She nodded towards Edith and Sir Michael.

"Ah. The protective sister. And I know Matthew told you and Edith he saw you as family so I shouldn't be surprised he is being overly careful when it comes to you two and your love lives." She pursed her lips as she looked about the room. "Still, why come to me? I see Matthew has the right of it, going to Rosamund, but why not go to someone else? General Lothrop spends much of his time in London, same with the Bryants. They would offer you the knowledge you seek."

Sybil though shook her head. "I'm not interested in what anyone might have heard in passing. I want to know his secrets and you are the only one that will know." Her grandmother gave her a startled look but Sybil merely shook her head with a smile. "Don't pretend you don't. And don't pretend granny that there isn't a guest that comes to Downton that you don't look into long before they arrive."

"My dear, you make it sound like I have an army of spies!" Granny said with a laugh.

"Not spies," Sybil said sweetly. "But I know that unlike my mother you have helped many young women make good matches. Daughters of knights and those new to our station. Those who sought you out because they knew you would steer them not just towards profitable matches but happy ones as well. And in return if you should send them a telegram asking for information about Sir Michael…" Sybil held her hands out, palm up, in a 'what can you do?' gesture.

Granny's smile fell and she stared at Sybil with a critical eye. "And how did you come to this reasoning?"

"Because it is what I would do… and you are smarter than me."

"…I don't know if I like this new mature side of you, Sybil. It is far too easy for me to control the family when all of you are like your father and mother." Still, even with her acidic comment the corners of the old woman's lips were tugging up. "Though I suppose it is good to know that I do have an heir after all. Someone to keep all of them in line. Now, as for Sir Michael your concerns are unfounded. He is a proper gentlemen and I have heard of nothing that would suggest anything unsavory. He Is a bit older than I would have preferred for your sister, should she take an interest in him… and at this point I dare say she has, that much is clear… but nothing scandalizing about the two of them becoming friendly. He earned his title, of course, but for honorable work; he has reported on several important events and uncovered some rather ghastly dealings within Parliament that were quickly dealt with. Oh, I'd prefer a lord, of course, but there is nothing to say that he couldn't earn that kind of title as well… its rare but it can be done, of course! Would be different if it were Mary, the eldest is always expected to go to an old family, but with Mary and Matthew close to being settled I have little problem with some fresh blood. The gossip is rather light about him… he isn't one to go to clubs and his circle of friends are all above reproach. The only true negative is that in his youth he was far too fond of cards in my opinion but with age comes wisdom and rather than sink further into it he has found moderation." Granny nodded her head. "Yes… not quite the match I would have preferred to Edith and I'd never have suggested it but if it makes her happy I wouldn't stand in her way. But don't you think I'll allow you to make a similar choice, my dear!"

"Oh, no knights for me, Granny. Now, I only press because Matthew mentioned in passing that he thought he'd heard that Sir Michael was married. But he admitted he could be wrong… he heard it a long time ago, when papa had taken him to London with him to visit the club."

"And he is wrong," granny said firmly. "If you think for a moment, my dear Sybil, that I would allow a married man to make one of my granddaughters his mistress you disappoint me. I'd have seen him cast out before we got to the second course." She shuffled a little, as she was want to do when she was mulling something over, before adding, "Though it did come close to that. The marriage question. Lady Rose Abenthford told me about it a few weeks ago. You remember her, right? She visited with her family when you were…oh… I'd say ten or so. Lord Viccan's daughter. Well, she said the only bit of true gossip concerning our newspaper man. It seems that Sir Michael had been seeing a Miss Elizabeth Moorehouse quite exclusively a year or two ago but he broke it off quite suddenly. Shocked everyone as they thought he was sure to ask for her hand but apparently he'd become rather busy building up his little printed empire and wanted to dedicate himself to that. It happens, of course… something to watch out for when you marry, my dear. Your husband may decide to take on a new project and become obsessed with it. A few months is fine, even a year, but if it goes on further than that then be worried. Make sure to remind him why he married you."

Sybil frowned. The Miss Elizabeth Moorehouse could very well have been the woman Michael Gregson married in the previous timeline but here the relationship had ended suddenly. She knew that Matthew and her were making changes to history but she doubted very much that having Mary take Matthew on riding trips would cause a newspaper man in London to leave the woman he was courting.

"Do you remember when they broke up?"

"I can't say that I do. Long enough for it not to be indecent for him to be speaking with Edith, if that concerns you."

"Was it after the Titanic sank?" Sybil pressed.

"What an odd…" granny got an odd look of consideration on her face. "Yes… now that you say it I do believe it was. He broke the story, if you didn't know, and it was that tragic event that first got the attention of the king and would lead to his knighting…"

Sybil chatted with her grandmother for another 10 minutes after that, catching Matthew's eye and glancing at Sir Michael early on. The two of them waited until, finally, Edith was pulled away by Isobel before they left their respective conversations and moved to corner Gregson as one.

"Sir Michael, a moment of your time," Matthew said with a smile.

"But of course," Sir Michael said, flustered slightly as Matthew and Sybil led him out of the room. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, very much so," Sybil said. "We just wished to talk."

Matthew nodded, taking the lead. "You will be spending the night, of course, and much of tomorrow?"

"I planned to, yes. Lady Rosamund said it would be fine and I arranged for my papers to get by without me. Why?"

Matthew flashed a lazy smile. "Oh, Sybil and I were thinking of taking a drive tomorrow and we wanted you to join us. I do so enjoy taking the motor out and seeing just how fast I can go."

Sir Michael went white as a sheet.

"Whipping the wheel about, rushing along bends… there is a thrill to it, you know, to be so dangerous. To know that you are risking yourself by truly pushing the auto to its limits. Of course, there is no danger in it… I am an excellent driver and you would have nothing to fear."

"I… I don't know about that," he stammered and Sybil and Matthew shared a look.

"I suppose you are right," Sybil said casually. "After all… it isn't like Matthew died in a car crash after returning from Duneagle."

"Or Sybil here died in childbirth," Matthew added.

Sir Michael stared at them, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. And then, in the quietest voice, he said, "Or were murdered in Germany while seeking a divorce so I might marry Edith."

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And for those who guessed it congrats… yes, Michael Gregson is the final piece of our Trinity. He also returned back in time from the moment of his death to the sinking of the Titanic.

I knew almost from the start that Gregson would be the final part of the Trinity and thus seeded little things about him, about how he was gaining more power and standing, throughout the story. And finally we can reveal his role.

I know there are people who prefer Bertie and trust me, I get it. He is a wonderful character. But I always felt Gregson was the better fit. The self made man. The one who truly believed in Edith long before anyone else did. Don't worry about… I actually have plans for him and several other characters who aren't going to get their show happy endings but will get happy endings all the same here. There is one coming in Season 2 of this story that is going to be so delicious.

For those curious we have one more chapter to go before we move into the finale of Season 1 and the beginning of the war. Next chapter we'll find out a bit about Gregson and how he reacted to what had happened, Matthew and Sybil will learn what happened after they died, and the Trinity will make plans. After that we are going to do a time skip to the summer of 1914, right before and right after the lawn party. And we'll get to some MASSIVE drama that is going to shape Season 2. If you think it is going to be the same… this is where the story begins to pull away from canon hard and we explore the ramifications of Matthew, Sybil, and Gregson altering time. Sometimes you are the author of your own fate… but sometimes fate doesn't like its affairs being tossed asunder.

Luna Lovegood from my Harry Potter Story:…well, that was friggin' ominious.

Stop breaking the fourth wall, Luna! And you owe me 20 bucks for that pizza!

Ahem.

Onto the plot bunny.

This one would be in Series 4, so Matthew has passed on. Robert holds yet another dinner and one of the people invited is the son of the new Russian diplomat to England. The son would be a brash sort, who insults and mocks people and feels he can do whatever he wants just because of who his father is. He at one point notices a necklace Mary is wearing and, wanting it for 'his woman' tries to buy it but Mary refuses, as it was a gift from Matthew. Later in the night the diplomat's son bursts into Mary's room and demands the necklace, flanked by his servants. Mary tries to fight but he strikes her and Tom arrives only to be savagely beaten. The diplomat's son then steals the necklace but also Sybil's wedding ring (which Tom wears around his neck) and causes the Series 4 fire to cover his escape, telling Tom and Mary that they can't touch him due to his father's power; his father isn't just a diplomat but one of the biggest crime bosses in Russia and a friend to the new ruling party and thus even England won't dare touch him.

The next day as Robert rants and swears he will see the diplomat's son pay Tom, very quietly and coldly, asks for a shovel. This startles the family but Tom merely asks for the shovel and they follow him, while he is still in his pajamas, out to the garden and where Sybil's favorite flowers are growing.

Meanwhile, in London, the diplomat's son summons a fence of his to pawn the ring. But the fence, seeing it, freaks the hell out and demands the diplomat's son get his father there now before he conducts any business. The diplomat crime boss arrives and the fence says only five words: "That is Tom Branson's ring" . The diplomat instantly tells the fence he can leave. The diplomat then tells his son a tale… how years ago, before the war, there was a young Irish radical who helped their family. He was the best assassin the world had ever known. His cover many times was that of a servant and he would use the great estates of Europe as his bases of operation as he murdered all sorts of people with poisons and knives and anything else you could think of. He poisoned a Turkish diplomat. He killed several generals. He once murdered 3 men with a pencil. But then one day he asked to retire. He had fallen in love and wanted to be a good man for her. So the diplomat gave him an impossible task… and he did it.

And then the diplomat's son… barely a year and a half after the assassin's wife died… went to his home, assaulted his sister-in-law, and stole his wife's wedding ring.

Because that assassin… is Tom F$%^ing Branson.

And from the spot where Sybil's favorite roses bloomed Tom, in front of the family, would dig up a chest filled with guns, knives, bombs, and poisons, and tell them he'll get back Mary's necklace now and he apologizes for the mess he's made of his clothes.

If you haven't figured it out by now this plot bunny is basically Downton Meets John Wick. It would have Tom and Mary (because she would insist on going) journeying to London and Tom going on a roaring rampage of revenge.

Chapter Text

Matthew felt a twinge of sympathy for Gregson as he sat in the dining room, swirling the glass of brandy that Matthew had prepared for him, having not yet taken a sip from the glass. He knew what it was like to discover that one wasn't alone in traveling back in time and Gregson had been forced to go through it alone far longer than Matthew or Sybil had. Keeping such great secrets had a way of eating away at someone but they also had a way supporting a person. Motivating them to continue on. It was both wonderful and horrible to have to give up such a secret. To make matters worse he and Sybil had forced him into revealing the truth to them. It hadn't been his choice to reveal his secret, he hadn't been given a moment to prepare. They had thrust it upon him and now Matthew felt terribly guilty about that. Terribly guilty.

'But it couldn't be helped. We had to know.' Matthew swirled his own drink before taking a sip, letting the amber liquid warm his chest. 'To leave that secret out there unsaid would have been an unstable element that we simply couldn't have. We had to know the truth. We just had to.' He glanced at Gregson and smiled slightly. 'The least we can do now is give him a moment to compose himself.'

So Matthew sat and drank. He had convinced Robert that he needed to talk with Gregson alone, that Sybil had come up with the idea of Gregson doing an article about Smithers' woodworking and that it would be the perfect advertising for their business. Robert had quickly moved to get the smaller dining room set up, offering them William but Matthew had quietly suggested that Gregson, as a newspaper man, might be more comfortable serving himself. Seeing the logic in that, thankfully, Robert had agreed and after William had set up the room the footman had returned to the main party so that Michael, Gregson, and Sybil (their excuse being that she had come up with the idea) were able to chat together in peace.

Not that there was much chatting. Gregson was gathering himself, working through the sudden change to his world in that he wasn't alone and that there were others out there who had traveled through time. He was mulling it over, much like Edith did when she was trying to figure out how to write up an article for the Sketch, seeking out the correct path to take. Matthew himself was seated across from him, his glass half empty as he pondered just what this meant for all of them. It added more danger to the mix as a secret only remained a secret when only one person knew the truth. But it also offered more opportunity and Matthew would be a fool not to seize it. As for Sybil she was leaning against a wall, a drink in her hand and one of her father's cigars held in her fingers. She'd taken several drinks (telling them both that she'd prefer a fine Irish Whiskey but the brandy would do) but hadn't puffed on the cigar and Matthew wondered if she'd grabbed it purely to look more rebellious. Knowing the little minx she had.

Gregson finally sighed, setting his glass down. "I don't know where to begin."

Matthew shook his head. "Only two ways, really. One is painful, the other less so but harder to admit."

Keying in to what Matthew was suggestion Gregson went with the former: his death. "I went to Germany to get a divorce from my wife, so that Edith and I could be together. She rightly stated that she wouldn't be my mistress and I knew I couldn't lose her. I had accepted that I wasn't meant to be happy again when it came to love, that I was destined to be alone, and then she came into my life and showed me that what I had thought was love was like claiming a match was the sun. Because my wife in that… life? Time?"

Sybil waved him off. "Grammar is bloody confusing with all this. We need to sit down one day and make our own guidebook for how to talk about such things."

Matthew rolled his eyes while Gregson smiled weakly. "Perhaps."

"You were speaking of why you went to Germany," Matthew prodded, wanting to get the conversation back on track.

Gregson nodded and finally raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. "In England a divorce can't be had just because of a spouse's mental state. But in Germany they do allow such things so my goal was to become a citizen, divorce Elizabeth, and then return to be with Edith proper. My mistake though was being a decent man."

"What do you mean?" Sybil pressed.

"It was shortly after I had arrived in Germany, I believe about a month or so. I had gone to one of their taverns for a drink when a group of Brown Shirts… they are, were… will be?... a mob of young men who claim to be protect German identity but are really just violent thugs. They decided to make as their target a tailor due only to him being Jewish and I tried to calm things down. I was set upon and beaten, my head nearly caved in and my limbs broken." Gregson reached up and touched the right side of his head, clearly remembering what it had been like when his skull had shattered. Matthew knew all too well the need to check for such wounds, as many mornings, if he awoke to find himself lying on his back, he would hurriedly check his chest to ensure that his ribs hadn't been shattered and his chest crumbled into a mess of blood and bones. "I lingered for… I can't remember. Days? Weeks? Months? I would fall in and out of consciousness, cared for by some kind soul. My memories are so fuzzy of that time, my brain destroyed and I rendered little more than a wretched fool who could only moan and not comprehend what was happening to me, not in the moment.

"And then I woke up and I was all better. I could move. I could speak. I could relieve myself-" Gregson blinked and blushed. "Pardon, Lady Sybil. I shouldn't-"

"You could piss and shit," Sybil said with a smirk. When Gregson stared at her in shock she raised her glass in a mock toast. "Earl's daughter… Irish Radical's wife. Cheers."

"You'll get used to her being like this," Matthew said, shaking his head. "Dying has made her more… open to expressing herself."

"How long did it take you to get used to her?" Gregson asked.

"…touché," Matthew muttered.

Gregson chuckled lightly and took another sip of his drink. "I dare say I startled everyone at the paper when I came running out of my office… I hadn't even realized that I'd awoken on the small cot I kept at the paper rather than my home… greeting them like friends I hadn't seen in ages, which for me was very much true. I believed for at least an hour that I was dead and I had ended up in my eternal reward. It made sense then, as I had been taught by my minister that we created our own personal Heaven, should we do well on this earth and keep ourselves free of sin. My heaven would have been the paper with all those who I couldn't save from the draft there and happy. I wasn't startled not to see Edith because I had hoped… still do… that she would live a long and happy life. It was only when the news began to come over the wire, that impossible news that no one would have ever considered, that I knew that I wasn't in Heaven."

"The Titanic," Matthew murmured.

Gregson nodded. "Indeed. I suppose another man would have been shaken to his core… I suppose you were, Mr. Crawley-"

"Matthew," he said, holding up his hand. "I think, considering all we have gone through, we've all earned the right to call each other by our given names."

"-Matthew," Gregson…Michael… said with a smile, one that Matthew returned.

"And if you are about to chastise yourself for your actions after hearing the Titanic sink know that I prayed to the Heavens that it had and celebrated that disaster before setting to work deciding just what I would do with my second chance. So you are not in a room with those that will look down upon you."

Sybil shrugged. "I lost my mind for a few days, thrashed about and acted like a madwoman. And that wasn't even from learning about the Titanic."

"Right," Michael said, it clear he felt better after their comments. "What happened next was not what I had planned. Once the news began to break over the wires I told my reporters to begin getting what information they could, commanded the printers to pulp what we were going to put out for that morning's issue, and then went for a walk to clear my head. I began to wonder if I was going mad, if I had dreamed the last decade of my life, and first needed to situate myself before I continued on. It was madness to go out that early, before the sun had even risen, as who knows what could have jumped me and caused me to end right back where I was in Germany, but at that moment I hadn't honestly cared. By the time I returned to the paper I knew I needed to prove to myself that this was all real. I went to my office and began to write down everything I remembered about the Titanic."

Matthew smiled. "I did the same thing. That disaster changed my life, both this one and previous, and in the life I had first lived I studied up on it quite heavily."

"For me it was different," Michael stated, tapping his skull. "Newsmen need to remember details, in case one story can tie into another. Many criminal enterprises have been shattered because a reporter realized a crime committed in the now had markings of a similar one in years past. Thus the Titanic Disaster is firmly ingrained in my memory and I was able to put down details quickly. I was planning to check it against what was reported when Lowell, one of the men I'd assigned to the Titanic story, came in and saw my notes." Michael shook his head, clearly embarrassed. "He thought my walk had been to speak to an informant and at that moment I had no choice but to write about the Titanic myself."

"And in turn be the first to break the story," Sybil said, moving to sit with them.

"Correct. It put my paper on the map. The temptation soon grew far too great and I began to write about other stories… some of them articles that in my first life I hadn't been brave enough to publish, others that only could come about with future knowledge. Within a year I found myself in control of an empire and kneeling before the king to be knighted."

"Don't feel too badly about the empire," Matthew said with a chuckle. "You broke Richard Carlise and that is something I can toast too."

"I'll drink to putting that man in his place," Sybil said, raising her own glass. Michael, after a moment, snickered and brought his brandy to join theirs, the three toasting the stymieing of the gossip hound.

"It wasn't just my knowledge of events that helped me though," Michael told Matthew. "I have over 10 extra years in the business… I have seen what is coming and can thus move ahead of the curve, guiding it, rather than merely react. Update to machinery I know will benefit us, set up the articles in more pleasing ways, turn certain sections to interests and topics I know the public will love." He looked down and smiled faintly. "Many of the ideas were Edith's. Others were inspired by her. A few I chose because I hoped to make her proud when I finally found her again." His smile slipped. "You… you have no idea how hard it was not to come and find her after a day." He suddenly looked up and his lips twisted into a grimace. "I take that back… you two most certainly know."

"Just a touch," Sybil said, holding her finger and thumb about 2cms apart.

Matthew leaned forward. "And your wife?"

Michael grimaced. "I hated to do it… not because I wanted to marry her but because I knew the pain it would cause her. I still care for her, you understand? But my love for her could not match my love for Edith." He paused, considering his words carefully, weighing them in his mind. Matthew let him. "One wonders, after they have lost a person they truly cared about and then found another to love and cherish, if their new love is truly better than what they had before. If they aren't… grasping at what there is in a vain attempt to reclaim what was taken from them. Did I truly love Edith more than I did Lizzy? Or was I merely desperate to feel something again. But this?" He held his hands out wide. "I was given a choice no other man has been given: to return to Lizzy and save her from madness… or let her go and be with Edith. I can now say beyond a shadow of a doubt that what I felt for Lizzy can't compare to what I feel for Edith."

Matthew nodded his head. He hadn't considered it till Michael had brought it up but he too had been given that option. He could have gone to Lavinia, even been the heir and still gone to her. Wooed her and married her before the war started and then made sure she was someplace safe so that she would live. He could have convinced her that America was safe. He could have gone with her to avoid the fighting. Perhaps bought a cabin somewhere in Canada and the two of them could have lived like frontiersmen like one heard about on the radio. She would have cooked flapjacks and he would have grown a thick beard and they could have lived by themselves, safe in their snow-covered home.

But he hadn't. Other than making a note about saving her life he had never considered going to her, being with her. Because she wasn't Mary.

Matthew smiled, running his index finger along the table. 'How oddly wonderful,' he thought to himself.

Sybil finally set down her cigar and narrowed her eyes. "Well, I think I have been more than patient but I do believe it is time to move to the heart of the matter: what happened with Tom and my baby."

"Sybil!" Matthew exclaimed, horrified at how brazen she was being.

"Oh bugger off, you want to know what happened with George and Mary! Don't deny it!"

"I don't but you could word it a touch better!"

"I think I was rather nice," Sybil challenged. "I gave Michael here time to gather himself."

"That isn't-"

Michael snorted, causing the two to grow quiet. "You truly are like brother and sister, aren't you?"

"Yes," the two of them said in unison.

Shaking his head, the newspaper man turned to Sybil. "I didn't interact much with the family, I am afraid to say, and your husband almost never. And I only visited Downton once." Sybil tried to keep it together but Matthew could tell she'd been struck a heavy blow. "But luckily for you Edith was a proud aunt and loved to tell tales of her niece and nephew." Matthew reached out and took Sybil's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Your husband, Sybil, and your wife, Matthew, became quite the team in running the estate. Speaking of which… wills." Michael locked eyes with Matthew and suddenly the lawyer blushed, realizing what Michael was getting at.

"I will… see to it Monday," Matthew said, Sybil glancing at him in confusion. He shook his head though, silently promising to clue her in later. Mostly because he knew that Sybil would mock him terribly for being a lawyer (and overly prepared fusspot, as she was fond of saying) and yet never having thought to make a will. He remembered his letter he'd written, commenting on that very fact, but realized that such a thing was a poor substitute and that he needed to do better.

"After you passed, Matthew, Edith said that Mary was… like a ghost. She'd expected her to become bitter, vile, to be angry and nasty. Much as she had been in their youth." He held up his hand. "And I know that I am only hearing one side of the story and Mary-"

"Was exactly like that when it came to Edith," Sybil interrupted, nodding her head.

"Completely and utterly," Matthew added with a smirk, only to sober when Michael's words truly sank in. "It was that bad?"

"It truly was. I only saw her after the fact but Edith told me how badly your death affected Mary… affected the entire family. Lord Grantham had been shattered while Lady Grantham had, according to Edith, alternated between sobbing and cursing God for the waves he sent against your family's ship. Your husband, Sybil, was left adrift and Edith admitted that if it hadn't been for your daughter he would have left England within days. You were his dearest friend, Matthew, and your loss so close to yours, Sybil, left him broken."

Matthew pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to Sybil, who dabbed her eyes free of tears. He didn't blame her as he wanted to sob himself. While he knew in his heart that that life was over and done and would never come to pass now it still hurt him to hear how his passing had affected the family. More so now that he had grown all the closer to them. Robert and him were like a kind uncle and a favored nephew (he would say father and son but nothing Robert did would ever replace Matthew's own beloved father) and with Mary…

'Tonight,' he thought to himself before turning his attention to Michael, motioning for him to go on.

The newspaper man though seemed slightly unwilling to continue and Matthew mentally braced himself, knowing that what he was going to say next would be even worse. "Your mother, from what Edith told me, plunged herself into work. I think she wanted to find something, anything, to fill her time so she didn't need to think about your passing. With your wife it was the opposite… she couldn't do anything because all she thought about was you. Edith said that she was listless, at times just sitting and staring at nothing, dead to the world. She couldn't muster the urge to care for your son and it fell to the likes of Lady Grantham, Mr. Branson, and Edith to watch over him during those long months."

Matthew thought for sure his heart would crumple at those words but he forced himself to remain firm and listen.

"Luckily by the time I saw Edith again, as the entire family was in mourning and thus trips to London couldn't be made, she had begun to move past her pain. To focus on the estate, on your son… on living." Matthew smiled at that but then Michael shifted. "And…"

"She began to seek out companionship, didn't she?" Sybil said. Matthew turned to stare at her and Sybil shrugged. "It is expected of our class. Had Edith married Sir Anthony-" Michael, who had begun to take a drink of brandy, coughed and sputtered at that little tidbit before glancing at the door (clearly Edith had never told him about her suitor), "-she would have been expected to marry again after he died. If a widow is a certain age they are expected to marry again. Tom could get away with never seeing another woman after my death, though I would be rather cross with him for dooming himself to loneliness, but if it had been he who died? Even with my daughter I'd be expected to marry again. The same with you if it had been Mary."

Matthew grimaced at that. "I know it is 'till death do us part' but I've always been a firm believer that life after death meant such vows were… forever."

"Oh you sweet naïve man," Sybil teased, patting him on the cheek. "Michael, don't you dare tell Matthew who Mary was seeing." Matthew let out a squawk of protest but the sister of his heart shook her head. "I know you Matthew… you would not be able to hide your anger and hatred if you faced such a man across a dining room table. You barely managed with Pamuk."

He wanted to argue against her but he knew she was right so Matthew didn't say a word.

"Well, I do believe that with this we move on to the most important matter," Sybil stated.

"And what is that?" Michael asked.

"What do we do now?" Matthew and Michael stared at her and she rolled her eyes. "I don't mean right this minute… I mean how does this change our plans… or yours, Michael." She gestured at the three of them. "You were working alone. We only had each other. Suddenly we all have help and that changes the game we are playing. Makes it more complex but also allows us to do so much more. We have become the authors of our own fate, so I ask again… what now?"

Michael tried another sip of brandy, since his last taste had been spat out. "I just want Edith to be happy. I assume the same is true for you two as well… I mean with your loved ones-"

Matthew shook his head. "No, you are right. I want Edith happy. And Tom. And Mary. We want our family to be happy and I think the three of us, working together, can do that." Matthew stood up and rolled his shoulders. "But before we do that, there is something I need to correct."

~MC~MC~MC~

Tom frowned as he went up the stairs, grimacing as he looked down at his warm jacket. He'd been waiting in the garage, sitting by the stove near his bed reading a rather good book on the American Revolution ('those blokes knew how to take on England and give them a kick in the balls') when William had burst in, shivering from the cold and flush from running, and told him he was needed inside. Tom had been puzzled by that; he'd been waiting for the Dowager and Mrs. Crawley to be ready to head out, as everyone else was going to stay the night, but he didn't see why he was needed inside. He'd asked William if he was sure, as Tom didn't want to leave the garage only to have to race back because the excitable fellow had gotten things mixed up, but William had gotten frustrated and actually barked that Mr. Carson wanted everyone in the dining hall. Tom had thrown on his all black driving outfit and hurried after William, racing to the servant's entrance to find everyone, even the hall boys rubbing their tired eyes and the groomsmen letting out cracking yawns, standing gathered around the table, bunched up in tight knots.

Almost all the usual suspects had been there, save for Mrs. Patmore. Gwen, who Tom had chosen to stand next to, whispered that she wouldn't be joining them as she was simply too upset and she promised to tell him later. Thomas and O'Brien had been milling together, thick as thieves like always, while Mrs. Hughes had been near Mr. Bates and Anna, looked bewildered yet happy while the maid had been beaming ear to ear and Mr. Bates had looked ready to dance a jig. Even Mr. Molesley had been there, though Tom wasn't surprised at that as the man had come to see to Matthew… Mr. Crawley ('God damn you, Lady Sybil!'). At the head of the mob had been Mr. Carson, who had been clearly doing a head count as his eyes had swept over the room before clearing his throat.

"Now then, I know this is highly unusual but Mr. Crawley has requested that all of us come up to the main hall." There had been a murmur at that and Tom had raised an eyebrow and mentally wondered if this had anything to do with Mr. Crawley and Lady Sybil traveling back through time. He did hear someone mutter something about sackings and salted pudding but Tom hadn't been able to figure out what that was about and even if there were sackings Tom realized, much to his own dark amusement (and a touch of annoyance) that he was going to be spared no matter was as Lady Sybil would never fire him. Mr. Carson had raised his hands, asking for silence. "I do not know why we have been asked but I will assure you Mr. Crawley was in fine spirits when he asked me to gather you all so I trust it is nothing bad. But you all will be respectful and quiet and show Mr. Crawley the honor he deserves."

That was how Tom found himself at the tail end of a procession of servants, making their way up the stairs while he hated the fact he hadn't be able to dress properly and was in a black jacket with his cap on. At the door he found Mr. Carson ushering them all through, the butler so out of sorts by the unusual request that he didn't even blink at Tom's improper attire.

'Must be serious if he isn't blustering about me not being in white shirt and tie,' Tom thought to himself as he walked into the hall and moved to stand next to William. He noticed that all the guests from the dinner party were there too, looking as confused as the servants were. 'So nothing bad then… Lord Grantham wouldn't allow anything horrid to occur where his rich snob friends could see. Would look bad for him.' He glanced over without meaning to and caught eyes with Lady Sybil, who for once didn't glance away. Ever since she'd revealed the truth to him she'd been avoiding him, clearly trying not to put pressure on him. But today she'd decided to lock eyes with him and flash a cute little smile. 'Careful there, Tommy boy,' he thought to himself. 'Don't be thinkin' the Lord's daughter is 'cute'. That way leads only to badness.'

They didn't stand there for long as within a few minutes Mr. Crawley moved to the center of the room, a wide smile on his lips. Tom hadn't interacted much with the future heir and, if Sybil were to be believed, another time traveler. Which was fine in Tom's book as he didn't quite know how he would manage with Mr. Crawley. It was already bad enough that the man was middle class and thus wouldn't have had as much of a need to keep himself separate from the working class. Great of Tom's goals (and he hoped Matthew remained like that because it would only mean good things for the servants) but not so great for his career. But add into that the idea that he had known Tom not as "Branson the Chauffer" but "Tom, Sybil's Husband" and he'd feared the awkwardness that would come from such a conversation.

Mr. Crawley cleared his throat and everyone grew quiet. "I know you are all confused but… but I'll ask you all to indulge me just a bit." Tom grimaced; whenever his last employer had asked for people to do that it meant a long winded speech that didn't affect anyone and was being done purely so the old windbag could hear herself talk. "I've been thinking about happiness recently and how it is so different from everything else in the world. It is just as precious as gold or silver but unlike those things one doesn't need to horde it like a miser, clinging to it and keeping it for themselves. Because the beautiful thing about happiness and joy is that when you spread it out it expands… and the more people you include in your happiness the more it grows. It doubles, triples… multiplying upon itself."

The lawyer-turned-heir walked over the Lady Mary and took her hand, the Earl's daughter staring at him with quiet hope. Tom glanced around and saw that several other people on the staff had clued in to what was happening and were getting misty-eyed.

"I know that I wasn't what you expected," he told her. "I know that I wasn't the man you dreamed of when you were a child. And I know you were ready to hate me when I first came here." Lady Mary opened her mouth to reply only to blush and snap her jaw shut. "Just as you weren't what I expected in my youth. The Earl's daughter and the middle class lawyer. We have come from two radically different worlds… but that doesn't mean that we can't make a brighter one to call ours. You… have lived your life. And I have lived mine. It is time we started living them together."

And with that, as the servants and family and guests gasped and murmured to themselves… Matthew Crawley dropped to one knee.

"Lady Mary Crawley… will you-"

"Yes." She laughed, falling to her own knees, not caring if she wrinkled her dress or looked silly kneeling there in the middle of the main hall. Instead she clasped his hands in hers and nodded, tears in her eyes. "Yes."

And it didn't matter if those watching had been there since the dance had begun, or had joined in late like Tom, or if this was the first time they had seen the two together. All gathered felt the same thing, the thing Matthew had spoken of.

Happiness.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: And thus we wrap up the Winter Party Saga. Not as good as the Frieza Saga when Mr. Bates went Super Valet but… wait, no… that was a crossover idea I had. Nevermind.

Next up we move into the final arc of Series 1. We'll be jumping ahead to the summer, where we will see Matthew and Mary preparing for their wedding, Sybil and Tom growing closer as they help Gwen, Bates and Anna preparing to leave service…

…and a certain unborn baby and a certain War to End All Wars lead to tough decisions. Tough decisions… and great drama. And words said without thought. And friendships and family broken. The timeline is about to make a hard left, folks… if you think you know what is coming, think again. This is where everything changes.

So for this chapter's plot bunny I honestly didn't have anything for a while and I was growing concerned. Had my plot bunnies finally stopped producing? Where they settling into old age and no longer interested in making babies? And then a rather simple idea hit me and I knew we were still in business.

This plot bunny is based on something I have yet to see in a long form fanfiction: Patrick didn't go on the Titanic. He did wait, as Robert and Cora assumed, and thus weren't on the ship when it sank. Patrick lives... and that changes EVERYTHING.

The backstory for this story continues on roughly the same for a while. The only real difference is that Cora turns her attention to Edith (as Mary and Patrick make it official before 1913 that they are engaged) and thus several of the people brought to woo Mary in the show instead come to visit Edith (and maybe she does end up with one of them… wouldn't it be nice if she is Mr. Napier ended up together?). It isn't until Pamuk that things change a touch. He still seduces and forces her to have sex with him and he still dies. But this time things are FAR more dire. Mary gets Anna and her mother because if she is found out it isn't merely scandalizing... Patrick will break off the engagement and Mary will be utterly done for. This makes the Pamuk thing all the more dangerous for Mary.

But she does hide it and by 1914 she and Patrick are wed (and with Edith maybe in a better place the embassy is never contacted). Sadly... the day of their wedding is when England declares war on Germany. Patrick enlists after a few months but Mary hasn't had her operation to allow her to have kids and thus when Patrick goes off to fight she still isn't pregnant.

And then the news arrives. Patrick is dead. Not from fighting though. No... Patrick began to have a relationship with a French woman who was aiding the Germans... and he turned over military secrets to her. Patrick was found out and tried to escape and was shot in the back. He is officially labeled a traitor.

Meaning that Downton is suddenly plunged into scandal as it's heir was a war traitor who cheated on his wife (who couldn't give him a child) and shot dead fleeing like a coward. Basically the worst situation Mary and the family could be in.

But what about Matthew, you ask?

Having never become the heir Matthew continued on with a rather normal life until the war. Unable to trade on being Robert Crawley's heir to get a good assignment Matthew was stuck in the trenches... but then, during a vicious battle, Matthew bravely proved cover fire for his entire squad. His actions saved forty lives. But that wasn't all. When his commander was killed Matthew took command, led the charge that retook the lost territory, and saw the Germans forced to flee, allowing the English, led by Matthew, to capture a town that had been turned into a German Stronghold. Matthew is soon brought back to London (he was shot during the battle but it was a minor wound) and is hailed by the papers as a hero. People line the streets to see him, the powerful want to shake his hand, and the King himself knights Matthew for his services. He is basically the most popular person in England and there is already some political groups trying to convince him to run for public office.

And then the news comes that Matthew is the heir of Downton.

Of course for the papers (including Richard Carlise who Matthew ends up becoming friends with in this reality as there is no taint of Mary and Matthew Will They Won't They and Carlise, while a gossip monger, would be someone Matthew could rely upon) this is horrible for Matthew. The War Hero of England is now the heir to the Downton Traitors? How awful!

ANd this is where the story would truly begin. A Downton in tatters, disgraced, scorned by high society... and a Matthew who is beloved and seen as the greatest man in Britain. A war hero and possibly a future prime minister.

Wouldn't that change the balance of power?

Chapter Text

June 28th, 1914

London

Mary's arm snaked around Matthew's as they walked along the finely manicured pathway of one of London's finest parks, enjoying the rare bright and sunny summer's day. She knew that so many on the continent looked at England as something out of a Holmes novel ('Damn Matthew getting me addicted to those stories!' Marry thought with a silent chuckle): a foggy city forever in twilight, with only the quiet sounds of echoing footsteps and the light patter of drizzle upon the cobblestones. And for the most part they were right, especially in the spring and the fall where it felt as if there was no escaping the overcast unless one was willing to burn candles from dawn to dusk before letting the darkness take them as sleep came upon them.

But during the summer there were moments where Providence gave all good English men and women a boon. The skies would clear, the air would be warm, and the sun would bathe them all in its glorious rays. Sometimes she didn't know how the French managed with so many sunny days as, in her opinion, one needed the cloudy days to let you truly appreciate the beautiful summer hours. After all, wasn't it all the dark moments of her life that let her truly see how precious and wonderful her current happiness was?

Mary felt as if this day was one that truly would go down in the memory of all those that were lucky to be a part of it as something quite magical. There was almost an otherworldly feeling that permeated the air, making her feel as if she had set a picture book upon the ground, pressed one of her toes against a page, and fallen into a world where all was right and perfect. The grass was a deep green and finely trimmed, the path she and Mathew were walking on perfectly cared for, and the only clouds in the sky were white fluffy ones that knew not to block the sun and instead just merrily floated along, taking the shapes of bunnies and puppies for the sky gazers. The light breeze was scented with rose petals and every time Mary breathed in she couldn't help but smile.

Of course Mary also knew that the world wasn't truly perfect. But it felt like it was when you were with the right person, the one being in all of existence that could chase away, even for her, the dark thoughts and cynical preconceptions and let her see the world like an innocent would.

"You've never done this before?" Mathew asked, turning and taking them along a side path towards the smooth calm pond that lay under the shadow of a truly great maple tree. The only others to share the spot with them were a pair of splendid white swans who moved silently along the surface, leaving little ripples in their wake. "Seems very odd... like a childhood rite of passage you never completed."

Mary shook her head, the corners of her lips quirking slightly. "Downton does not have many ponds and certainly not ones such as this. The river is far too muddy for a little girl to go scampering about and the bridge is too high to see much below the water. At most I would play pooh sticks with papa but that was about it."

"No wonder you seemed so startled when I bought these," Matthew said, pulling a paper bag, the top of which had been bunched up in a wrinkled mess. It crackled as Matthew unrolled the edges, the sound almost thunderous in her ears compared to the silence of the park, and he motioned for her to cup her hands, which she did so with a playful roll of her eyes, bread crumbs tumbling into her upward turned palms. She must have been scowling because Matthew began to chuckle. "Come on now, it will be fun."

"I'll take your word for it," Mary said, trying to be nice but already preparing to be gentle when she let Matthew know how utterly bored she was. The walk was just lovely and she didn't get why they couldn't just continue that. From the moment he'd stopped at the small bakery and asked for a bag of bread crumbs Mary had been resisting the urge to roll her eyes and tell him to stop being silly. They were adults and didn't go about tossing breadcrumbs about.

"No, you will enjoy it. I know it. Feeding fish may sound rather simple and bland but once you've done it you find it a calming delight."

"Matthew, the only fish I like to interact with has been in one of Mrs. Patmore's pans with a nice sauce and a sprig of asparagus next to it."

They'd neared the edge of the pond and Mary looked at the still water, clear enough to see the bottom near the edge but rapidly growing dark as she peered further off. The swans paid them no heed and continued their lazy bobbing. It was a picturesque place and Mary would have much rather spent her time having a picnic with Matthew than standing there looking like a fool with scraps from a bakery in her hands.

Still, no matter how silly she felt, she wouldn't trade this moment for the world. Ignoring the fact that she got to spend time with Matthew, which was always a delight, it was nice to be away from the drama that was Downton. When Matthew had told her that he needed to head to London to discuss with some merchants contract details for buying from 'The Downton Brand' (as he and papa had become fond of calling their project to see the estate financially secure) she had convinced him to bring her along so they might have some time together without everyone constantly watching them and wondering their reactions to all that was happening. Even just having a few hours to sit and read a book or get some new gloves was helping to settle her overtaxed nerves and get her back onto equal footing. From the way Matthew was holding himself Mary could tell he was feeling the same way.

Her sisters had found it all the much easier to get away from everything that had come up over the last few months. Edith made the trip to London nearly every two weeks visiting Sir Michael's paper. She of course spent her nights with Aunt Rosamund but from what Mary had gathered from her sister much of her days were spent at The Sketch, talking with the reporters, learning about how Sir Michael put together the paper, and even writing a few articles herself. Mostly opinion pieces but Mary couldn't deny that her sister had a knack with the written word. It was all rather curious. Ask Edith to talk to a group of people, even ones she knew rather well, and she became awkward and a pain to listen to. It always seemed to Mary that Edith tried to be cunning and smart but it always failed horribly and made her out to be rather pathetic. Desperate. At times Mary swore her sister plotted ahead with what she wanted to say, writing out scripts and practices her grand speeches so that they sounded off the cuff. But then Edith would open her mouth and turn himself into an embarrassment. Looking over her articles though saw the woman that sister wanted to be finally revealed. Where her own tongue could not get across what she wanted to say (or if it did it came off as a weak imitation of the strong women in Edith's life) putting her fingers on a typewriter's keys led her to be witty, charming, cunning, acidic yet captivating, and truthful without being harsh. Paper Edith… was someone Mary would have been friends with. Or at the very least seen as a worthy rival.

Now that was a stunning revelations!

As for Sybil she had her entire focus on her pet project: the maid Gwen. Mary knew that Mama had come to think that Sybil had been focused on helping the maid get a job as a secretary purely because of the secretiveness of it all. Sneaking around, clandestine meetings, whispering plotting… that had been the thrill. Bring it all into the light and after a month or so Sybil would grow tired of the struggle and would pull away. Thus mama had suggested they just allow Sybil to get it out of her system. Papa had been heartened by that as he assumed that without Sybil driving Gwen on the girl would give up her dream and he wouldn't be forced to hire new help. Papa so hated interviews.

Sybil, ever one to buck the expectations the world placed on her, had proven them wrong though. Worse, or better depending on if one was watching just to enjoy the chaos that Sybil seemed to manifest as easily as others breathed, rather than the revealing of the truth causing her sister to stop her actions it had seen her tackle it with all the more gusto and force. Where beforehand she might have only talked with Gwen about it during quiet moments when the maid was assisting her in changing for dinner she now openly brought it up whenever she saw her and had no problem shooting dark glares at anyone, be they Carson or papa or anyone else, who dared to linger too long with judgmental glares. On Gwen's days off Sybil would openly declare that she was riding with her to this town or that for an interview; the maid herself could never have taken the car but if she just happened to be going where Sybil was going her parents had no choice but to allow her, sighing to themselves and, Mary guessed, cursed O'Brien for ever getting her beak in Gwen's business. One time the family had walked into the library to find Sybil had roped Matthew into giving Gwen a mock interview with Branson the chauffer taking notes; Granny had merely stared before turning and hurrying out, declaring they would never talk about it again.

But for Mary there was no way to escape. Not the interview but life at Downton in general. She was engaged to the Heir of Downton and many of the issues that had arisen in the last 6 months connected to her (at minimum tenuously). She couldn't go scurrying off easily, as it was expected of her to take a stronger hand in the running of the estate and all that happened. Which mean that she had to-

"Goodness!" Mary exclaimed, nearly leaping back into Matthew's arms. She'd barely thrown the first handful of breadcrumbs onto the pond's surface when a truly massive fish, dark orange in color and nearly longer than the length of her arm from elbow to fingertip, swam up and opened its mouth to practically inhale the baked offerings. Matthew let out a laugh and she whirled around, slapping his chest. "That is not funny!"

"It's a little funny," Matthew teased.

Mary turned and watched as more fish swam up and began to feast of the spreading bread crumbs. "Those… those are goldfish! How are they so big?!" She had seen goldfish before at the village fairs, but those had always been tiny things that happily swam in small glass cups that looked like they might die any moment. The monsters before her looked like they could be leviathans that would hunt down maidens and be slain by heroes.

"I think they might be koi, actually," Matthew said.

"I don't care what they are, they are huge!" Mary exclaimed. "…do we have more breadcrumbs?" Matthew laughed and handed her the bag, Mary, crouching down and tossing another handful to the hungry fish, smiling in delight as they attacked their meal.

As she watched the large fish gulp down their treat Matthew moved to squat down beside her, holding the bag so she could reach inside and retrieve more crumbs, her mind drifted to all of the problems she was trying to forget about that waited for her at Downton. Well, not problems so much as drama. It felt like her life had suddenly become some complex play with multiple subplots all running at the same time and that was hilarious for those watching but not for those living it.

Matthew and her engagement had been the first tremor upon the foundation of Downton but it was a rather pleasant one… at first. There had been cheers and well wishes when she'd said yes and for several days afterwards Mary had gone to bed with her cheeks hurting from all the smiling. The servant's ball had become their first event as a couple and everyone from both upstairs and downstairs had demanded to break with tradition and allow Mary and Matthew the first dance. After that they'd separated to share dances with the servants, Matthew being a good sport and dancing with O'Brien and then Mrs. Hughes while she got Carson and then Thomas (with Bates sitting out the whole thing for obvious reasons and Branson being nabbed by a grinning Sybil who had most likely talked about Gwen again to the blushing chauffer). Thomas had given her casuall well wishes while Carson had spoken of his joy and while he felt no man would be worthy of her Matthew come the closest.

It had all been wonderful… until the holidays had passed and suddenly everyone in Downton found themselves snowed in and needing something to pass the time and her wedding was the ticket.

'I don't mean to be ungrateful… I want my wedding to be special and the fact that so many want to see Matthew and I get our dream wedding is heartwarming… but goodness sake it can wear on one!'

It seemed every day there was a new decision to make. A week like that may have been fine. A month perhaps. But nearly half a year? Mary was beginning to think Matthew had the right of it that they should just find some small church and ask the minister to marry them in a quiet ceremony. That was what Bates and Anna had done back in May, with only William and Gwen as their witnesses, and they seemed happy enough. There had been a celebration downstairs after they'd returned from their one-night honeymoon at the Grantham Arms and Mary had even joined them briefly so she could make a toast towards their happiness but that had been all. No debates about 7 courses or 8 courses for the meal. No going through so many floral samples her eyes had watered. No multiple visits to the seamstress to get her wedding dress fitted and fearing that if she had even a nibble on a biscuit she would no longer fit into the beautiful white garment and she'd have to start all over. Years later, when she was old and gray and surrounded by her grandchildren she was sure she would look back on her wedding and see it only with rose-tinted glasses but now she was just worn down from the planning. So much planning. She didn't realize there would be so much to do to just commit yourself to another. Wasn't marriage a commitment to God? Why did the church always make God and faith so complicated? Christ had wandered cities and perched and protected and saved… yet she spent more time debating how many tiers her wedding cake should have! Ridiculous!

'Still, at least that is merely a tiresome task and one that distracts well. Keeps everyone's minds off all else.'

For most people it was the war. There continued to be rumblings on the continent, tensions rising and minor conflicts spiking. At first her family did their best to pretend that everything was okay, that these were just the normal saber rattling and that the blood ties of the royal families across Europe would ensure that no true conflict would burst forth. Granny had claimed it would be like Mary fighting with her sisters, which considering how she had bickered with Edith didn't give Mary much confidence. Papa felt that if there was any fighting it would be rather small and rather quick… perhaps half a year at most and between two of the smaller eastern countries, the ones whose names sounded like someone had a mouthful of peanut butter. Mama was far too focused on the wedding to pay attention while Cousin Isobel believed that cooler heads would prevail. It had been Matthew who had proven to be the pessimist, telling them all when asked that this was not merely men trying to intimidate and impress others. That this was long seated arrogance and bruised egos finally revealing themselves and pushing the world over the edge.

"This is a festering wound that on the surface looks only red and slightly risen but all it will take is the smallest bit of pressure to make it burst and spew forth pus."

Thankfully Matthew HADN'T told that analogy at dinner.

Sybil had quickly come to agree with Matthew and joined him in pestering papa and mama in preparing for the war they believed would come. Hording food, securing money, those kinds of things. The older generation of Crawleys had waved off their concerns but it was getting harder with Edith independently adding her voice to the calls to prepare. Apparently Sir Michael had come to believe what Matthew did, hearing reports and rumors and tips of a 'war to end all wars'.

As for Mary herself… she just didn't know. She couldn't believe that so terrible a war would truly come. Even if war did come she'd heard tales of her father's time serving and they were nothing like what Matthew envisioned. For papa war was a pulp adventure… a chance for dashing English lads to claim glory. She knew that some servants even quietly wished the war would come, believing that it would allow for them to claim better lives. Now they were hallboys and gardeners… but in a year they would be conquering heroes in bright crisp uniforms who had flowers tossed at their feet by blushing maidens. Yet Mary heard what Matthew said and his conviction…

Most of Downton worried about the war. But for papa it was a different shake up that was causing him stress. When Mary had learned from Anna that Bates had asked for her hand she'd gasped and hugged her close (though Sybil tried to claim she squealed which was a lie and Mary would say so to her dying day). When papa had heard he congratulated Bates… until he found out that the man planned to leave service. He'd become quiet for days after that, brooding in the library, never saying a word to Bates of course but finally, when Granny had pushed him to actually speak and stop "sitting there like a toad on a very coarse log" he complained that Bates was abandoning him, betraying him, and he simply didn't know how the man could do this. Mary had been horrified as her father whined like a child about how Bates owed him so much and while he wouldn't demand the man not marry (though she had a bad feeling if he could stop the marriage he would) to leave was a disrespect to all they'd been through. Granny had said that papa was being a fool and mama hadn't truly minded because Mary got the sense she'd never really cared for Bates be it for good or for ill. But papa felt as if Bates leaving was a far greater shake up than any potential war. When he and Anna had finally left a week ago to take full control of the Grantham Arms papa had fell into a black mood that made him at times utterly intolerable. She honestly pitied poor Thomas, who had taken up Bates' role once more.

'It now hurts my head to talk to papa. He is either brooding like some gargoyle or excited about my wedding. My wedding…'

Mary paused, her hand held over the water, the bread crumbs clinging to her fingers.

'…or the baby.'

The news that her mother was pregnant had startled Mary. Her father and mother had sat her and her sisters down, just as they had the last two times, and told them the news. Her father awkward, shifting, alternating between joy and nervousness; he was always like that when it came to matters of life. Her mother sitting there clearly wanting to be an American and blurt out the news but also knowing that to be a proper Englishwoman she had to be in control. The first time Mary had gotten that talk she had been confused, far too young to understand. Or, at least, that's what Mama had told her as Mary honestly didn't remember. The second time she'd quietly accepted the news while wondering if this baby would be better than Edith. When her parents had told her for a third time that she would have a younger sibling her first reaction, well hidden so her parents didn't see it, was revulsion.

The idea that her parents still… did…

Even now it made her shutter.

After that she hadn't thought much about it. At least, not until she began to hear the whispers. 'What if it is a boy?' 'What will they do if they finally have an heir?' 'What will this mean for Matthew?'

Mary refused to think about it. She wouldn't. It didn't matter. It didn't.

"So, willing to admit you are enjoying this?" Matthew asked, his head over her shoulder, his breath warm on the back of her neck.

"No. not at all. All rather bland, really."

"Liar."

"I never lie. It isn't my fault the world refuses to accept reality."

"Reality or only what you yourself see as reality?"

"Why can't they be both?" she teased before standing up, Matthew doing the same, their fingers entwined together.

"You know what I'd love?" Matthew asked. "An outdoor wedding."

Mary scoffed. "Don't let granny hear that. She'll think you are turning into some Wildman heathen who wants to be blessed by the trees."

"I know, I know… we are expected to put on a show. It isn't so much our wedding as it is all of Downton's." He said it with good humor, without a trace of bitterness. It was one of the many reasons she cared for him so.

"Perhaps something private after the fact?" she offered. "The estate we are going to for our honeymoon has a private beach… a little piece of shoreline all our own. We could have our own little ceremony, just the two of us. You might even convince me to remove my stockings and shoes and stand in the sand barefoot."

Matthew raised an eyebrow at that, a saucy little smile on his lips that made her stomach tremble in the most delightful of ways. "Rather daring of you."

"And as daring as I will be… outside, of course."

They walked about the park for another fifteen minutes before finally separating, Matthew hailing a taxi while Mary took the car her aunt had provided for her and Matthew back to Rosamund's townhouse. Mary greeted the man that opened the door for her and was about to head for her room to begin changing for dinner only to hear Aunt Rosamund call for her from the sitting room. Changing directions Mary blinked when she saw it wasn't just her aunt waiting.

"Granny, what are you doing here? I didn't know you would be visiting."

"I wasn't planning to," Granny said, taking a sip from her teacup. She looked utterly calm but Mary detected that an edge to her words and steel in her spine. That, combined with Aunt Rosamund trying and failing to hide her clear annoyance and Mary knew that this wasn't going to be a nice and sweet visit among three generations of Crawley women. "You know how I loathe London. Much too noisy and messy. It is a young person's city, I suppose, and I am hardly spritely anymore. That said-" she stirred her tea and clicked the spoon along the edge of the cup, "-when I heard what your aunt was planning to ambush you with I knew I needed to come and provide you some support." Granny, without even glancing at her daughter, rolled her eyes. "And don't give me that look, Rosamund. You think you are far more clever than you really are and you forgot that I have lived longer and inspired far more loyalty in people than you have. You babbled your distaste and doubts to the wrong people and now you must contend with me."

"I am merely doing what is best for the family, mama. As you should."

"Hmmm, that would be the first time, wouldn't it? You actually trying to help the family. Though I suppose the fact that you are utterly wrong in this course of thought proves that sadly that first will remain uncompleted."

"Just like you finally learning that you aren't correct in every thought and opinion, mama. I am still waiting for that one."

"I never claim to be correct in all things. Just last week I went half a day wearing a hat that clashed with my dress. Still, I could be wrong nine times out of ten and still be on the right side of things far more than you."

Mary let out a huff and sat down. "As enjoyable as it is to see you two banter with each other until someone finally decides to storm off in a fit I'd like to know very much what you two wish to talk to me about."

Granny shrugged in Mary's direction. "Well? Go on Rosamund. This is you're mad plan you should be the first to deliver your case to the jury."

"Oh mama, stop trying to make me out to be the villain when I am the only one who is thinking about Mary." Turning to her Aunt Rosamund did her best to smile but to Mary it was like the smirk on a corpse: false and forced and with no emotion and completely out of place. "Too many people have been dancing around the topic and you are someone who prefers bluntness so I will give you just that, my dear: your mother is pregnant and that changes everything when it concerns your engagement."

Mary stared at her aunt for a moment before letting out a tittering laugh. "Oh… I wondered who would be the first to force this issue. No offense, Granny, but I was wagering you or mama rather equally."

"None taken," Granny said. "Though I can't say I'm entirely happy that I was your first pick. I would hope that you would see that your happiness is what is most important to me."

"But you aren't putting her happiness first, are you?" Rosamund said, jumping back into the conversation. She set her cup down and leaned forward. "Of all of you Sybil would be most happy in a cottage. Edith next though if things go along with Sir Michael I doubt very much she'll need to worry about that. Him sleeping in his office is more likely but from what I've gathered from our talks you sister is most likely to join him. But not you, my dear."

"I would hope I wouldn't be in Sir Michael's office when I'm engaged to Matthew."

"No need to be vulgar, Mary," Granny chided.

"You don't know that the baby will be a boy," Mary pointed out, getting back to the topic at hand.

"Exactly. You do not know. A fifty fifty chance. Good odds when flipping a coin to determine who takes white on a chess board but not so good when it comes to your entire future."

"I'd say the odds are more in my favor than you make them out to be," Mary retorted. "When one looks at the sample size the answer is clear: mama has produced three daughters. It seems very likely that she will produce a fourth."

"Others would argue that she is long overdue to have a son and your father finally having an heir."

"He already has an heir," Mary said, her voice flinty. "Matthew. And if we ignore archaic gender laws I am his heir."

"But we can't deny such laws, can we? No one else will. There is a bomb growing in your mother-"

"Oh come now," Granny complained but Rosamund continued on.

"-and it threatens to blow up your entire future. You aren't thinking about this, Mary. You aren't taking this seriously."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "I assure you when it comes to my relationship with Matthew I take it VERY seriously."

Her aunt shook her head. "No my dear, you are not."

"So you would have me cast Matthew aside on a hunch?"

"Yes," Granny said acidicly, glaring at Rosamund. "Yes she would. The fool that she is and the fool you would be to listen to her."

"No," Rosamund countered, her smile a bit more genuine this time. "No. Your wedding is scheduled for September, is it not?"

"It is. On the anniversary of Matthew's arrival at Downton." She smiled as she thought about it… oh, what a story that would be to tell their children and grandchildren. 'Gather round, gather round… now, I know it will be hard to believe but when I first met your grandfather I didn't like him at all! And I made quite a silly fool of myself…'

"Some would say that is rather quick," Rosamund stated.

"Others far too long," Granny retorted. "Especially for those who've wished those two would finally see reason."

"Might I finish, mama?" Mary's aunt turned back to her. "What I am suggesting is you ask Matthew to wait until the child is born. If it is a girl you can wed him happily and all will be as it is now."

Mary shot an icy look her aunt's way. There was no quiver in her voice, no tremble as she sternly replied, "Assuming I could ever be so heartless a delay would prove to Matthew that I only care about the estate and not him."

Rosamund rolled his hand about dismissively. "Then don't tell him that is the reason. Tell him you merely want to ensure things are perfectly settled. You are a young woman, after all and should it go through one would hope it to be your only wedding. You can't be faulted for wanting it to be perfect."

"Meanwhile you send the gossipers fluttering about with news that Mary only cares about the title and bring annoyance and anger to all those we've already worked with," Granny said firmly. "You forget, Rosamund, that much has already been settled. Flowers are being grown, food prepared-"

"All that can be shifted around. Throw a fall party. That which you can't use buy anyway. Downton can afford it."

"Ah yes, the solution for the woman that doesn't have to actually pay for it."

"And we can afford it thanks to Matthew," Mary reminded her. "And Matthew will see right through me if I am so… flippant. He isn't a fool."

"Then tell him that it's because of the unrest in Europe. Robert tells me Matthew is a ninny about the whole thing… simply tell him you are concerned and he'll probably join you in fretting away."

"So you'd have me start my married life with a lie."

"I would have you be happy."

"And I am happy with him! So what if he isn't the heir in 9 months time! He is charming and sweet and so very clever… he could become Prime Minister or Lord Chancellor!"

"Or he may not," Rosamund stated.

"And I love him," Mary added. "And he loves me. Not Lady Mary, not Robert Grantham's daughter… me. He loves me. My faults, my virtues… he loves all of me and I love all of him." She rubbed her temple. "Why are we even discussing something I won't do?"

"It is something you must do," Rosamund said fiercely. "Be sensible. Can you really see yourself dawdling your life away as the wife of a solicitor?"

Granny tisked. "Must you be so overly dramatic?"

Rosamund spun and glared at her mother. "Why is it you are in this lawyer's corner? You debased me for marrying Marmaduke but Matthew gets your praise?"

"I felt it was wrong but I allowed you to make your choice. Just as I felt it was wrong that Robert marry Cora purely for her money. Luckily on both counts you proved me wrong, the both of you. But let us be clear… Matthew is not your late husband."

"Yes, because Marmaduke had wealth already."

"No, because Maramduke was all he would ever be the moment he married you. You were the highest he could achieve. He lacked ambition and drive and the cunning to rise above his station. Matthew has all three. With Mary even if he isn't the heir he will still rise to great heights."

"You know this?"

"I know this," Granny said and Mary wanted nothing more than to hug her grandmother close and whisper her thanks. "I support Mary in this. And so does the rest of the family."

Granny was right. Everyone was being wonderful about this. Mama was careful never to bring up the subject and Papa had told Matthew that he had a place at Downton no matter what. Edith had worried Mary the most but rather than call her naïve or find a way to mock her Edith had clasped her hands and promised to support her and Matthew no matter what. Sybil had been a bit odd when the news struck, looking rather more startled than the rest of them and Mary had sworn that she heard her sister murmur, "It's too soon" but other than that Sybil had remained firm in her support for her and Matthew (or at minimum Matthew… at times it was easy to forget that Sybil was HER sister and not Matthew's!).

"Rosamund… if Mary takes Matthew now when his whole future is at risk, he will love her to the end of his days."

"I never took you for a romantic," Rosamund stated.

"I have been called many things… but never that."

"But Mama-"

Mary stood up suddenly. "No. Enough of this. Granny, I beg your forgiveness for what I say next. All my life I have been told that because I was born a woman it was my duty to find a rich husband with a title so that I could be passed off on him and not burden papa and mama anymore. Oh, it was dressed up as 'what I deserve' and 'it will make me happy' and the truly sad thing is that I came to believe it myself. But now, thanks to Matthew, I have come to see that I didn't know what happiness was until he came into my life. And even if the choice was being the Queen herself or being with him in squalor I would happily stand on a floor made of dirt while barefoot and wearing rags than take up the crown! Because I'd rather have Matthew than any damn title! And to any that question that or think they are helping by trying to make me turn away from him? To hell with them."

The sound of the door opening cut off any retort her pale-faced aunt may have made and Mary turned to see Matthew walking in. "Well, that was much quicker than I thought. He agreed to everything… honestly I don't know why he asked me to come at all, we could have handled it by the post. Anyway, I might even have time to properly change so we could head out… Mary?" He hurried over to her, his hands going to her cheeks as he rubbed his thumb along her face and it was only in that moment she realized she'd been crying. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing," she said with a watery smile. And then, manners be damned, she kissed his gently on the lips. "Nothing at all. But I do believe it is rather good that you are here now as we can still catch the last train."

"Train?" Matthew said dumbly. "What-"

"I want to go home, Matthew," she said quietly, reaching up and squeezing his hands with her own. "Please." He locked eyes with her before nodding.

"Mary…" Rosamund began.

"Granny, I assume you'll be staying the night? If you would be so kind as to arrange for Matthew and my trunks to go with you when you leave it would be wonderful." Without even looking at her aunt Mary moved forward, clasping Matthew's hand in her own. "We'll see you in September for the wedding." She didn't hear what her aunt or grandmother said as she breezed out of the house, Matthew following after her a touch confused.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked once they were a block away from her aunt's home.

"Other than learning just what family love means to some people I am wonderful." She looked around and, spotting a clock, suddenly spun around and grinned. "Do you remember when we first met? Back in your drawing room, me in my riding outfit all smug and superior? Remember how you claimed the middle class have more freedom than the elites?"

"Well yes," Matthew said, bemused. "I hope you know I was only joking…"

"No, you weren't and I don't want you to have been."

"You don't?"

"I don't. It is still early… the last train doesn't leave until 8, if I remember correctly." She took his hands in her own and clasped them tightly, a manic giddy smile on her lips. "We are to be married soon and with that will come all the shackles that come with us being the future Lord and Lady of Downton. But it just occurred to me that while you know so much about my way of life I know none of yours. So, for the next few hours… let's just pretend we are a middle class couple who are madly in love and have come to have a delightful time in London. Can we do that? Have an adventure?"

Matthew, clearly startled but intrigued by her suggestion, grinned and quickly nodded. "Well then, I think the first thing we should do is find a street vendor. We middle class are able to eat treats in the middle of public, you know."

"Yes, I as a middle class woman have always known this," Mary said, barely fighting a laugh.

So absorbed in each other neither of them saw the newspapers, fresh off the presses, declare in great bolding typeface "ARCHDUKE FERDINAND ASSASSINATED".

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And welcome to the final arc of Series 1. We leap ahead to the summer, with Matthew and Mary engaged, Sybil more openly working with Gwen (and using that to get closer to Tom), Edith and Sir Michael spending time together,Bates and Anna already gone, the war brewing, and Cora pregnant.

…and that final one might be a touch earlier than canon. Hmmm.

With Matthew having better established himself with both the family and with Mary we get the dilemma of the baby but different reactions. Granny is more willing to consider Matthew worthy of Mary because Mary is far happier in this timeline… so happy that she won't hear of turning away from Matthew.

When we return we head to Downton to check in with Sybil and Tom… and move closer to some canon-shattering events. If you think you know what is coming… think again.

Now, onto the plotbunny. And it ties in rather nicely to what we just had here.

But before that I'd like to make a small challenge to you guys… if any of you have a plot bunny that would come from a small event changing in MY STORY, include it in your review! I might add it to a chapter as a challenge… or even do an omake to explore it between Series 1 and 2.

Our bunny takes place in the final episode on Series 1 and Mary has just arrived back at Downton and tells her mother, sisters, and Granny about what Rosamund has suggested, about asking Matthew to postpone the wedding. Sybil is against it, Edith makes her snide remarks, Mary is unsure, Cora quiet, and Granny makes her comment that should the baby be a boy Mary could break it off with Matthew. But here is where things go off canon… before Mary can answer the door to the drawing room opens… and Matthew is there, having heard EVERYTHING. He came early to see Mary but has heard the women plotting against him (or in Cora's case saying nothing in his defense). It was Violet's mad scheme and Mary's hesitation to answer her (he comes in seconds before Mary was going to rebuke Violet as she does on the show) that seal the deal. Matthew tells them that there is no need for whispers and sinister plots… that he is a middle class lawyer and people of his low birth have no taste for such ruses. He tells Mary he takes back his proposal and leaves. Mary gives chase but Matthew utterly ignores her and she is left crying his name from the doorway of Downton.

Cora and Violet state that they will talk sense into Matthew the next day (as he's clearly not coming to dinner), planning a full Crawley assault on him. Robert is left in the dark. But when they arrive at Crawley house the next day they find Matthew and Isobel gone. Molesley gives them two notes, one from Matthew and one from Isobel. Matthew's is to the point: the dream is over and he is done. Isobel's is utterly scathing and attacks all of them, chastising them for how they have been treated since the moment they came to Downton, laying out everyone's sins. The message is clear though: Matthew isn't coming back.

Robert of course is ENRAGED. Cora, Sybil, Mary (and to a lesser extent Edith) don't get much of his anger but Robert informs his mother she is to leave Downton and never return, that he is tired of her meddling and that this time she has ruined everything (he also cuts Rosamund completely off and issues the same decree). They later reconcile after the baby dies (yes, that still happens) but their relationship is now very much damaged and Violet knows it… she for once is the one trying to make amends but Robert is firm (especially with Matthew confirmed to be the heir) that Violet has ruined everything.

The war happens. Life continues on. Mary's prospects are worse now as it has been revealed by someone (who would be up to you) how she was going to break off the engagement so no one trusts her. Thus when she meets Sir Richard he makes it clear when he finally proposes their wedding will be FAST… and it is. Mary can't afford not to agree and neither can Robert. Thus probably around the 2nd episode of Series 2 Mary and Richard and married. Meanwhile Matthew never returns to Downton. He meets Lavinia and because of what happened with Mary he also wants a quick engagement… and he gets it. By episode 3 to 4 he is married to Lavinia, something Robert and the family learn about only from reading it in a paper. Mary tries to be happy for him but Robert mourns what could have been and at one point coldly tells his mother that most likely none of them will ever meet Lavinia as Matthew will only return to Downton when all of them are dead and gone.

Matthew is shot. But because he isn't sent to Downton he goes to a different hospital, let's say in France, and the doctor there is an expert in spinal injury. He figures out VERY quickly what is wrong and thus Matthew knows he'll be out of the wheelchair soon. The false Patrick happens but he disappears when Robert goes to have his fingerprints checked.

The war ends… just in time for the Spanish Flu. And this time it is Sir Richard who dies as well as Lavinia. Mary gets Sir Richard's entire empire and Matthew gets Lavinia's money but feels no guilt about taking it, as this time he did marry her and love her.

And thus we finally get to the meat of this plot bunny. Rosamund, the cause of all this pain, happens upon the news of Lavinia's death, and perhaps already having learned that Reggie Squire is rich and near death's door,contacts Violet with a mad plan: Correct what went wrong. She feels this is the angels sending them a message… Mary and Matthew both lose spouses at the same time to the same disease? And they both inherit wealth? It is a sign. They belong together.

So Violet and Rosamund decide to work together to try Mary and Matthew together.

It would be an interesting love story, about two people who fell in love while young, broke up because of misunderstandings and weak wills, who have now lived and lossed and no longer need Downton or titles… Mary has more wealth than Downton and her own estate and the same with Matthew. What would this new courtship be like, especially with all the people (because of course the rest of the family would get involved) working to try and make up for their mistakes?

I see classic romantic comedy plots. Mary and Matthew almost bumping into each other but just missing each other. Mistakes and confusion. Silly schemes. And then when they do meet awkwardness, a try at friendship, a blossoming romanace, perhaps a backslide… and then love finally repaired.

Chapter Text

August 5th, 1914

Downton

Branson set down the phone, a grin forming on his lips. It was so odd, the feeling of being happy for someone else. He didn't think himself a selfish man but it had been ages since he'd been excited for another person. His brother Kieran had once said that he was clannish, that he saw the whole world as being against him and those he considered kin, and that it was hard for him to welcome people into his life. His mother had fretted that he'd never find a woman to love being like that and Tom had made a jest of it, claiming that meant he'd have to marry his baby brother then. Kieran hadn't taken kindly to that and the fist fight the two had gotten into had broken a table and resulted in his mother banishing the two from the house.

Still, his brother wasn't wrong. His nature made it hard for him to truly grow close to others. He had people he enjoyed spending time with, of course… he wasn't an anti-social git that brooded in the corner and kept a little book of all the wrongs that had been done with him. Mr. Bates was a decent sort, solid and quiet and a good companion when he wanted company but didn't want to fill the air with useless chitchat. William he was on good terms on withif the boy was a bit too naïve for his tastes; he promised himself that at Downton he wouldn't try and radicalize anyone, sensing that such a thing wouldn't go over well with the likes of Mr. Carson, but if he were to select out anyone it would be William. The boy blindly believed the world was kind and just but Tom was sure he could open his eyes. Thomas he hadn't liked when he'd first arrived but in the last year the snobby footman had mellowed out a bit. He didn't butt heads with Bates as much and after William had injured his hand the two footmen had come to a silent understanding and Thomas had treated the other lad better. Of the ladies Anna was friend to pretty much everyone and Tom had wished her well when she'd left last month to begin her married life with Bates; she'd invited everyone to visit the Grantham Arms on their day off and Tom meant to take her up on it. And of course Mrs. Hughes wasn't so much a friend as a motherly figure, stern but fair and someone he didn't want to disappoint.

But true friends? People he could feel excited for and engage with? No… that was a rare thing for him. He was a friend to all and yet no one.

Until now. Until Gwen.

When he had heard that Sybil ('Lady Sybil' he reminded himself though by now the chastising had weakened greatly) was helping Gwen become a secretary he had assumed at first it was just a flight of fancy on the part of the lady. He'd seen the elite take an interest in the lower class before, treating them like pets and projects. When the reality of her situation, that she had traveled back in time, had hit him he'd then assumed that it was some sort of plot to win him over, to convince him that she truly could be the woman for him because she cared for her maid. Tom had been angry at that and had quietly talked with Gwen about Sybil, wanting to find out if she was being used by the Earl's daughter. He had been startled to learn just how much Sybil had been doing for Gwen… going far beyond someone trying to fake friendship with the maid would go.

"She's been very careful," Gwen had told him one time when he'd broached the subject. "She knows she can't play favorites too hard, as it would cause problems downstairs. Learned that with Anna and Lady Mary… there was another maid before I came here, older than Anna, who thought that she would get the honor of being Lady Mary's personal maid when she married Mister Patrick. But Mary favored Anna and gave her extra attention and praise… the other maid, I forget her name, took offense and would spread lies and gossip about her, try to get the downstairs against her. Was O'Brien of all people who stepped in and shut that down, not sure why as that seems like her kind of chaos, but she did and the other maid was sent packing. Anyway, Lady Sybil knows to be careful but she has helped me. Bought me a ream of paper once and another time she got me a new hat for an interview. But mostly its been the emotional support… she's been my greatest champion, encouraging me and propping me up with I get down on myself. I've wanted to give up, to believe what others have said about me, that I'll never make it, but Lady Sybil would never hear of it. She told me that I could do it. Made me see I could do it. I… I would never have gotten this far if not for her."

Tom had to admit that was true. Gwen was dedicated, yes, and dreamed… but he knew she one who could be broken easily if she didn't have support. He himself had stepped in a few times when she was down, telling her to buck up and be strong. He knew it was making tongue wag, the servants thinking that he and Gwen were courting, but Tom saw her more like a baby sister than someone to romance and Gwen had told him flat out one time that she had no interest in him after O'Brien had made a particularly strong jab about them.

"I could never be yours even if I wanted you," she'd told him; when he pressed her she'd shrugged. "You love another."

Tom shook his head, not wanting to think about… that. 'We're just friendly with each other, that's all. Sybil-Lady Sybil and I. That's all. Just friendly. Helping Gwen.'

Maybe if he said it enough he'd at least convince himself.

But the truth of it was that he and Lady Sybil had been spending a lot of time together. With there not being any reason to hide what she was doing to assist the maid Lady Sybil had been open with her help, with her main move being to get use of the car to drive Gwen to her interviews. She always told the family that she had business in whatever town they went to, so that they couldn't say no to her request, but whenever Tom dropped Gwen off at whatever office she was scheduled to be at Lady Sybil would merely sit in the car and wait. At first they had been quiet, Tom knowing that she was doing it so they could spend time together, but a man could only stand awkwardness for some long and eventually he'd broken down and begun to talk to her.

'And she is… impressive,' Tom thought to himself. 'Educated without being obnoxious about it. Cunning without being arrogant. Intelligent without being elitist.' At firs their talks had been stilted but by late Spring Tom had come to enjoy their conversations. Because of her unique existence she hadn't truly lived a sheltered life. Instead she had lived in both her world and his and had such a strange and wonderful view of the world that at times all Tom wanted to do was pose ethical and sociological questions to her and listen to her answers. In turn her ideas made him think and caused him to reveal things he had never considered within himself and, from the way she reacted, he'd never told her in that other life.

Tom had come to understand how he had fallen in love with her in that other life.

And that… was a dangerous thing. Because he knew it could happen again and if it did there would be no turning back.

He ignored the demands from the others to know what the call had been about, hurrying up the stairs and darting past one of the hallboys before heading out onto the lawn. He didn't know why the Crawleys were having a party… he honestly didn't care… but they were having one and that made it both easy and difficult to location Lady Sybil and Gwen. The former because he didn't need an excuse to find her (as the servants were constantly moving amongst the Crawleys with ease) but the latter because Gwen had duties and Sybil was surrounded by others and thus harder to pull away. Realizing his only option Tom began to scan for the Earl's daughter.

As he moved swiftly among the white-wearing crowd he spotted the rest of the Crawley family. Her ladyship sitting under a canopy, being treated like a china doll due to her pregnancy. Apparently there had been a near mishap where Lady Grantham had nearly stepped on a bar of soap. O'Brien had been white as a sheet at the thought of it, even though her ladyship had laughed it off, and had spent the last few weeks being overly protective of the countess. Tom got how serious a pregnancy could be but he wondered if her Ladyship realized that for centuries women had given birth in fields, barely stopping their tasks. No need to be coddled like she was. His Lordship was chatting with some snobby snob that Tom didn't know while Lady Edith was moving about, avoiding Sir Anthony who was obviously searching her out. The lovebirds, Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley, spotted him and Matthew nodded politely in his direction; though the man had traveled in time too and according to Sybil had been good friends with him Mr. Crawley hadn't pressed to reestasblish the connection, something Tomw as grateful for. Mr. Crawley was polite and friendly but he wasn't forceful and Tom needed that as he had enough on his plate with Lady Sybil and their apparent connection. The Dowager and Mrs. Crawley were holding their own council with Lord Grantham's sister who didn't look to be in the best of moods; there was a story there that he had no inkling of.

And finally he spotted Lady Sybil.

She was standing under the shade of one of the large gnarled trees that dotted the property, an old sentinel from the times when man didn't foolishly carve up the land and turn it into useless lawns just so they could feel important. She was sipping on a glass of lemonade, dressed elegantly in white from her shoes to her gloves, her eyes slowly sweeping over the lawn party before coming to lock onto him. In that moment he realized the little minx had known that Gwen would get this job and he shook his head; time travel was giving him a headache.

"Got any interesting phone calls?" she teased as she walked up to him.

"If you knew why did we go on all those other interviews?" he asked. "It seems cruel."

"You saw how she was with Matthew when she was practicing how to interview for a job. What did you think?"

Tom grimaced in memory. "I was startled she managed to get a job here," he admitted.

"You know that maids and hallboys are hired more thanks to their parents than themselves. Thomas and William didn't have to interview, nor did Daisy. They aren't like you… you had to learn a skill and then fight for the job on your own. Just like Gwen did here. That was all good practice, so that when time came for this job she would be ready." Sybil shrugged. "I did make things a bit easier for her this time… last time she refused to reveal that she was a maid, thinking that the owner would look down on her being in service. He didn't… his mother had worked in a great house and he knew that servants are some of the most dedicated and hardworking people in the world. In that time she fretted and feared that she had failed and when the man came to install the phones I convinced him to do another interview in the library… and then had to force papa to wait for her to get done. This time I convinced her to lead with that and now we see that it worked." Tom face screwed up a bit at that. "You disagree with this, don't you?"

"You're using future knowledge to influence her. That isn't right."

"She reached the same point in the end. I didn't rob someone else of their position. I haven't pushed her onto a path that I feel is "better" for her. All I've done is help her… give her a bit more confidence, steer her away from trauma she didn't need. She has traveled along the same path I merely smoothed it out."

"But you don't know if you've made things better or worse," Tom hissed, dropping his voice when Sybil glanced around to make sure no one else was watching. "You could have made things worse… how do you know that the pain and embarrassment that she went through in your first life didn't help her?"

"So you think I should have done nothing?" Sybil asked, surprising him by not sounding angry at all. He had expected her to cause a scene, to begin protesting and demanding that she knew best. But she didn't. She was just… calm. Collected. It startled him.

"You should have let her make her way on her own, not changing things."

"So you believe that if something worked just fine in the past I should have made no efforts to better things."

"Correct."

"Because you don't know if your changes will make things worse."

"Exact…" Tom paused before pursing his lips in annoyance. "You were about to equate what you did with my socialist views, were you?"

Sybil patted his cheek, a cheeky little grin on her face. "Yes. Yes I was."

"That… is very cruel. And clever." He shook his head, letting out a weak chuckle.

"Me, cruel? I am the sweetest soul in Downton." With that she clapped her hands. "Now come, we must go find Gwen and tell her the good news!"

"Minx," Tom couldn't help but muttered. He didn't know what was worse: the fact that she had beaten him with his own logic…

…or that he found himself admiring her for just that.

'Well played, Sybil… well played,' he thought to himself as he followed after, for once not correcting himself and calling her 'Lady Sybil'. And when Sybil gave the news and Gwen shrieked and hugged her before drawing Tom close, the Irish radical didn't have to fake his smile as he began to celebrate with the two. Gwen's joy was contagious and as she babbled to Sybil about how wonderful the news was and Tom mentally kicked himself for ever suggesting taking away this joy from Gwen. She deserved this happiness and in that moment he was thankful that he had been a part of giving it to her.

"And just what is going on?" Mrs. Hughes said, cutting into their excitement. Tom blushed, automatically turning back into a little boy, but for once Gwen didn't mimic him and instead she turned to Mrs. Hughes and with a bubbly laugh answered.

"I got the job, Mrs. Hughes! I'm a secretary! I'm going to be a secretary!"

"And when we have time we will celebrate," Mrs. Hughes said, always able to remain unflappable even when in the face and startling news. "But you are not a secretary today and right now Mrs. Patmore needs you assistance. Now, off you go."

Sybil smiled as Gwen went off before turning to Mrs. Hughes. "If anyone says anything please blame me. I'm the one that dragged Gwen and Tom over here to celebrate."

"I'm sure it won't come to that," the housekeeper said politely. Sybil nodded and hurried off, Mrs. Hughes shaking her head. "First Anna and Mr. Bates and now Gwen. Oh, Mr. Carson will not be happy with this."

"We'll manage," Tom stated before nodding in Sybil's direction. "If need be… blame her."

Mrs. Hughes shot him a look. "Be careful, Mr. Branson. She is a kind girl but do understand the dangers of letting the line between them and us become blurred." With that she turned and walked away, leaving Tom to watch Sybil walk over to her sister and say something, her face beaming in delight.

"…I fear its too late for that," he whispered.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Thomas didn't have to fake his smile as he offered a tray of drinks to some old ninny who name he couldn't remember with a title that didn't matter much to him in the grand scheme of things. Despite the heat and him having to wear his dark uniform all the same he for once was in a rather pleasant mood. The lawn party had offered him an opportunity to secure his future and he had seized it.

To be truthful things had been going rather well at Downton. When John Bates and Anna had announced that they were to marry and be leaving service several weights had been lifted from Thomas' shoulders. While he and the valet's feuding had settled greatly, with only the occasional sniping at each other, he didn't mind seeing the man head out the door. The fact that he was taking Anna was a bit of a sadness, as Thomas did care for the maid in his own way, but she was happy and she was nearby if he ever wanted to visit so she wasn't truly gone. It had also meant that a position had opened up and Thomas had been quick to seize it. He had curbed his acidic tongue, been on his best behavior, and even stopped sneaking wine so that there was no risk of him being caught. When Bates had finally hobbled out the door Mr. Carson had agreed to give him another trial run as his Lordship's valet, asking Thomas to only step in and serve as a footman during situations such as this or when the family had a larger dinner. Thomas had finally gained the standing he had wanted and he'd been happy.

But that didn't mean he was willing to settle.

While Mr. Carson brushed aside the talk around the table Thomas had listened. And while Mr. Crawley had failed to convince his Lordship of the dangers that were coming with the rising tensions on the continent he had earned a convert in Thomas. While Carson proclaimed that the royal families would settle this as they always did with treaties and William had proudly stated that he was ready to serve England Thomas had grown to see the future Mr. Crawley spoke of as the truth: war was coming, a bloody horrid one that would destroy a generation. The lawyer had warned of long battles, forced drafts, and a drain on all and received only dismissal. But not from Thomas.

'Lord Grantham and the like have only known a life where every need is met. They do not know of desire that comes from desperation and need. They don't understand the greed that can come from wanting what you believe is yours. And what one will do to grasp what they feel they are due.'

Thomas knew he had to do something. If Mr. Crawley was right then soon he wouldn't have a choice and if he waited and let a draft take him he'd end up with a gun in his hands… and most likely a bullet in his head. He was a schemer and a plotter, not a warrior. The battlefield was no place for him. Even if Mr. Crawley was wrong and the war was some short affair where all involved earned glory then there was no harm in getting a jump on everyone else. Bathe himself in honor while also staying away from the Front. The perfect plan.

'And now the final piece has come into place,' Thomas thought to himself as he walked away from Dr. Clarkson. The doctor, he'd found out, had already been pulled into service by the government and using him as a contact would set Thomas up. He'd be able to weather the war, whatever happened, and gain skills that would allow him to-

"Thomas." He turned and found Mr. Crawley approaching him, for once without Lady Mary hanging off his arm. Whatever had happened in London during their last visit had made the ice queen of Downton rather clingy, in Thomas' opinion, and it was rare to see Mr. Crawely alone these days.

"Did you need a drink, sir?"

"No… I was actually wondering if I might have a word with you in private." Mr. Crawley looked around for a moment before asking in a low voice, "I don't suppose you were talking to Dr. Clarkson a moment ago about his position with the army, were you?"

"As a matter of fact I was," Thomas said, puffing up a bit. "He's agreed to put in a good word for me. I've enjoyed my time at Downton and I won't be leaving right away but best to keep my options open." Mr. Crawley's face fell a little at that and Thomas did his best to hide his annoyance; of course the man would be focused on what this mean for his fancy dinners. "I won't be leaving soon-"

"It's not that," Mr. Crawley said, holding up his hand. "Thomas…" The lawyer rubbed the back of his head, clearly looking for the correct words. "You know that I've been concerned about the war." He pulled a face. "Understatement, I know. But I have been watching and listening and I know that there are rumors swirling. Of ways to avoid the front lines. Claims that if you do this thing or that, if you talk to the right person or sign up early you'll be protected. I'm sorry Thomas, I truly am… but that is a lie. I talked with General Lothrop and he confirmed what I've feared: this war won't be a quick one. The Germans aren't shaking their sabers… they want to dominate the world." He sighed, clearly nervous, and that in turn made Thomas' stomach twist in agitation. "This won't be a few short battles where men go racing gallantly on horse and return with smiles and victory. How did Washington put it? 'The time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether we are to be freemen or slaves. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice of brave resistance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or die'. Conquer or die. Britain will be needing young men to do just that. Much of the former… but far greater of the latter. Signing up early won't protect you, Thomas… it will only see you as the first dropped into that hell."

"But," Thomas said, his swagger and confidence having turned to ash and he desperate to salvage something, anything, "Dr. Clarkson is going to get me into the medical corps. He said-"

"Where do you think the doctors and nurses will be needed the most?" Matthew said sadly, his words filled with all the sympathy in the world. "This won't be a battle where the worst wound a man gets is the one he gives himself in hopes of having a scar that he can use to impress his mates in the pub. We are no longer fighting with bows and arrows or guns that miss 3/4th of the time. Men will be shot, have limbs blown off, and the only way they will survive is through medics who are right there on the battlefield with them. You won't be in a comfortable office checking vitals… you will be in the mud and the muck. The rumors? They are lies to trick young men into volunteering early. I'm sorry."

Thomas swallowed. He wanted to deny what Mr. Crawley was saying, to snap that he didn't know what he was talking about. But Thomas knew when people were lying him or plying him with falsehoods and in this case he knew that the words that were only given in honest hope of helping him.

'Worst, I can smell the lie is just as Mr. Crawley claims,' Thomas thought bitterly to himself. He was supposed to be smarter than this, cleverer than most and able to charm and sneak his way out of any problem. And yet he'd fallen for the same false rumor. It was too perfect and he should have seen that. But he'd been blind by his desire to stake out a new life while also avoid danger. 'And those that spread it are numerous. The brattling heirs of rich men who wish to trick common workers like me into taking the most dangerous assignments. Army officers who need to fill the ranks quick. Men even more craven than I who hope to postpone the draft Mr. Crawley has warned of by plumping up the platoons now. Damn it all.'

He looked at Mr. Crawley and forced himself to remain calm. It would do no good to become angry or to become ill on the Heir of Downton's shoes; both of which he wished to do right then and there. "And I suppose… if I were to back out now… it wouldn't mean I was avoiding the front. I'd just replace those who died, most likely in the worst areas of fighting."

"That is what I've come to believe," Matthew admitted.

Thomas tensed. "Then my choice is a long sentence in hell with the gamble I will only be in a mildly horrific place or delay but be guaranteed the worst."

"There… is another path," Mr. Crawley stated. "That is why I sought you out."

Thomas felt his hopes rise but he forced them down; just moments ago he'd been shown how naïve he was and he refused to make the same mistake so soon again.

"You know that I have worried about this war for some time… it has come from talking with General Lothrop. He is in charge of supplies for the army… ordering, transport, that sort of thing. One of the aspects of his position that he has admitted to having issues with is contracts. The creation of them and the enforcement. My time as a corporate lawyer has given me the knowledge he lacks. I have done some small work for him and clearly left an impression." Mr. Crawley lowered his voice. "The General has offered me a position under him, to work with him to monitor the supplying of the English army. This task is rather important and it means that the General, and in turn myself, are needed here rather than on the Continent."

Clenching his fist Thomas forced himself to remain calm. Mr. Crawley wouldn't have brought this up just to mock him… such jests might be in the nature of Larry Grey or others of his ilk but not with Matthew Crawley.

"I will be one of several people that will be working out of General Lothrop's office and because of my past experience he has given me the right to select some of my own staff. I find myself in need of a secretary. Someone to go with me to factories and warehouses, to take notes during meetings, and assist me with reports. Not a valet… though you would be skilled at it I think I'll be trying to get William to accept that role. No, you and I would be working closely together to monitor and assist the war effort. In country." He stressed that last part.

Thomas wanted to say yes. He wanted to so badly. He wanted to take Mr. Crawley's hand and shake it so hard it made the man's teeth rattle. But he didn't dare… not yet… because he had to know.

"Why?" Thomas asked, his voice fair softer and more vulnerable than it had ever been in years. Long before he had become jaded towards the world. "Why ask me? Why select me? Why care?"

"If I could save everyone, I would," Mr. Crawley admitted. "Were it in my power to ensure not a drop of English blood was spilled I would do so. But I cannot so I will save who I can. As for why I have come to you… I need you."

"Why?" Thomas repeated.

Mr. Crawley held up his hand. "I ask you let me finish before you become offended. You have a reputation, Thomas, of being a liar and a sneak and a cad. Someone who will manipulate and cheat and who looks upon the world and sees cutthroats. And I need someone like that at my side. I am far too trusting… you'd think as a lawyer I would be more distrustful but the fact of the matter is that I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. I can draw up the contracts and I can enforce the laws…"

"…but you need someone to catch people in the act," Thomas finally said, unable to be angry with all that Mr. Crawley had said about him. Even if it hadn't been true if it meant seeing out the war in the safety of London he'd shout to the high heavens that he was a liar and a thief.

"Exactly. I can deal with the middle class… but I need someone who understands the working class. Someone who knows the tricks and can point them out. Someone who can pull me aside and tell me to count all my fingers before I shake hands with a cad who would steal even them from me. Are you that man, Thomas?"

The valet swallowed before nodding, a true smile forming on his lips. "I do believe I am, Mr. Crawley."

"Matthew," the heir of Downton said, extending his hand. "If we are to be partners in this I'd have you call me Matthew."

"Matthew," Thomas said, returning the shake.

15 minutes later, when Lord Grantham announced that Britain had declared war on Germany, he had never been so thankful for a handshake.

~A~O~O~O~F~

The announcement of the war with Germany had cast a pall over the lawn party. People had tried to continue on but in the end they had ended up just wandering about, everyone weakly trying to keep up the façade of normalcy when all knew that nothing would be the same again. Much of the food had went untouched after that (Mary would have said the servants would eat well but she doubted they would be in the mood for much themselves) and the only part of the party that had gotten a work out had been their supply of spirits, with papa himself drinking heavier than he normally did and far earlier. Even those that had believed that the war would be over quick had grown quiet and introspective and Mary suspected that was because they'd been hoping that nothing would come to pass. Those that had been fully committed to that dream had been especially stunned; Mary had seen Carson walking about in a daze, nearly bumping into Lord Merton and only able to muster up a weak apology before shambling off. For those that had heard of Matthew's dire warnings papa's declaration had been like an ancient bell ringing out a dirge of doom.

It had already been expected that many people would leave before dinner but with the war announcement only Granny, Matthew, and Cousin Isobel had remained at Downton. Mary couldn't blame the rest of the guests for leaving early, as she herself wanted to just gather her family about her and pray that maybe, just maybe, if they wished hard enough the war would be revealed to be some cruel joke. Even Aunt Rosamund had left, begging forgiveness but stating that with papa's announcement she needed to return to London straight away. Mary had a feeling that the real reason was the cool reception she'd gotten from half the family for her words against Matthew.

Despite having no desire to do so Mary knew she had to go through the motions that their lives remained the same and nothing had changed and thus she had allowed Gwen to dress her (though, from what Sybil had revealed to her and Edith, that would be another change as soon Gwen would be leaving them to work for a telephone company) for a dinner she wasn't hungry for. She and her sisters had arrived to find her parents, granny, Cousin Isobel, and Matthew already sitting in the parlor, waiting for Carson to ring the dinner gong. Mama was relaxing in a chair, Cousin Isobel asking her a million questions about the baby that was growing inside her (and for once mama was happy to answer as it kept her mind off the war), while granny sat off to the side, lost in her own thoughts. As for Matthew he was standing with papa, the two of them sharing a drink.

"I am glad I had already talked with General Lothrop," Matthew was saying, swirling his drink. "I have a feeling desire for positions within his staff will be in high demand shortly."

"So you will be staying in London?" Papa asked, brow furrowed. "You won't even go to the continent?"

"There won't be any need," Matthew said with a smile. "Something I'm eternally grateful for. I get to stay here and do my part without stepping foot on a battlefield."

Papa stared at Matthew, jaw working slightly before he took another sip from his glass. Edith broke away from them to chat with Granny while Sybil remained next to Mary, listening to the conversation between their father and his heir. "I would think that you would chomping at the bit to get out there, to fight for king and country."

Matthew waved his hand dismissively at that, his tone light. "I have no desire to die, Robert."

"Oh, I doubt there is all that much danger," papa pressed. "I know you have taken a negative view on things but I truly believe that you've made things out to be far worse than they will. Things are always far more terrifying than they are actually. Once you step foot on the battlefield and feel the thrill of battle and victory you'll find all your fears to have been unfounded." It was Matthew's turn to work his jaw but papa continued on. "And you must see that there are… expectations for you."

"Expectations?" matthew asked, his good mood fading away. Mary shared a glance with Sybil, who shot a concerned look right back at her. "And those would be?"

"To do your part, of course!" papa said, a bit louder than probably even he expected.

"I am doing my part," Matthew countered before taking a moment and calming his nerves. "I am signing up with the army. I will be working for a general."

"A glorified grocer," Robert said dismissively. "You'll be sitting in an office ordering tents and pencils. I mean truly doing your part. Riding into battle, gun on your hip and sword at your side, rallying the troops and fighting for god and country!" Papa's tone grew wistful. "There is nothing like it, Matthew. A horse at full gallop, the battlecries of your men echoing in your ears, the rush as the world falls away and all that is left is the fight. You can't do that hiding in London."

"Ignoring the importance of what I and General Lothrop are doing I hate to break it to you Robert but I would have no desire to march off to die in the trenches." Matthew had raised his voice at that and Mary flinched.

"Robert, leave it alone," Cora said, looking up from her chair.

"So, has anyone heard of the new play they are staging at The Old Vic?" Sybil said, trying to change topics.

Papa though wasn't about to be deterred, taking another long drain from his glass before speaking. "Oh come now, it won't be that bad!" He smiled but Mary could see there was no warmth in her father's grin. It rather reminded her of the same smiles he'd given her when he tried to distract her before Dr. Clarkson gave her a shot. "Trust me when I say that you'll regret not being out there, joining the other young bucks in a sporting adventure. When they have their war stories and all you can do is meekly state that you tucked yourself behind a desk you'll curse yourself for your decision." Papa reached out and patted Matthew on the shoulder and Mary clenched her teeth at the way Matthew flinched. "If you are concerned about your promise to General Allen I can smooth away any hurt feelings. Tomorrow we can head to London and get you assigned to a proper battalion, one that will actually do something. It will all work out, I promise you."

"My apologizes Robert but you have no idea what you are talking about." Papa's smile dropped at that but Matthew pressed on. "I have been talking with General Lothrop-"

"General Lothrop, General Lothrop… he's corrupted your brain, I think. Filled it with nightmares."

"He knows what he is talking about."

"And does he know how this will look for Downton?" papa fired back, all checks on his anger shattered as Matthew batted aside his offer for aid. "There are expectations for you as Heir… to do your part and show a spine of steel and the standing of a leader. This war will allow you to bring honor to this house but if you try and hide you will only bring scorn upon all of us."

"Robert…" granny warned and Mary realized that everyone had stopped talking and were watching the growing argument with horrified interest. Even Carson, William, and Thomas had stopped and were staring.

"Honor be damned," he said hotly as he cut off granny, startling all with his venom. "Honor is worth nothing to the dead and it is a cold comfort to the living. I care not one bit what is expected of me I only care about my family. And I do no good for them dead in a foreign land fighting for a people who don't even know my name!"

"You claim to care for family but you have a poor way of showing it." Papa began to pace, his face red and his every gesture wild and sharp. " You toss aside tradition and invite dishonor on all of us all because of mad dreams that won't come to pass. But of course you don't understand, your kind has no sense of tradition."

"My kind?" Matthew demanded, taking a step forward.

"Papa, Matthew please," Mary begged, finally finding her voice. She moved forward, placing a calming hand on Matthew's shoulder while looking at her father, silently begging him to stop.

But her father didn't want to heed her pleas. "Oh, let's not pretend. You might dress yourself up well and know how to make small talk with us but you are nothing more than a middle class lawyer who has only been allowed to dine at my table by a quirk of fate. You have no understanding of honor or tradition. You don't see how your actions affect us all… you are concerned with only yourself."

"Don't," Mary whispered, trying to pull Matthew away.

"Matthew," Sybil added, joining Mary in trying to drag him away from the fight. A glance towards Cousin Isobel showed that Matthew's mother was about to jump in but mama had grabbed her hand and squeezed it in an attempt to silence her. Things were bad enough as it was with just Matthew and papa feuding but adding Isobel to the mix would only make things worse. There was still hope that cooler heads would prevail if only-

"Oh, is that it?" Matthew said with a bitter laugh. "It is easy to preach about honor and fighting for glory when you won't be the one dodging bullets and watching your men die all around you!" He pushed away from Mary and Sybil, getting right in papa's face. "Tell me, how much honor will you bring sitting in your den reading about the battles and the casualties while sipping your brandy? You can't even read the paper without having it ironed so you don't get ink on your soft hands and you want to lecture ME about hiding away?" Matthew scoffed. "Men like you are why good young men are going to needlessly die."

"You dare talk to me like that?" Papa bellowed, his face so red Mary briefly feared he'd burst a blood vessel.

"Someone has to," Matthew snapped back. "You've surrounded yourself with servants and sycophants who won't call you out when your wrong. The world does not march on based solely on the ill-researched opinions of Robert Crawley!"

"You are nothing but a coward," Robert snarled. "A craven who hides behind half truth and imagined threats."

"I am no craven, Robert, but if the choice is dying with honor or living while old rich men look down their noses at me I'll choose the later every time!"

By now none of the women could stop the fight and they were all left as spectators to this horrid event. Mary looked about the room only to see helpless gazes, her family silently pleading for this to end while the servants prayed in their hearts that they could slip away unnoticed. She just didn't understand how they had reached this point and how it had all gone so badly-

"You are gutless!" papa roared, jabbing Matthew in the shoulder with his index finger. "You will bring shame to Downton!"

"I have done nothing save help Downton since I've arrived here! As your heir-"

"My heir… my heir," Papa let out a mocking laugh, a twisted mockery of a smile on papa's lips. "You are no heir. You are a glorified agent with delusions of grandeur. A jumped up lawyer who knows oh so little about the world. The only thing that does my heart good is to know that soon I will have a true heir, the son I've always wanted… one who isn't a spineless, gutless craven! And with him here I can see the back of you and never have your yellow belly darken Downton again!"

Matthew reeled back at that in shock, the rest of the observers all gasping in distress at papa's words. If her father felt any regret from his painful words he didn't show it, instead merely staring Matthew down with coldness that could rival the darkest December night. Without saying a word Matthew spun on his heel and stormed towards the door, Thomas and William leaping out of his way as he threw it open so violently it smashed into the wall and created a dent in the molding.

"Matthew!" Mary cried out, turning to try and chase after her fiancée only for her father to call out to her.

"Let him go. He flees like the craven he is. I will not have a coward under my roof." At that Isobel stood up, shooting a glare so full of hate at papa that had he been calmer he would have shrunk back in horror. Instead Matthew's mother marched out of the room with her head held high, the proof of her rage being that she didn't say a single word.

"Robert…" Cora murmured, pale as a sheet.

"Leave it. I do not want to talk about it."

"Oh, I think this needs to be talked about!" Granny explained, tapping her cane hard agianst the floor, he face a mask of disgust.

"Papa…" Mary said, turning to her father, tears burning in her eyes. "What-"

"Do not cry for him, Mary," her father said, breathing hard as he began to regain his temper. "It is good that we know this of him now, before he tricked a ring upon your finger."

"What are you talking about?" Edith said, for the first time since the madness had begun finding her voice.

Papa walked over to where the bottles of liquor were and glanced at the servants. Carson snapping out of his shock and hurrying to pour Mary's father another glass but it was Thomas that surprised Mary; the look on his face was nearly as thunderous as the one Sybil now wore. Papa took a sip of it before continuing. "Matthew has revealed his true colors and with your mother pregnant it is clear that a match between the two of you is simply out of the question." He walked over and took her hand in his free one. "But do not fret… you won't be left out in the cold. We'll find you a proper fiancée, a better one that than jumped-up coward. One that is of our breeding, who understands the importance of things. A lord's son and soon to be a war hero, one that will give you all you deserve."

"I already have a proper fiancée," Mary said, tugging her hand free from his grasp. "Matthew."

"Matthew," her father said with a roll of his eyes, draining his glass and motioning for Carson to pour him another. Mary idly wondered just how much her father had consumed that day. "He has nothing. He will not be Earl, that will fall to your brother. He was acceptable enough with his mad schemes and the such when he was the best choice of a bad lot but now that has changed. I had hoped to make it work Mary, I truly did, but now that he's revealed his true colors I won't allow a match between you. I would not have you married to a cowardly lawyer who gleefully mocks our traditions."

"He did no such thing!" Mary pleaded, desperately trying to get her father to see reason. "He doesn't want to fight… is that so wrong? He is still serving in the army-"

"No, he's found a way to slither and sneak his way out of doing what is right. This war is about English values and clearly Matthew has none. He laughed, Mary… he laughed! There is no regret in his choice! Young men all across England are now lining up at recruitment offices to join the good fight, to have a gun placed in their hands so they might defend us all and bring honor to their families. Meanwhile Matthew Crawley tucks himself into a ball and hides! The only threat he wishes to face is if he'll get a splinter and knowing him he'll faint at the sight of that. No… this is the best for us, as we now see what kind of…man… Crawley is. It is time we all opened our eyes and see that we allowed our grief and desperation to delude us into accepting a nobody from Manchester." He moved to take another drink only to find his glass empty.

"Robert!" mama gasped in shock.

"Robert, I think you have said enough," granny hissed. "Perhaps a day or so for cooler heads…"

But one look at her father showed that granny's hopes that he would come to see reason after some rest were naught but dreams and Mary refused to stay quiet and let her father think she agreed with him. "I do not see it that way. As the woman Matthew will marry I am thrilled that I will not have to wait by the window, clutching at my dress and wondering if the next time I see him he'll be alive and well or cold in his coffin-"

"Oh Mary!" Papa exclaimed with a great roll of his eyes.

"No 'Oh Mary!'," she shot, now feeling her own temper rise. "I thought you cared about my happiness, papa. What is it you said to Pamuk? You would 'burn Downton to the group' to protect me?"

"I am protecting you! Saying you from an unhappy marriage with a spineless, penniless craven!"

She scoffed. "Now who is exaggerating? There is a chance… a CHANCE… that I am to have a brother and because of that and Matthew showing some sense in putting me before some pointless war that makes him worse than the Turk? I suppose if Pamuk had been a war hero you'd have looked the other way as he raped me?"

"Mary!" her mother exclaimed.

She was having none of it though. All the old hurts, the old pains were bubbling up and she couldn't stop them from bursting forth. She didn't WANT to stop them. "You claim to want my happiness papa but only when it doesn't interfere with your true love: Downton. You care more for this old house than you do your family."

"That is simply not true!" Papa declared, taking a step forward and gesturing so wildly he nearly spilled his drink. "You don't know what you are talking about! You are allowing your emotions to get the better of you-"

"Me?" Mary laughed, bitter and hard. "I am the one blinded by my emotions? Look in the mirror, papa. When you were chastising Matthew your concern wasn't my happiness… it was about how it would look for Downton. Oh, you tried to dress it up as worrying about 'the Family' but we are just an extension of Downton, aren't we? Another piece of furniture that you can show off! The only thing that has been missing is a son because… because I could never be good enough, could I? I could be the most brilliant, beautiful, and beloved woman in all the world but you would still rank me third, behind first Downton and then a son. He could be a brute or a fool or have no sense in his head but you wouldn't care so long as he had… he had a cock between his legs!" Granny's eyes went wide at that and she heard Edith suck in a breath but Mary didn't care. It felt so GOOD to finally get that old pain off her chest.

"Go to your room, now," her father said, his rage becoming a cold fury. "I will not be talked to like that in my house. When you've thought about your actions and see the error in your ways only then will we discuss the breaking of your engagement to Matthew."

"Then there is no need for me to flee to my room as I won't break it. I WILL marry Matthew."

Her father's face become stony and thunderous at the same time as he marched towards her, towering over her and making her feel small. "You will not," he said slowly, ever word dripping with authority. "I command it."

Another would have been cowed. Driven to tears or tremors. But she was Lady Mary Crawley and she would not be bent. Not by this.

"You command me?" she mocked. "Oh papa… you haven't been able to command me in years, what makes you think you can now?"

"The fact that if you wish to stay in silk and gems you will do as I say," papa threatened, reaching up and fingering the long necklace she wore. "Your allowance? Gone. Your privileges? Gone. I won't back down on this. Now go to your room and come to terms with the fact that you and Matthew Crawley are over."

"Very well, papa," Mary said in a quiet voice, ducking her head… before removing the necklace and hurling it at his feet.

"Mary!" papa roared as she turned on her heel and marched towards the door. "Mary!"

She heard a clatter behind her and turned to see Edith had removed her own necklace and tossed it at their father's feet. Papa, mama, and granny seemed shocked by that but Edith merely nodded before walking over and looping her arm around Mary's, giving her a supportive nod. Sybil, for her part, walked up to her father and without ever breaking eye contact removed her necklace and dropped it to the ground, letting it puddle and join with the others. Papa went red again but he must have seen something in Sybil's gaze for he suddenly took a step back.

The surprises weren't over yet as Thomas was right on Sybil's heels and, to Mary's shock, removed his white gloves and let them drop on the ground.

"I quit, my lord… effective immediately."

Sybil, with a grin, offered her arm to him and with a smirk Thomas took it and led her over to Mary and Edith. The four shared a nod and marched out of the room, the last thing they heard was granny's horrified question:

"Robert… what have you done?"

Chapter Text

The skies seemed to reflect his dark mood as moments after Matthew and his mother had returned to Crawley house the skies had opened up and a great downpour had pounded upon the house. Matthew sat in his favorite armchair, a glass of water in his hand as he brooded, his mother pacing as she ranted.

"I always knew that man was thickheaded. I always knew it. From the moment we came into their lives they judged us." She shook her head in disgust. "We have done so much, changed so much for them and they have done nothing. Continued to live their lives without a care, with no desire to perhaps adapt as we have." She glanced over at him but Matthew merely sighed, giving what couldn't even be considered a shrug but more a slight rising of his shoulders. "All you have done for him…how you have guided Downton into the future and ensured its success for at least another generation and this is your reward? For him to mock you and insult you? In front of the family, in front of me? All because of a son that may or may not be?" She thumped her hand against the loveseat, face screwed up in disgust. "And what if it turns out that Cora is having a girl and you are the heir after all? I suppose he'll just expect you to forgive and forget. To pretend it never happened. Probably think you should be grateful that he is letting you have the 'honor' of staying in that gaudy, gilded monument to avarice! Well, if he thinks that-"

Matthew tuned his mother out, his mind going over his and Robert's feud as he tried to figure out just how things had turned out so wrong. He'd fretted during the entire lawn party that Mary would come to him at any moment and he'd suddenly find himself repeating the past, the two of them breaking up over misunderstandings and bruised egos. But the day had gone by, she had walked with him and held his arm and spoke of nothing and everything and he'd felt a great burden lifted from his chest. Being able to secure Thomas onto his staff had helped raise his mood even further. He wouldn't be able to save everyone but at least he'd save Thomas. He'd planned to seek out William the next day, knowing that convincing him to sign up would be harder; both because the boy's family didn't want him to enlist and the fact that he naively believed that no matter the pain and suffering to serve was a great honor. He'd even heard the poor fool say as much at the party after the news, proclaiming that he would enlist as soon as he was able. Matthew wanted to scream at him that the only honor he would get was after he was laid in the cold ground but knew that William wouldn't believe him. Like all young man, Matthew himself included from his first lifetime, he believed himself invincible, that it was other people who died.

'But he won't join me now,' Matthew thought bitterly, clenching his fist. 'He heard Robert's words and he respects him far too much. Damn you, Robert… damn you.' He sighed, looking down at his clenched fist, willing it to open, to release his anger and rage. 'And damn you Matthew for not just walking away.' He knew it wouldn't have done any good, that Robert hadn't said words he didn't mean. Matthew had merely given him a reason to express them and if he'd walked away it was very likely things would have ended up worse. Robert was a stubborn man, prone to nursing slights and brooding over perceived insults, and had Matthew walked away when Robert had first begun to demand he risk his life in the name of honor all that would have happened would have been grumbled comments until one of them had snapped.

'I handled it wrong… bloody wrong. But the sad thing is I can't figure out how I could have avoided this without going back to the Front.' Matthew shuddered slightly; no matter his feelings for Robert there was no way he'd ever return to that nightmare. 'Which is probably why I reacted so poorly. The mere suggestion…' He shut his eyes, thankful his mother was so wrapped up in her railing against the Family that she didn't notice his distress. It was hard enough to hide his nightmares from her, of the mornings he awoke with a racing heart, fearing that he would wake up in the mud of the Somme once more.

Thinking over not just that day but the previous weeks Matthew could see it hadn't been a single thing that had brought him and Robert at each other's throats. No, much like the World War that had come upon them it was a series of smaller things that all came together to create this disaster.

'He had already been in a foul mood when Bates announced he was leaving service and now with him gone it has only gotten worse.' Robert hated change and had seen the loss of his good friend and valet as a terrible blow. In his perfect world no one would ever leave their position; the moment a Lord took up his position as head of the family all the positions within the staff would be filled and all would happily go about their jobs until the Lord's last breath, never dreaming of seeking a better opportunity. It was as if Robert thought he was a Pharaoh and the only release for the staff would be when he died and they would be mummified and placed in his tomb with him, to care for him in the afterlife. 'He took it as a betrayal. Worse, Bates took Anna with him and though Mary wished them well he saw it as another slight. Add in Gwen seeking to leave…' Matthew let out a soft chuckle. 'I wonder how bad things would have been had he heard that I was taking Thomas with me. Or if I'd managed to get William as well? I dare say he'd have thrown me out far earlier!'

The announcement of England declaring war had also shaken him. Not the idea of war itself, for Robert was one of those proud English men that believed that the motherland would always win in the end and ignored their loses as not mattering in the grand scheme of things. No, what had troubled him was that his belief in the old system had been proven false. Wars were fought, of course, but for the most part the royal families of Europe had married amongst themselves to ensure that peace was held. "We are all one family" was a common refrain when one of Robert's ilk tried to convince everyone that there would be no battles or testing of armies. But that had just been proven false… the ties between the kings and queens hadn't been enough to stop the conflict that was to come. For some this would have shaken their beliefs in everything but for Robert it merely made him cling to other held truths all the harder, as if he were a widow who had lost one son and now coddled the others for fear of them dying too. He needed his other believes, chief among them that war was an honorable thing, that it was the duty of all good Englishmen to fight for king and country, and to do any less was to invite scorn upon an estate.

'Robert views war with rose-tinted glasses. He joined and due to his position was placed in a rank of power. He didn't have to fight at the lowest rank, to struggle and battle to survive. He got his horse and his saber and thought himself like a hero from a pulp magazine. Time has only made it worse, so that he sees his time in the army as little more than a game.' He remembered Robert, in his previous life, telling him how depressed he'd been that he'd been asked to relist only to serve as a mascot of sorts and that they didn't want to have him out in the front. Even after he'd seen what had happened to Matthew he'd still been itching to go out there and have a good showing of it. Like war was a game. 'Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if he had been shipped to France, forced to deal with the sleepless nights and terrors of the day. To feel the cold and dampness soak into his skin till he wondered if he'd ever be warm again and be unable to laugh and smile with others because he knew within hours at least one of them would be dying in his arms.'

His view of war fed right into his view of family and duty. Robert believed that what was most important was the honor of an estate… that one couldn't sacrifice their happiness for the good of the estate because what was good for it was good for you so it could never be considered a 'sacrifice'. That what was right for Downton was right for all that lived there. He remembered well Robert's comment of how Downton was like his 4th child but in truth it was his 1st. Matthew had done all he could to try and move Robert away from this view, to get him to see that one could love Downton while not being consumed by it but he had failed. And now he had the dark suspicion that if Robert had the choice between Matthew dead and buried but Mary at minimum with child or him alive and well but the subject of whispers at parties he would choose the gravestone every single time.

'And then there is the baby,' Matthew thought to himself. He had debated hard about that, if he should do anything about Cora's miscarriage. Sybil of all people had been willing to let her sibling die, stating that they couldn't save everyone and if Matthew wanted to save the child she would help but if he didn't she would let that horrid moment come to pass. He had considered it but he knew if he hadn't stepped in and worked with Sybil to whisper in Cora's ear to be more careful… he would have regretted it for the rest of his days. The only thing that had thrown him off had been the announcement, which was at least a month earlier than he'd been expected. Sybil had been just as startled and the two of them had debated what it could mean. Sybil had pointed out that there was no certainty now if she were to have a brother or sister but for Matthew it hadn't mattered because he had assumed, if it were a boy, there would still have been a place for him at Downton. Not as its heir but at least as someone who had helped it grow. He had thought that perhaps, with the wealth he was bringing in to Downton, Robert would gift him and Mary Downton Place to call their own. That avenue was gone to him now, that much was clear.

He hadn't been prepared for this. Hadn't been ready for Robert's… hatred… of him choosing to live his life as he wished. That, combined with the out that had been given to Robert had led him on a path he and Sybil and Michael had never expected.

'We planned for so many things,' Matthew thought, remembering all the many schemes the two had come up with during sunny walks through the woods or at private tea times, and then later with Michael when he had revealed himself. What to do if General Lothrop was in fact sent to the continent (create a business proposal that would require Matthew and Mary to go to America and then stay there, using Cora's mother to badger Mary into agreeing). Or if Robert decided to be foolish and reenlist straight away (Sybil had drugs on her that would knock him out cold and they would claim he was rather sick before moving him someplace else and then keep him blind to what was happening til the War ended). What if the Germans never declared war (throw a massive party and get so drunk young George would be born with a highball class clutched in his chubby hand). But never had they expected Robert to react as he did. They had assumed he would be happy that Matthew was taking such an important role in the army, that General Lothrop trusted him so. And yet-

Matthew was broken from his thoughts and his mother from her ranting (somehow she'd gotten onto the topic of her being Prime Minister and telephones in boxes) by a hard pounding at the door. Molesley started at that and moved to answer but a voice called out before he could reach it.

"Matthew? Matthew, open up ya gobshite! Jaysus its fecking rainin' hard out here!"

"Sybil?" Matthew said, pushing out of his chair and rush past Molesley to open the door to find Sybil standing in her evening wear completely drenched. "…your irish radical is showing."

Sybil just glowered at him. "Would you kindly let us in?" she said in her sweetest English accept. "You daft prick," was hissed in her irish accent. Switching back to proper English she said, "Mary is convinced you won't see her-"

"Mary? Mary!" Matthew called out, finally notice the car that was stopped near the door. "Of course, of course, come in. Molesley, please get Sybil some towels. And a robe, if you would? Mother, could Mrs. Byrd heat us up something warm?" Matthew hurried to the closet and pulled out an umbrella, opening it and moving into the storm, quickly helping first Mary and Edith and then, of all people, Thomas and Tom inside. When they were all safely deposited Matthew walked into the living room to find Sybil wearing one of his warmer robes with a towel draped around her neck, her shoes and stockings kicked off as she warmed her feet by the fire Molesley had quickly started. "What are you doing here?"

Mary responded by walking up to him, clasping his cheeks, and delivering a kiss so powerful it made his eyes go wide. When she released him with a audible smack of her lips she wrapped her arms around him and whispered, "I'm so sorry… please don't think I agreed with what papa said…"

Matthew, befuddled, looked to everyone else and it was Edith who answered. "She was convinced that you would hate her because she didn't chase after you. We told her she was being silly but she didn't believe us…"

Instantly he wrapped his arms around his fiancée and returned her hug with just as much intensity. "My dearest Mary… I would never assume that. I only ask your forgiveness that I didn't wait for you."

"No, I don't blame you at all. With what papa said… well, I made clear my thoughts on that to him." In a darker tone she muttered against his shoulder, "And his thoughts upon me."

Matthew glanced at Sybil but she shook her head, her eyes flashing with outrage. He understood without another word that whatever Robert had said had been dreadful and that if Matthew heard it he would do something stupid. He could practically hear Sybil warning him to stay calm and keep holding his future wife. So instead he shifted her so that her back was pressed against him, his arms wrapped around her still and his head resting on her shoulder. Propriety be damned, he needed that comfort.

"And the rest of you?" He asked.

Sybil shot him a dark look. "Do I even need to explain why I'd side with you?"

Edith, not getting the subtext, nodded in agreement. "Mary is my sister… and you are one of my dearest friends. You told me you were my brother. Neither of you did anything wrong. So if I must choose my family… I choose you."

Matthew turned to Thomas who smiled lightly. "For those who haven't heard, Mr. Crawley… Matthew… has offered me a position on his staff with General Lothrop."

His mother beamed at that. She had at first glowered a the girls but upon hearing their kind words instantly released her anger towards them. Thomas' declaration further warmed her heart. "Oh, that is wonderful news! Simply wonderful! Matthew has told me a bit of what he'll be doing and it will be good that he has someone he knows and trusts working with him."

Thomas blushed a bit at that and even more so when Molesley offered him a cup of tea. The poor man had been functioning on instinct but now he suddenly realized that he had insulted Lord Grantham and was now sitting having a late drink with the man's daughters and heir.

"I realized that if he did not support Matthew's decision he would not support mine. I was most likely not to get a reference anyway so why lie? Furthermore…" Here he paused. "Matthew showed me kindness. And Lady Sybil protected me from the lies of Mr. Pamuk, which would have seen me at best terminated and at worst jailed. If it is a choice between those that have aided me and those that employ me… the decision is clear."

Matthew smiled and merely nodded before he looked to Tom.

"…I was just woken up by the ladies here and told to start the car. I have no idea what's happening."

That caused everyone to laugh, the tension of the evening leaking away as Edith volunteered to tell the story, feeling that only she could keep calm while relating the details. She was right, as by the time she got done telling her watered-down version of the events (and Matthew still meant to find out just WHAT Robert had said about May) all of them were annoyed and frustrated all over again. Even Molesley had a deep scowl on his face as he went about refilling glasses.

"So the question becomes… what do we do now?" Sybil asked, setting down her tea and running the towel along her head, making her hair a wild mess. Matthew glanced over at Tom and fought a smirk at the sight of the chauffer staring at her openly with his mouth parted slightly; apparently the image of her wearing a bathrobe (even with a wet dress under it) and her hair a mess was doing far more to gain his attention than anything else Sybil had been doing. "Because I don't know about any of you but I don't fancy walking back up to the Abbey and sitting at the breakfast table asking papa to pass the toast."

Matthew's mother nodded. "Yes, I have been thinking the same thing. Even if he were to allow us to stay here, which I doubt, I will not spend any more time in this house than I have to. I will not feel an ounce of debt towards Robert or the rest of your family and I wager that Matthew feels the same way."

"Then what do we do?" Edith said. "I doubt you can afford to bed us all and as you said you'll be needing to find accommodations yourself soon enough. The Grantham Arms, perhaps?"

"No, I wouldn't want to get Bates and Anna involved in our problems," Sybil said with a shake of her head. "Papa is already cross with Bates for leaving and taking Anna with him and though they do own the hotel papa could make problems for them. With time he will calm but if we forced them to house us-"

"We go to London," Mary said firmly, patting Matthew's hand before breaking free of him.

"London, my lady?" Thomas asked, setting down his glass.

"Yes. There is still the last train that leaves at 8. We have a half an hour and could make it there in time."

Matthew's mother frowned. "But what would we do in London? You don't mean to seek out Robert's sister-"

"No," Mary said firmly, passion flashing through her words. "No… Aunt Rosamund has made it clear her thoughts on Matthew as well. So no, I will not darken her doorway. Edith, Sir Michael works late, does he not?"

Edith's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes of course! Oh, that is brilliant! I could even send him a telegram… they had a private one installed in his building so they could get messages from reporters quicker! I could do it at the station, tell him of our coming and he would arrange for transport." She fingered her evening wear. "We are all dressed up like this and I dare say it would be safer if we had it."

Matthew turned to his valet/butler. "Molesley, if it isn't too much trouble I'd ask that you remain behind and work with Mrs. Byrd to pack up our things. We'll send you word of where we are settled tomorrow afternoon, latest, so you might join us."

"I will also deal with Lord Grantham, should he arrive seeking you out. Would you like me to get anything for you now?"

"No, I think we'll be leaving very shortly and it doesn't seem fair that I have a change of clothing when the ladies here will not. Tell Mrs. Byrd what is happening though and tell her we will call for you all when we have firmer news."

"Of course, sir."

"Then it's settled," Sybil said as Molesley left the room. "The seven of us will head to London."

"Seven?" Tom said, looking about the room.

"You don't mean to go back there, do you Branson?" Mary asked.

Tom's eyes shifted about. "I wasn't… really involved with this, my Lady."

"But don't think that won't mean you won't be a target," Thomas said, surprising all by speaking up. "His Lordship will be looking for targets for his ire when he realizes the girls have made good on their threat. Carson too. Anyone who has put radical ideas in their heads will be seen as the cause of the problem and will face the brunt of their anger." Thomas paused, pursing his lips. "Lady Sybil… Gwen."

Sybil's eyes went wide. "I'll ask Molesley if he could sneak to the servant's hall tomorrow morning and retrieve her. She was going to be putting in her notice anyway… she got the job!" There was a flash of excitement in Sybil's eyes. "But I fear how she will be treated by Carson and papa. They may falsely believe she is the reason for my outburst and rebellion rather than it being I influencing her. Better for her to sneak out now… like you, Thomas, she no longer needs a reference."

"I'll get him now and tell him," Matthew's mother said. "Or better yet we'll have Mrs. Byrd do it. She has been going up to assist Mrs. Patmore so that would be a good excuse for her to show up, wanting to make sure she is fine."

Sybil let out a sigh of relief before turning to Tom. "But you can't return. He will twist his thoughts into believing that your socialist views are why we have behaved as we did. Papa will at best fire you anyway. At worst-"

"I am a man grown… I can handle his anger."

"Yes but should you?" Mary asked. "Oh please, Branson… Tom… come with us. Matthew got Thomas a position I'm sure he could do the same for you. "

Tom looked about the room and scowled. "I'm going to have all three Crawley girls begging me to come, aren't I?" Sybil nodded her head with an impish smile and he rolled his eyes. "Fine." After that the girls moved about the house, getting one last drink or using the facilities before heading out. Thomas moved to help Molesley, saying that he needed to do something so he didn't think about his rash actions. That left Matthew alone with Tom, the chauffer whispering to him, "I warned Lady Sybil about altering time."

"Yes, yes you did," Matthew admitted. "But I will still take this over the front."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

~A~O~O~O~F~

Allen Lothrop, Lieutenant General within the British Army and head of Supply and Reclamation within the Ministry of Defense, sat in his favorite armchair reading through a collection of short stories from the United States, trying to keep his mind off the news that had been delivered throughout the nation just hours ago. Though he had known it was coming he still had been struck by his dark suspicions being made into reality: they were at war. For many it meant battle and bloodshed but for Allen is meant paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. His job was hard enough as it was but with war it was about to get much worse.

'Thank God Matthew already contacted me a week ago to agree to come work for me,' Allen thought to himself. The Heir of Downton had been assisting him with small issues and had been a true blessing and the general had nearly broken Matthew's hand shaking it when the young man had come to him and agreed to the offer Allen had put on the table two months ago for him to come work for him. 'Hopefully he is able to find the young men he was telling me about for his staff. We'll have to move quickly now… I'll need to contact him tomorrow and arrange for him to come to London.'

"Your brooding again," his wife, Catherine, said from her own chair, her knitting needles clicking away. Their eldest son, Franklin, had just informed them that his wife Bethany was expecting their first child and Cat had it in her head that she should now take up knitting like any good grandmother. The problem was she was rubbish at it and Allen already sensed many oddly shaped hats in his future. Still, it at least offered some measure of noise to their large at rather empty townhouse. With Franklin having moved to his own place, Jenny out visiting Cat's sister in the country, and their youngest having recently gotten a place of his own the massive home felt rather empty with just Allen and Cat puttering about with only the servants to keep them company. "Everything will be alright. You've already gotten our boys positions that will keep them at home and Jenny's seeing that nice young man from the War Office and he won't be going anywhere. We are secure."

Allen nodded. "Yes… I used to mock nepotism but now that I find myself with the power to save our family I can't help but seize it. Still, it is others I worry about."

"And not you being stuck at a desk buried in paperwork?" she teased.

"That's a lovely scarf you are making," he quipped back.

Catherine blinked. "It's a bootie for… oh blast!" she began to grumble as she realized she'd gotten distracted and switched what she was knitting mid stitch and now the bootie had a heel that was FAR too long. "Don't you dare laugh-" she began to warn only for the harsh ring of the phone in the hallway to startle them both. "Now who could that be?"

Allen marked his place and set his book down. "The War Office, most likely. I imagine I'll be getting many of those calls til this is all settled." Their butler, Lotten, answered it in the hall and after a moment Allen heard him say he would retrieve him. "See?"

"My Lord-"

"Not a lord, yet," Allen reminded Lotten; he was new, having come on in the last few months, and felt that since Allen would be Lord Oakwood soon (and most likely sooner rather than later, seeing as his uncle the current Lord Oakwood was sick in bed and Allen's father had made it clear that he was far too old to manage an estate and would abdicate as soon as he could to force Allen to clean up the mess of things) that he must be addressed as 'Lord'. "What is it, Lotten?"

"A Sir Michael Gregson is on the phone for you."

"Gregson… Gregson… oh, the newspaper man. I met him at Downton last December." Allen's brow furrowed. "What the devil does he want?"

"A quote?" Cat suggested.

"If he wanted that he'd go to someone the public would be interested in." Moving to the phone Allen picked it up. "Hello… yes Sir Michael… you have who? Matthew Crawley… what? ….wait, what? He…he said what?! Oh… oh that…no… okay… yes… no, tell them all to come straight away, yourself included. We'll be waiting. Yes… yes, thank you." He hung up the phone, his face twisting in outrage. "Bloody bastard!"

"What was that?" Cat asked, putting aside the bootie/scarf, far too used to her husband's vulgar language when he got upset.

"Matthew Crawley apparently showed up at Sir Michael's paper with Robert Crawley's daughters, his mother, a valet, and a chauffer, all soaking wet and saying that Lord Grantham had cast Matthew out of his house!"

"…that sounds like one of your bawdy jokes you tell Richard."

"Well it isn't and the poor souls are coming here right now. They have only the clothing on their back and no idea what to do next. Lotten, get something light for them to eat, they sound as if they haven't had dinner. Have Mrs. Rivers make up something simple, easy on the stomach. Little sandwiches or something." Allen sat back down rolled his head towards the ceiling. "Bloody hell, this is why I wish father would be Lord Oakwood for… decades. I have enough on my plate, I don't need to deal with lords and their stupidity!"

While Allen waited for their guests to arrive Catherine set to work to ensure they were comfortable. When Matthew and his company were finally shown into their drawing room by Lotten Cat was ready with large fluffy towels for all of them and warm drinks to pass into their hands. While it had been a normal warm summer day the evening had brought a cold wind and even colder rain and thus she'd had one of the kitchen maids start a fire and got the footmen to assist in moving the furniture closer to the hearth, leaving the farthest ones for herself and Allen. Thus the Downton arrivals didn't have to shiver as they told their long tale.

"Let us hope I never have to be in that area any time soon," Allen snarled as he paced, a glass of water clutched in his hands. For the first time in years he actually considered breaking his teatotaling ways, he was that annoyed. "Because if I ever see Lord Grantham again he and I will have…" he glanced over at the girls and reined in what he was about to say, "…words."

"I'm just sorry all of you had to go through that," Cat said, reaching out and patting the valet, Thomas, on the knee. He smiled but said nothing, sipping the tea that had been thrust into his hands the moment he'd sat down, Allen's wife commanding him to drink just as she would have commanded one of her sons.

'What a strange lot we all are,' Allen thought, deciding to focus on who was gathered in his drawing room while he calmed his nerves; the tale Matthew had told, including the besmirching of the general's own character and profession, had his blood boiling but anger would do them no good in this case. It would only cause problems if Allen marched to the War Office to convince them to put Robert Crawley under his command… and then make the bastard his shoe shine boy. As funny as that would be. No, Allen instead focused on those that were gathered, the motley gang. 'The Lord's daughter and her fiancée who is still the heir, despite what Grantham thinks.' Lady Mary clearly had decided that with her abandoning her family home there was no need to be as… standoffish… as some high born girls were when not alone with their loves. Matthew had a hand draped around her shoulder and she was resting her head against his chest, her one hand rubbing his own as if she wanted to make sure he truly was there with her. She seemed the most worn about by all the madness, at times yawning and at one point Allen was sure she'd begun to drift asleep.

Next was her sister, Lady Edith, who was a bit more reserved than Lady Mary but still had not let go of Sir Michael's hand. Allen had heard rumors that the owner of The Strand had become involved with a high born girl but he hadn't realized it was Lord Grantham's daughter. Sir Michael had played the smallest part in the entire affair and asked nearly as many questions as Cat did (Allen himself remaining silent, letting his wife handle the discussion while he grew ever more frustrated). After her was Lady Sybil who sat next to the chauffer, Tom Branson. Though they weren't touching each other Allen suspected that there was a bit of cross-class attraction between the two and a glance at Catherine proved that she sensed the same thing. Allen didn't judge, as he was a firm believer that love was more important than class or culture, region or religion. All that mattered was that one was happy. Finally there was the oddest couple, though also the only one that clearly had no romantic interest. Matthew's mother was a passionate woman who had no trouble taking up the story when the others faltered while beside her on the couch the valet, Thomas Barrow, looked to want to speak but would quickly hold his tongue whenever he was about to enter the conversation. Allen knew that Matthew had wanted to bring on a Thomas to their staff and he had a feeling the valet was being quiet so he wouldn't offend him and cost himself the position.

"Papa has just gone mad," Lady Sybil complained. "Matthew will be doing wonderful things for the army… why can't he see that?"

"Because he's pampered," Tom shot out before realizing what he had said and more importantly around whom. "Beg your pardon-"

"Oh Branson I think we are far beyond you needing to apologize," Lady Mary said, suppressing a yawn. "Frankly I've grown quite tired of people not saying what they truly feel and letting things fester. Besides… you are no longer in our employee."

"Don't remind me," Tom groaned, rubbing his forehead. "My mum is going to kill me when she finds out I walked off a job. Bloody hell, I practically stole the car!"

"If need be we'll say we kidnapped you," Lady Sybil said with a light laugh.

"Ah yes, these poor young men kidnapped by us horrid ladies," Isobel said. Catherine chuckled at that and soon the entire room was laughing.

"You were saying something Branson… sorry, Tom," Edith said before her brow furrowed. "Tom and Thomas. This will get annoying."

"Keep with Branson then, Lady Edith," the chauffer said. "And I don't know-"

"Spit it out man," Catherine said with a snort. "My husband here will say far worse about their father and your former employer, trust me on that."

Allen shrugged. "It's true."

Tom, emboldened by that declaration, thankfully stopped minding his manners and spoke. "You three have all begun to leave the protection of Downton and explore the outside world. Lady Mary, you have gone to London with Matthew and spent more time outside of your home in recent months. Lady Edith you of course have Sir Michael and the paper. And everyone knows of your mission with Gwen." Sybil nodded at that. "But your lord father has remained in Downton. When is the last time he truly left it… and its comforts? Not merely gone to the city or to Duneagle but been outside the small world of parlor rooms and dining tables? His world is tiny and for the most part what he believes to be true is. You, Mr. Crawley, forced him to see a truth he wasn't ready to encounter and as such he lashed out at you and retreated back to his private world."

"Then not pampered," Isobel said. "Sheltered."

"That certainly sounds like papa," Edith stated.

Allen nodded in agreement. "My thoughts exactly. I've seen such with captains and commanders during times of peace when they spend far too much of their time within their camps and forts and command posts. There was one general, Reggie something or other, I forget his last name, who had come to England after serving in the African bush for nearly a decade. I asked him about the locals and all he talked about were the trivial matters concerning the running of his base. Problems with the cook, fighting between three men, inconsequential things like that. Of the people he was both supposed to protect and was to monitor he knew nothing. He'd forgotten completely the outside world."

"I hope you aren't suggesting we try and get him to see reason," Lady Mary commented dryly. "It would take far more power-" she let out another yawn, her jaw practically cracking as she did so which caused Thomas to start as such… common… action from the likes of her, "-than we have to make him see the light."

"I don't think anyone is suggesting that," Isobel said. "So instead I suggest we put Robert out of our minds and discuss just what we shall do now. I hate to be dreary but all of us are technically homeless." The others shifted at that and Allen and Catherine shared a look of pity; the group before them had rushed to London with only the clothing on their back. While it was true that Matthew and Isobel still had their bank accounts and hopefully Tom and Thomas had put some money away with the latter two the Lothrops didn't know if they could access their funds. And with the girls there was no way they'd be able to touch the Grantham fortune, leaving them penniless.

'From having anything they desired to being no better than a pansy seller. What an about face.'

Isobel continued on. "While I sold our home in Manchester it shouldn't be too hard to buy something for myself… but I don't know if I could afford to house the rest of you."

Sybil frowned, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "I suppose Aunt Rosamund is a possibility-"

"I've made my feelings clear on that," Mary said firmly. "I won't go back to her home, not after what she said to me about Matthew."

"But that doesn't settle what we do in the here and now," Edith pointed out.

"I can help as best I can," Sir Michael offered. "Thomas, Matthew, and Tom could stay at my home… it would be cramped but we could manage."

"No, that won't do," Cat said, shaking her head. "I think your only option is clear." When the others looked at her she smiled and held out her arms wide. "You will stay here with us."

The group stared at her in utter surprise and Allen couldn't help but smirk. His wife had that affect on people.

"Mrs. Lothrop," Matthew began, "we couldn't-"

"You can and you will," Catherine said firmly, making the General grin all the more as his wife showed them why he had chosen to marry her. "Our sons have left and our daughter Jenny is off seeing my side of the family and even if all of them were to return we'd still have more than enough room."

Allen nodded in agreement. "This home was a gift from my uncle." He took another sip of water. "I think he knows how badly his daughters have bollocked up the family name with their wildness and he knows it will be upon me to fix things. He bought this house for us a years ago but it was far too large then and has only gotten worse as our children have left to start their lives. There are rooms that no one has ever slept in… even with giving each of you a place to rest we'll still have enough space. Besides, I dare say the staff would appreciate the work… Cat and I tend to bore them by being low maintenance." Setting his glass down Allen began to pace again; it was an annoying habit he had but only for those that had to constantly follow him and thus he didn't care much to stop. "We were already going to make this offer to you both," he gestured at Lady Mary and Matthew, "as we knew that it would be unfair to demand Lady Mary stay at Downton while Matthew as in London. Yes, your father does have his townhouse here but that is far too big for just the two of you… and of course that avenue is now cut off from you."

"We… we would be most grateful, General," Mary said with a watery smile.

"As for the rest of you we have room for all and for however long you wish to stay. I imagine some of you will want privacy and a place of your own but we can give you the time to find what you desire."

"I believe I fall into that category," Isobel said with a firm nod.

Allen smiled before turning back towards the earl's daughters, his smile falling slightly. "I do have one rule you must agree to now. I will not continue this if you refuse me here." Lady Mary and her sisters stared at him and he stared right back. "Everyone who falls under my protection, be they guests in my home or enlisted men I command, will treat everyone else on equal terms. Thomas and Tom will be staying here; Thomas has already accepted a position on Matthew's staff and the offer is open to Tom as well. They are no longer servants. You will treat them as you would anyone else I made a guest in my home. And those that do work for me are to be respected as you would the highest knight. I will not have them bullied or abused purely because of who your father is. Do I make myself clear?"

"I can accept those terms," Lady Mary with only a moment's hesitation. "I only ask pardon if I slip. I will apologize quickly of course but should I accidently ask Thomas for something-"

Thomas waved his hand. "I won't take offense to that, my… Lady Mary." He chewed on the last two words, not used to being so direct with her.

"There is a small problem though," Tom said, looking at the general. "I won't work for you. I object to this war and I cannot in good faith help someone fighting it. If that means I must go-"

Allen snorted. "Son, I object to this bloody war too. It's a stupid thing caused by stupid men. I'm fighting because I am commanded to… if I had left my duties even a month ago I'd be right there with you. I don't look forward to sending men to die for a needless thing but I have to do it… but I won't force you."

Tom nodded in thanks before sighing. "But I won't accept your charity either. I will stay here for now but only until I can support myself… though doing what I must admit I do not know."

"I might be able to help with that," Sir Michael said, finally speaking up after a long silence. "Edith tells me you are well learned. Is that true?"

"Well," Tom said, blushing a bit and rubbing the back of his head, "I never went to some grand school but I have educated myself, if that is what you mean."

"He's being humble," Lady Sybil said with a gentle smile, patting Tom's arm. Allen glanced at Cat and his wife smirked slightly; both mentally knew that life with those two under the same roof and the class barriers ripped away would result in some interesting fireworks. "He loves to read and is a student of many subjects. History, philosophy, political-"

"He's a socialist," Matthew stated.

Cat chuckled. "Better than being French."

Sir Michael turned back to Tom. "I don't know how much you pay attention to my paper but in recent years I have tried to make it far much more than what one would expect from a publication focused on women. I have brought on different viewpoints and different topics that one wouldn't normally see. Edith has written several articles for me." He leaned forward. "With this war I want to do something that will set me apart from the other papers that will be leaping over themselves to provide the same tired propaganda proclaiming how wonderful all the war is going and how England is destined to win. While I believe that to be the case I do think there is room for other opinions and, in fact, it is our ability to allow for just such opinions that makes us better than the likes of the Germans." Michael took a sip from his glass before continuing. "I've already selected the man who will right on the side of the war, that it is just and needed. What I need is someone to argue against it in columns and opinion pieces and someone who can look at both sides and be more… even. I think you would do well on the first."

Allen watched as Tom hemmed and hawed at that before finally giving in and accepting Michael offer. It had been amusing because it was clear to the general that the Irishman wanted to accept but felt it his duty to fight a bit. He glanced at Cat again and once more she quietly smiled and nodded towards Lady Sybil; oh yes, those two would entertain them for hours.

After that things became more detail oriented, with the assigning of rooms and general plans for the days and weeks to come. Thomas would be given an advance by General Allen to buy new clothes, Sir Michael doing the same for Tom. The two former servants would get some clothing Allen's youngest son had left behind and the next day they'd get some clothing picked up by Allen's valet, Muldoon. As for the girls Cat had made it clear that they were to borrow from the Lothrops' daughter and daughter-in-law's wardrobes (the girls always left extra garments just in case) and she would take them to a dress maker. Matthew would pay for Mary and Sybil but Sir Michael surprised them all by saying Edith would pay for her own clothing… as he had decided that SHE would be the final member of his opinion column trinity, taking the moderate viewpoint. That had led to a lot of excitement and well wishing before things had gotten back on track…

"There is one thing I truly want to do tomorrow," Lady Mary finally said. She was no longer yawning and the excitement of planning out the next week had given her a bit of a jolt. The same could not be said of the others, as even the General, used to working long hours, was growing more and more ready to lie down and let Morpheus take him.

"And what's that?" Matthew asked.

"Marry you."

That woke everyone up.

"Mary…" Matthew began but she held up her head.

"I don't trust papa. Not anymore. I fear that at any moment I will open a paper and see that he's promised me to some old man from some far flung rock in the far north just to spite me. I don't want to give him a chance to do that Matthew." She reached over and cupped his cheeks in her hands. "Marry me, Matthew. Tomorrow. We've waited far too long…it's time."

Matthew though shook his head. "Mary… this is your wedding and you deserve it to be… so special. If we rush this-"

"It will be special if you are the one I am saying my vows to. Would I have preferred a long white dress and a ride through the village of children tossed rose pedals in the air and papa was waiting to walk me down the aisle? Of course. But those are a girl's dreams… I am a woman and will have a woman's dreams instead: a husband who I love and who loves me. I don't care if we must find a half drunk clergyman in some rat infested church-"

Catherine spoke up. "Oh, there will be none of that, not so long as I am here to take the reins. No… we will go to bed and when I awake I will see our family minister. The church will be made available and he will marry you two in the sight of the Lord. We will find you a white dress, flowers will be gathered, and our cook will make us a fine dinner. And then the General and I will take everyone else out to see a play or to have dinner… and you two will have your honeymoon without the rest of us knocking about." She nodded firmly. "End of story."

~16 Hours Later~

Catherine Lothrop has spoken true. The minister, Sadler, had quickly agreed and everyone had rushed about to prepare for the surprise wedding. Mary and her sisters had gone shopping and found a tasteful white dress that while not fit for any wedding that would have been held at Downton was perfect enough for Mary. Her sisters made do with the dresses they had worn the night before, quickly pressed and prepared by Catherine's lady's maid, while the gentlemen did the same with their white shirts and black jackets, with only Tom needing to swap out for a more appropriate suit jacket. Sir Michael handled getting the paperwork that was needed and stood as Matthew's best man while Sybil stood for Mary (with a promise from the youngest Crawley that Edith would be her own maid of honor when the time came for her to marry). The Lothrop house staff worked to prepare things and promised not just a meal but a feast when all of them returned and the General had managed to get tickets for a play that would keep everyone but the newlyweds away from the house for several hours.

Thus it was that Lady Mary Crawley walked down the aisle not in her childhood church but one in a quieter parts of London. It was not her father that gave her away but a General of the British army, dressed in full uniform with medals and all to add to the prestige. Her dress was not one with a long train and made of the finest silk but one that had been available for purchase and didn't even fit her properly without a few pins used to tighten it up and that was far too tight around the chest. And most importantly of all it wasn't Patrick, the heir to Downton, who waited for her as she had assumed when she was a child… but a simple country lawyer… upper middle class at best.

Neither she nor Matthew knew what awaited them, with all instructions and guides for their lives thrown away and a nation that now found itself in war. But for the first time in all her life Mary was doing something not because it was expected of her but because she truly wanted it.

As the minister pronounced them husband and wife and the two shared their first kiss as one united before the eyes of God and law, both of them knew the same thing: now, for good or for worse, they were the authors of their own fate.

And they would write their saga together.

End of Series 1

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: Writing this up as I edit. First things first I've hinted at it before but unlike Canon Matthew this Matthew did not handle the war and then forget about it. Other than poor Lang we never saw shell shock but I find that just… wrong. WWI was a nightmare. Remember, we got Lord of the Rings thanks to the horrors of the Somme. All but one of Tolkien's friends died in that War and the survivor's guilt haunted him til the end of his days, same with C.S. Lewis. Yet the show ignores this? Nope. Here we see that the mere thought of going back to that literal hell is enough to rattle Matthew.

Some people have asked about Robert's reaction and what cemented for me how he would appear here was one minor plot point where, despite the horrors of the War… Robert wanted to go. He thought it would be an adventure. And when he was told he couldn't he was sad. He. Was. Sad. Robert honestly didn't come to truly understand the war until Matthew was paralyzed and William died. THAT is what finally showed him how bad it was and shut him the hell up.

Sybil being okay with her sibling dying might be controversial to some but remember this is a Sybil who found men she had cared for dead from suicide, who had seen disease and pain and suffering. Who knew that life was short and that people die. She is… jaded. And greedy. And selfish. She gave so much to others and her reward was to die on her death bed because her father wanted not to embarrass a high ranking doctor (and yes, I am in the camp that Clarkson told a bold face lie and had he cared for Sybil she would have lived). So in this life… she is much like Tom: she is clannish. Packish. And the baby is someone she never met so the babe isn't pack.

Many wondered about Tom and now we see that he's been roped into the flight from Downton. Gwen isn't coming for this but she will be sneaking out much like O'Brien did, leaving Downton even worse as it is down two of its most skilled maids.

In London we meet Allen and his wife Cat, two people who were middle class but know that they will be a lord and lady soon… and honestly don't give a shit. I like the idea of the General basically being a foul mouthed man with no filter. It gives us a different type of character to interact with the main cast.

And now the stage is set for Series 2. Anna and Bates out of Downton. Tom and Thomas now on more equal footing with the London Crawleys. Edith working with Tom and Michael's paper. Thomas and Matthew working together. And finally Mary and Matthew married in a quiet ceremony. No grand affair, no Robert walking her down the aisle, no Carson to see it come to pass. A bitter sweet thing if ever there was one.

Now, some of you noticed that there was no plot bunny last time. I did that because that chapter was such a bombshell I thought it needed to sit on its own. But don't worry… I have 2 plot bunnies right here for you, one that comes from my regular reviewer Batshark.

He suggested something I had never thought about before when it came to my 'Someone travels back in time to fix Downton'. Allow me to set the scene: It is the end of WWII and Downton has suffered. Robert Crawley stands before George Crawley's freshly dug grave, misery written on his features. Next to George's grave is Matthew's plot, and beside that… Mary's. She died in childbirth, just as Sybil did, shattering the family all the more. After Mary's death Henry couldn't handle things and he left, disappearing and never being heard from again. Cora was heartbroken and became like a ghost, unable to leave Downton and many times just sitting in mary's old room. The care for George fell to Robert and he loved his grandson… he loved him so very, very much. And now he is dead. Gone to join Mary. Matthew. Sybil. Mama. Carson. Others have left. With Henry gone their auto shop fell apart and Tom moved back to America, taking Sybie with him. Edith still lives but after Mary's death she and Bertie decided they would never risk having children. There are no heirs… Robert has searched and searched and searched… but there is no one left. He has no idea what will happen to Downton and quite frankly he no longer cares. It feels as if the place is a tomb, threatening to consume him.

As everyone leaves Robert moves to the grave, touches the stone, and asks the Lord what he did wrong… what sin did he commit? Wasn't he a good man? Wasn't his family good people? Why… why couldn't they have happiness?

And when he opens his eyes again he finds Pharaoh nudging his leg. The gravemarkers are gone. He is not dressed in black. And the cold spring day has been replaced by a warm fall afternoon. As he looks around he suddenly hears someone complaining… and watches with shock as Mary walks up to him with Sybil and asks if she really must go and greet the 'jumped up lawyer who has come to steal her inheritence'.

Everyone doesn't know what to do when Robert hugs both his girls and begins to weep.

Yes, the plotbunny is "What if Authors of Our Own Fate had ROBERT go back in time?" It is actually a rather interesting idea… how different would things be if we had a Robert who was more accepting, far more liberal and open and caring? A Robert who had spent 20 years caring for a small child. One who had come to rely upon the servants when everyone else had gone and thus now went downstairs often to sit with Carson to discuss things. A Robert who sees Cora young and so full of hope and sweeps her up in a great big kiss that shocks everyone. One who welcome Matthew with open arms and leaves the lawyer shocked.

If I were doing it I'd have Robert quickly tell his mother everything. I just have this vision of him laying it all out, all the bad, and finally telling her about George's death and Violet pulling him to sit down and Robert breaking down weeping, she rocking him back and forth and telling him it was okay. Her becoming his secret keeper and working with him to change the world.

As for the second plot bunny I decided to focus on the couple that seems to get more stories about them than anyone else: Carson and Mrs. Hughes.

Let's go with a traveling back story but in a different way. Some time in Series 1 (I'd put it before Carson's past was revealed), he and Mrs. Hughes see William pinning over Daisy and they end up talking discussing how youth is wasted on the young and how it is a shame that as one gains wisdom they are too old to act on it.

The next morning the two wake up to find out they get to see if their comments were true… as the world has changed. Carson awakens to find he is rooming with Thomas… who calls him Charles. And that when he looks in the mirror his 20 year old self is staring back. And Mrs. Hughes wakes up in Anna's room and she tells her to hurry up and get dressed and Mrs. Hughes finds a 19 year old Elsie staring back.

Somehow the two are not only young again but starting off in lower positions in the staff, with a new butler and head housemaid taking their places.

How would their lives change with the two no longer the powers in the Downstairs but merely bit players? To be young again and feel the urges of the young? Would they continue with life as they had… or seize the chance for something new?

Chapter Text

Author's Notes: And welcome to Series 2! Thank you all who have reviewed and made this story so popular its cracked the Top 100 (Rank is 77 currently, no idea how high up if you remove all the 'Modern AU' fics).

Don't expect updates this close together, by the way. Last week was just a treat and now we are back on schedule.

Remember, reviews make me want to write!

~A~O~O~O~F~

July 12th, 1916

"As you can see we are proud to be part of the war effort."

Matthew followed the plump form of Nicholas Rutter, the owner of the Dartmont Automotive Company, as he led both him and Thomas through his factory. They made an odd grouping, what with the corpulent man in his suit that, while baggy, did little to hide his wide frame and the two of them dressed in their military uniforms, all marks of their status clear to see. The rotund man had clearly tried to dress the place up, having British flags flying out front and colorful blue, white, and red bunting along the counters while posters proclaiming support for the military hanging on the walls. But it couldn't hide that this was a factory. Rutter was forced to raise his voice over the cacophony coming from the factory floor but Matthew was well used to that and didn't even bat an eye at the chaotic noises that swirled about them. Rutter spent most of his days in this factory while Matthew and Thomas moved about the countryside, visiting hundreds of such facilities both larger and smaller. This visit was an old hat for them, as it were.

"What was it you did before this?" Matthew asked as they passed by an area clearly designated as a spot for the workers and car assemblers to change and store their meager personal belongings. It was a cramp room with a long bench running down the middle and lockers on either side. It reminded Matthew very much of the changing space from his schooling days, when he'd take time out of learning history and mathematics to run and climb ropes and strengthen his body rather than his mind.

Thomas took a moment to peek inside, Rutter frowning at that. "Oh, no need to look in there… just a dirty, smelly room for the workers. All the factory is like that… are you sure you wouldn't rather just handle this in my office?"

"We came to see the factory and that is what we are going to do," Matthew said firmly while Thomas continued to peer about. Alarms had been screaming in his head the moment the owner had attempted, the moment they had arrived, to get the two of them to just go to his most likely well-furnished office and enjoy a drink rather than actually walk the factory floor and do their inspection. The man probably thought himself rather clever but it was painfully obvious to Matthew that he was nervous and if he could have had his way Rutter would have seen the two of them off as soon as possible. Perhaps, had Matthew been some high born lord's son he would have seen such actions as wonderful suggests and ate up the platitudes the man was sending their way as being true fawning by a loyal subject of the realm. But he was a middle class lawyer and had been doing this job for nearly 2 years. He had seen it far too many times and didn't buy into the rubbish Rutter was trying to peddle. "If our fighting men can battle on through the muck we can handle rooms that smell of sweat and are filled with dust."

Rutter bobbed his head rapidly at that. "Oh, of course Capt. Crawley, of course. That is why I was so happy to aid in the war effort. Only by acting together can we beat the Germans!" He began to move on and after a moment Matthew and Thomas followed him, moving towards the main floor where the workers were assembling the jeeps and trucks that would move the much needed supplies General Lothrop was procuring to the front and the men that needed them. It was a rather cheerless place, not because of any cruelty or malice but because of the need of function over style. No bunting here, no flags or posters. Only exposed steel beams, cold cement floors, the ringing of metal and flash of welding sparks. Three teams of men, roughly 8 to 10 on each, were moving around three rather skeletal looking jeeps, calling out for tools and assembling pieces. Once more Matthew wondered if a higher born man would have passed by this floor and not seen it as the most important place in the inspection, dismissing it as little more than the work of the peons-

'Stop it,' he thought, pushing aside all thoughts of lords and titles from his head. He hated to think of such things these days and when he did it always put him in a black mood.

"What did you make here before the war?" Thomas asked. Rutter looked at him and he smiled what was, for him, an innocent smile. Matthew knew that while Rutter might have only seen kindness what that grin really meant was that a wolf was among the chickens and the farmer had gone to church. "I mean obviously you made motor vehicles, I am curious which ones."

"High end ones, Sgt. Barrow," Rutter said proudly. "There was always a lord or a duke looking to buy a fleet of cars. I sold ten to the Marquess of Hexham just a few years before the war. Very impressive, purred like kittens and roared like lions. He entertained quite a bit and would need to drive people about for hunting and travel."

Thomas pursed his lips at that. "Sounds as if the war caused you to take quite a step down." When Rutter shot him a confused look Thomas gave a slight shrug. "We have a friend whose brother owns a garage and from we've been told high end cars, especially the ones you were selling, can cost quite a bit… and bring in quite a bit of money. Special parts, special needs. Rather different from constantly making the same jeep over and over."

"Ah, but I am happy to be able to help the war effort. My sister's boy in serving near the Somme…"

Matthew though wasn't interested in the man's family. "You are helping but not quite at the speed we were hoping for. In fact you've fallen quite behind in delivery."

Thomas pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages while Rutters blustered a bit. "When we drew up your contract you claimed that roughly 60 jeeps and 40 trucks a month could be produced, with the possibility of shifting towards larger transport trucks as well as single man motorcycles with sidecars. You have over the last 12 months averaged only 29 jeeps, 15 trucks, and no transporters or cycles each month."

"So you understand our concern," Matthew added, cutting to the heart of the matter. "We have supplies waiting at camps that can't get to the front lines, warehouses filled with needed medicine that can't reach field hospitals because we lack transport, and to move beyond our own aspect of the war relief troops that merely trickle to the front lines rather than flow."

Rutter waved off their concerns. "Jeeps and trucks might be rather utilitarian but they are actually rather like pieces of art. Every nut and bolt must be in its proper place. I know how important these vehicles are but if I were to send them out without ensuring that every bolt was in place and that cost a young man his life… well… I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Switching from the cars we are used to building to these vehicles has also been a learning process. We are getting better, I assure you, but it will take time."

"It might go a bit faster if your entire staff were actually building the jeeps," Thomas said with a breezy tone. He pointed to one group. "Of the eight men working on that jeep only three have truly done anything. Those two keep walking back to the tool box, selecting a different tool, then walking back. Not using it or giving it to anyone… just pick up a tool, walk around the car, walk back and select a new one. That one is lying under the body but hasn't actually done anything; if it weren't for the noise I'd think he was asleep. And those two keep tightening and loosening the same four bolts; they rotate every two minutes." He turned back to Rutter who, to Matthew's amusement, was turning several different shades of purple. "The same with the other teams. I would say you have at best 10 of the 30 men down here that actually are working."

"I… I do not know what you are implying-" Rutter began to snap and snarl, only for Matthew to hold up his hand.

"I think you know exactly what Thomas is implying. But if he is wrong it is easy enough to determine. We have all day… Thomas will select 10 men and they will put together a jeep. Even if they don't get done we should see progress."

Rutter was sweating now, his round face looking like a frog who had just emerged from swamp water. "They are new hires. Learning their trade. We… we wanted to put on a good show for you but we've been hit by men leaving… to fight the good fight-"

"Then they must have left a long time ago," Thomas said, rocking back on his heels. "Only a third of the lockers have been used."

"As I said-" Rutter began.

"I don't mean used recently. I mean ever. While you two were talking I looked at the paint on the hinges… you can where it his chipped off on the lockers being used by your actual employees but the rest look prestine. But not fresh… you can see where a couple lockers got repainted recently but the paint doesn't quite match."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "I wonder if we ask around we'll find out that a road crew was offered a day of easy pay under a roof if they pretended to be mechanics."

"Why would I do that?" Rutter exclaimed, truly going into a good panic. "Why would I think of doing such a thing? You make claims about me but do not answer the why!"

Now it was Matthew's turn to play Holmes after acting as Thomas' Watson. "Because of the contract. I wasn't one of the men to draw that one up, much to my annoyance but Sgt. Barrow and I were on other tasks and the General was forced to use those less knowledgeable than me. But I did read it all the same before it was sent for you to sign, Mr. Rutter… you requested, as a way of 'helping King and Country', to be paid not per vehicle but a flat rate per day. You were offering to build at a faster pace than all others and at first you did deliver closer to the number promised, but as time has gone on you have slowed in production. You never hired the full crew you claimed you would. You instead kept your numbers small, knowing that you would be able to pocket more money the longer it took to produce the vehicles we needed… and with us in desperate need you knew we wouldn't risk terminating the contract due to you not meeting the goal."

The factory owner puffed up a bit at that, his previous kindness and good nature fading away. "You are correct in that, Capt. Crawley. There is nothing you or your general can do. The contract is iron clad and as you said you are in desperate need of my vehicles. So there will be no altering of terms… and you will keep me employed as long as you need me."

Matthew and Thomas shared a look.

"I don't think his sister's son is in the army at all," Thomas said.

"I don't think he has a sister at all," Matthew countered before turning back to Rutter and smiling. "Well, I suppose you are right… we won't be seeking any alternations to the contract. And the contract is iron clad." Here he leaned forward, his smile becoming a hyena's mocking visage. "Including the clause I put in before the contract was sent to you to finalize."

"What… what clause?" Rutter said, his boastfulness doing what his sweat would not and evaporating away.

"Oh, nothing to be concerned about. I buried it deep in the contract, hard to see but it was there if you bothered to read over the details. It merely states that should you fail to provide the army with 700 jeeps and 400 trucks within 13 months' time, which is actually under what you promised, you would refund half of the funds we paid you since the contract began. And you seem to be under half of that for your quota of jeeps and trucks with only… how many days left, Sgt. Barrow?"

"12 days, Cpt. Crawley."

"12 days left to reach the agreed upon goal." Matthew looked over at the workers, who were once more loosening bolts they had just tightened. "Seeing as you are having quite a time teaching your new employees how to properly affix bolts you are welcome to pay us early."

"I… I…"

Thomas shrugged. "Oh, and before you do give us our check know that you STILL are required to produce the jeeps and trucks we paid for… without payment until the quota is met. Only then will we begin discussing a new contract."

"I… I can't do that. I used the funds-"

"To improve the factory?" Matthew pressed. "Or only the parts that will help after the war when you return to building those luxury cars? Or are you merely short sighted and lined your own pockets?" He glared at the now stammering man and took a step forward, jabbing his finger into the man's chest. "Should you fail to meet the quota and return to us the funds we are owed I am quite ready to contact the military police about your breach of contract… and stealing of military funds. For that is what you have done, Mr. Rutter. Sgt. Barrow, what would you call stealing from the government, hampering the war effort, and causing the deaths of soldiers?"

"I would say treason, Cpt. Crawley."

It wouldn't get that far but that threat did make the fat man squirm all the more.

"And what is the punishment for traitors?"

"Hanging most times. Though with our friend here they might elect for a firing squad…"

A foul odor hit their nose and Matthew glanced down only to look back up, avoiding any chance of looking at the dark stain that was forming on the front of Rutter's trousers. The man was trembling so hard it was a wonder that his blubber didn't drip off him like pudding shaken from a whisk and the man's gasps were hard and ragged. He lurched forward, fingers squeezing open and shut and Matthew backed away as the owner tried to grab onto his coat.

"Please… I needed the money-"

"No you didn't," Matthew said coldly. "You wanted the money. There is a difference. Don't equate yourself with a widow with a mewling babe who stole a loaf of bread. You are a rich man that wanted to get richer."

Rutter shook his head. "No… I just… the money. I needed the money. And the military has so much and everyone else is taking their share why not me-"

"This isn't about the money!" Matthew roared, Rutter trembling and falling backwards onto the floor, his workers stopping what they were doing and staring at them. Thomas reached over and forced Matthew not to fly upon Rutter with fists swinging and Matthew took a heard breath, forcing himself to calm down. "This… is about the soldiers that are dying in muddy trenches because they aren't getting the proper medical supplies or food rations or weapons because you got greedy. You still haven't accepted that, have you? You still think it was in your right to take all that money. That there was nothing wrong with it. Do you even feel remorse?"

"I… of course…"

"I didn't mean remorse for yourself," Matthew said in disgust

Thomas shot him a look. Not one of disapproval, nor one willing him to stop. No, it was another one of their silent communications that said 'I want a turn'. Matthew finally nodded and stepped back, allowing Thomas to make his move. "Are you a God fearing man, Mr. Rutter?" The owner looked at Thomas, his entire bearing and form utterly pitiful, but the former footman wasn't moved. "I don't think you are now. Not at the moment. You might claim you are but not truly. That is just something else to fake, to make a mockery of. But I want you to consider something: Thou Shall Not Kill. Every life on the battlefield that is lost because they didn't have what they needed to survive? That is on your head. Each life will be weighed against your own in judgment. Each. Life. And mercy on you if they are all waiting for you on the other side, ready to pass judgment of their own. Gold can't buy your way out of where you are headed."

"We'll see you in two weeks, Mr. Rutter, to discuss your paying back the military." With that Matthew spun on his heels and walked off, Thomas only a step behind him. They didn't spare at glance back at the factory as they made for their car, Thomas slipping into the driver's seat (Matthew would never drive again… dying had killed any urge to get behind a wheel) and the two shared a look before starting off, barely noticing the muffed BANG behind them.

It would be two days later that they'd learn that Mr. Rutter had decided to face his judgment then and there.

~MC~MC~MC~

"Are you sure there is nothing I can do, my lady-"

Mary reached out and gently bopped the top of Anna's hand. "No you may not. And might I remind you that you don't need to call me that? You aren't my maid anymore."

"Force of habit," Anna said, settling back in her chair, wiggling as she tried to find a way to get more comfortable. She was seated in a highback chair while Mary stood at the counter in the Lothrop's kitchen. "Besides, our stations-"

"I am the wife of a lawyer, Anna. One who isn't practicing law at the moment. You are the wife of a hotel owner. And if we take ranks into account you are married to a major and I a captain. You exceed me on both fronts in society's eyes."

"You are a lady though-"

"I was a lady," Mary said with a shrug. "And now I am not. I am the wife of a good man. So either I call YOU milady or we address each other as friends."

"Of course m...Mary," Anna said before letting out a grunt.

"Besides, you need to take it easy," Mary said, pointing the spoon she was holding at Anna's dome of a belly. "Your husband will have my head if you overtax yourself."

Anna rolled her eyes as she shifted again, wiggling her hips before finally finding a position that didn't cause her heavily pregnant belly to pull her forward so much as to hurt her back. "John treats me like glass nowadays. Won't even let me walk up the stairs anymore and he even thought about moving us from our bedroom to one on the first floor."

"There are worse things than a man caring for his wife and their first child."

"Yes but I wish he would realize that I can actually move about on my own!" Anna complained.

"He's scared," Mary reminded her gently. She flashed back to that horrible moment several months ago, when Isobel had rung to tell them that she had Anna and John with her and they needed a car to get them to the hospital.

Matthew's mother had gone to serve as a personal reference to Mrs. Byrd, who had gotten a job with the Merryweathers, and decided to stop by the Grantham Arms when there had been a delay with her train and visit the Bates family. All had been going well until Anna had begun to complain of pains in her stomach and Isobel, bless her soul a thousand times over in Mary's opinion, had quickly realized that Anna was suffering the first stages of a miscarriage. With Dr. Clarkson off God knows where and the man covering for him being so green that one would 'lose him in a field of grass' Iosbel had decided to risk the train ride to London to get Anna help. Catherine Lothrop had gotten their car ready with barked commands that would have made her husband proud and Anna had been rushed to the hospital in time to save the baby. After that though John had demanded, rightly in Mary's opinion, that Anna have monthly appointments in London to ensure all was well with their child, damn the expense. Someone from the London Crawley Household (as their group had taken to calling themselves) would always be there to meet her at that station and would make sure she safely got back once the appointment was finished. Mary in particular had volunteered repeatedly for that duty as it let her see her old men and now dear friend.

"And I don't blame him. Now, the only thing I want you to do is watch as I make these cookies and then tell me how much you enjoy them." Moving over to the mixing bowling she'd been working with Mary measured out a slab of butter before pulling out a large grinder and securing it to the table before selecting a tin of raisins and slowly pouring them in with one hand while she turned the crank with the other, a long tube of crushed raisins going into her batter. "I think you'll really enjoy these. Ground up raisin cookies. I read about them the other day and I have been dying to try them."

Anna shook her head and smiled. "I still find it so strange that you cook."

"Bake," Mary said with a slight grunt. "There is a difference. Cakes? Pies? Cookies and biscuits? Oh, I love making those! But the idea of sticking my hand into a chicken's carcass?" Mary gave a full body shiver. "No, I will happily leave that to Mrs. Jones' capable hands."

"Well, that is a small relief," Anna said with a chuckle. "I don't know how I'd handle it if you were seeking to replace the cook."

"I've informed Matthew that while I am willing to be a lawyer's wife I draw the line at handling raw meat so a cook must be included with our household."

"You know, you never did tell me what caused you to take up this hobby," Anna said as Mary finished grinding up the dried fruit and had moved to mixing everything together.

"Boredom and shame, in equal parts," Mary said matter-of-factly. "After we settled in here I was ready to continue on with life as I had at Downton-" it was a testament to the passage of time and the mellowing of past pains that she was able to get the name of her home out in one breath without hissing it, "-only to find that I didn't want that. I couldn't go back to that. Switching useless things and reading the same old dry books no longer appealed to me. I blame Matthew entirely, he corrupted me with his middle class ways."

"I'm sure," Anna said with a smile. "And the shame?"

Mary pulled a slight face. "That came from the realization that everyone else had something to do in this new life. Matthew and Thomas work with Allen, sometimes at the War Office and other times crisscrossing the country. Edith and Tom are at the paper- Tom says hello, by the way, he wasn't sure if he'd be back before you left." Several years spent seeing the former footman and former chauffeur had cured Mary of past habits of treating them like servants and now they were merely members of her odd and patchwork family. "And Isobel and Sybil work at the hospital... though with the way Sybil had taken charge it is more that Isobel words FOR Sybil rather than with." Mary shook her head, smiling slightly before she pulled out a pan and began to spoon out dollops of cookie dough upon it. "I had nothing though and that bothered me. You know me Anna... I don't like being seen as a burden. I like to be in control, at the front of the pack as the Americans would say, but instead I found myself falling behind.

"It was Catherine who helped me. After a few weeks of seeing me wander about this place in a half daze she finally took me to her private study." While the Lothrops were kind people that did have their rules and the main one was to respect the privacy of others. They had their rooms, Mary and Matthew had their own, as did Thomas (Tom had moved out after a few months, having wanted his own space, while Isobel had gotten a small flat and invited Sybil to move in with her so that the youngest Crawley could have a taste of freedom; Edith technically had a room at the Lothrop house but she spent so much time at the paper that it only really got used for sleep). Everyone would respect that these rooms, along with a few others, were to be entered only by permission. The Lothrops' personal studies were two such rooms. The General had a small sitting room where he could relax in a chair and read a book in peace while Catherine had her own room that no one entered... until the day she invited Mary inside. "There she explained that while she has the normal charities and such that one would expect a woman of her station to be a part of her greatest passion was writing. Books, Anna! Novels! All under pennames, of course, but published work. When her mind became weighed down with boredom she would turn to her typewriter.

"She told me to do the same, to find my own passion. I am rubbish at writing, that's Edith's domain. I can't play music well and it would be far too distracting if I went about singing. But then I remembered when I was young, maybe 5 or 6 years old, and I went down to the kitchens because I was tired of my governess' lessons, and I found Mrs. Bradley... she was the cook before Mrs. Patmore. And she asked if I wanted some biscuits and then sat me on a stool and explained everything she was doing. It seemed so... magical! Like a sorceress brewing up some secret potion! Oh, it was so much fun to watch her! And when I thought of that I decided to try my hand at it here and..." she waved her hand at the tray of cookie dough she was preparing to put in the oven. "Well, not right away. I did have to handle a few small hang-ups."

"And those were?" Anna asked.

Mary held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. Gone were the days when her hands were creamy white with soft skin and carefully painted nails. For one thing her nails were trimmed down short, almost scandalously short, and there was no polish or paint on them at the moment. Another was her skin, which while not scarred up like Mrs. Patmore there were calluses and worn spots upon each digit of her hand.

"I was so timid at first that it took a whole day just to make a simple biscuit. Afraid of burns, of cuts. I finally got annoyed with myself, grabbed a paring knife, and nicked my ring finger. Don't give me that look Anna." Mary wagged her finger at her friend. "I didn't go hacking off tips at the joints, if that is what you are fearing. You've probably done worse pricking yourself with a needle. Just a small cut, no worse than what I've gotten from letters, but enough to get me over my fear. Oh, I've burned myself of course and the first time I used this grinder I gave myself a blister but nothing too dreadful and it did help me throw myself into my hobby." She grabbed a towel and used it to open the oven and slide the tray inside. "And unlike other hobbies you can eat mine."

Anna laughed at that before watching Mary get a second tray set up. "What would Mrs. Patmore think of you doing this?"

"Probably scoff at me drifting into a domain she felt didn't belong to me," Mary said, not looking up as she readied her next batch.

"Could you imagine her walking in on you baking in her kitchen? She would have a fit!"

"I am sure she would," Mary said with a slight smile before her mood sobered. "But lucky for her that will never happen." Anna sighed in response. "If you have something to say please say it. I promise not to shriek and scream."

"Mrs. Hughes came to see me the other day. She comes to visit John and I at the hotel, from time to time, when she can get away. I think she needs to see our faces." Anna looked down at her own hands, folded on her large belly. "She would love to see you again, to hear how your life is from your own lips, rather than my second hand tales. And you know she can't easily get away-"

"No," Mary said firmly, cutting her off.

"You wouldn't need to go to the House," Anna pointed out. "You could come to the hotel-"

"And bring papa's wrath upon you and John? I think not."

"He wouldn't take it out on us," Anna said.

Mary laughed. "You don't know papa like I do!" Mary countered. "Our war has entered a stalemate. It is an uneasy ceasefire but any excuse will make it flame right up. He knows he can't target me, I am out of his reach, but he can harm others I care for. I will not risk you, John, or Little Franklin-"

"We aren't calling him that; you aren't allowed to name my baby!" Anna said with mock exasperation. It was a game they played, with Mary coming up with a new name for the unborn child every visit. That got a chuckle out of Mary and a teasing glint in her eye, something Anna clearly was happy to see. But her good mood vanished as Anna pressed the topic. "Is there no chance of a thawing of things? It has been two years."

"Exactly," Mary said firmly, forcing herself not to make her words clipped and short. Anna was her friend and was merely doing what friends did. It had taken Mary a while to learn that lesson, far too used to approaching the world where people always agreed with her or were fools, and she would not backslide now. "Two years. Papa has held his grudge for two years. Granny still rails against him, from what I hear… in fact during her last visit she mentioned that she was considering closing her home since she spent so much time at Downton trying to get it through papa's head that he is a fool. As for mama…" Mary tone grew bitter. "I have not spoken to her since she suggested I go and apologize to him."

Anna, having sadly been a witness to that little meeting between the two Crawley women, let that line go and went a different route. "Still, it would be nice if you came to visit. John and I have done wonderful things with the hotel…"

"As you have told me," Mary said, patting her hand. "And I can't wait to see them. But I fear it will be a long time before Matthew and I make our way back to Downton."

"…and many of the staff would love to see you again."

"They know where I live," Mary said firmly. "John has made the trip and he has a hotel to run. And Sybil and Gwen saw each other several times last year and if the war would calm down and give her less to do I'm sure Sybil would see her all the more."

"It isn't that easy for the staff to get away."

"Oh please," Mary said with a roll of her eyes. "Mama and papa came to the London house last January and brought much of the staff. O'Brien came to see Thomas here on her day off, Molesley told me about it. If Mrs. Hughes or Mrs. Patmore wish to see me they can. Though I do believe they are the only ones… Gwen is gone, so are you. Thomas and Tom. William would refuse, thanks to papa pouring poison in his ear. And I don't believe there is anyone else from the staff that I would recognize… perhaps Lynch…"

"What… what about Mr. Carson?" Anna broached.

Mary gripped the table, calling upon all her patience and reserves not to begin snarling. 'Anna is your friend… Anna is your friend. Your pregnant friend. You care for her and you will not scream at her.' She repeated this over and over in her head until she was able to calm herself down.

"I do not wish to speak of him."

"Mrs. Hughes says-"

"I sent him a letter, you know," Mary stated. Anna looked down; she knew of this for Mary had told her before but it was good of her to be reminded, in Mary's opinion. "Shortly after that last fight with papa. I told him I had married Matthew and I was sorry that I had left without saying goodbye. I thanked him for his kindness and told him that I would be willing to write if he so desired."

"And he never responded."

"And he never responded," Mary repeated. "So no… we will not speak of Carson again." Glancing at the timer she had set Mary quickly turned the dial, getting a sharp ring from the device, before she took up her towel and pulled out a tray of freshly baked cookies. "No… what we will do is eat these cookies and discuss what you will be doing for Little Franklin's room."

And all Anna could do was smile and do just that.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And welcome to Series 2 where the jokes are made up and the points don't matter. I'm your host Drew Carey.

…okay, no idea where that came from.

So this chapter, along with the next two, are my Post Time Skip Trilogy (and yes, I do realize that makes it sound like One Piece… hmmmm Note to self, Downton Abbey where Mary and Matthew get dragged into One Piece…). These three chapters will take place over the same two days, allowing us to see what life is like for the cast before we begin moving into the plot lines of Series 2. We will cover 6 groups that can be sorted into 3 larger groups: Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Crawley here (with Anna and Thomas along for the ride), the future Mr. and Mrs. Tom Branson (because they are getting married Tom just doesn't realize it yet), and Downton as a whole.

First section we see Thomas as Sherlock Holmes and Matthew as his Watson. I know some might feel that I glorify Thomas a bit too much… I've been accused of such with Tywin Lannister over in A Man of Iron. But here is the thing… I like writing villains. I am currently working on a Yu-Gi-Oh story, a self-insert (I've never done one before despite what people claim about Jack Kenway and Geno Roads). It sees myself sucked into Yu-Gi-Oh right before Duelist Kingdom. And I swore I would be 100% honest about myself and my flaws and in plotting it out I realized… I'd end up an anti hero. And not in the dark cool way… in the way that, in a world where I felt I could get away with manipulating things and conning people and lying… I would. Because I do have a problem with lying at times (I am an amazing storyteller in person but people know I will embellish stories for that reason) and I can be self centered. Furthermore, when I was an actor I got typecast as the villain. I was the villain in Donovan's Daughters and had I not stepped aside I would have been Jafar in Aladdin (I took the role of the narrator but everyone agreed I should have played Jafar and the one time I stood in for my friend who did play the role everyone said I nailed it). As Sir Ian once said "The devil gets the best dance numbers"

So it is natural for me to see villainous characters and… enjoy writing for them. To find the humanity in them. In fact I have an easier time with anti-heroes then I do pure heroes. Perhaps that's why I turned the Sweetest Soul In Downton into a 1910s mob boss who put a hit out on Pamuk.

Anyway, with this chapter I wanted to show that Thomas, with all his scheming and weasely ways… would make a good detective. Heck, he falls into the Psych role, really… if he pretended to be psychic he could get away with it, I think. Matthew, meanwhile, is good at being the hammer that drops once Thomas has set up the nail.

I discussed with some people in the reviews that I hold that Matthew suffered from shell shock/PTSD due to the war, at least in my story. I feel that the show missed out on great drama and story potential by not exploring more what that would mean for Matthew. For example, I imagine that while a fox hunt would be fine for him going bird hunting would be bad… because a bunch of guns, going off all around him? He would tackle Mary to the ground if she went with him and warn her to stay silent because they were in enemy territory. Thus here, with Rutter, we see Matthew snap because he remembers the war and how he and his men suffered because of people like him.

Originally Matthew was going to give Rutter and out and do a new contract… but I decided I wanted something more dramatic. Thus Rutter suckled on a revolver.

Speaking of suckling, Anna's pregnant!

For those worried I might not remember continuity… well, I do my best to remember details and Anna's problems getting pregnant were remembered. Luckily in this world Anna doesn't hide things from Bates and even more luckily she can be seen in the company of others and thus have Isobel help her out.

Before anyone complains they should be called biscuits… no. Mary is making cookies and I don't mean that as a filthy American. A biscuit is "any of various hard or crisp dry baked product" while a cookie is larger and softer. And Mary is making my family's famous Ground Up Raisin Cookies and those are very soft and moist… so not a biscuit.

Oh, and as an aside? We make them EXACTLY as Mary is with that grinding press. My father used food processors but always had a heck of a time cleaning them… then he found at a garage sale that press for the 1910s and it works perfectly. Raisins slowly dumped in, you get a tube of ground up raisins, mix into dough. Makes for a more spread out taste, a more pleasant texture, and just overall an amazing cookie.

As for Mary loving to bake? I wanted to show that she is embracing the middle class life… but she isn't barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. She makes desserts. It is her hobby. She makes cookies and cakes and Matthew brings them to the War Office to share with everyone. It makes her happy because it is something she can create with her own two hands that people love.

One of the important things I wanted to establish in this trilogy is how things have changed in terms of character interactions. Matthew and Thomas have worked together for 2 years and each can tell what the other is thinking. Mary and Anna are now friends though Anna still struggles with that. Mary sees Thomas and Tom as part of the London Crawleys… they are like… well, not brothers, more like cousins. The General and Catherine have become like a favorite uncle and aunt who are almost like second parents but not quite because they are fun parents you like hanging out with (for most people… honestly my mom and I were very close before she passed and when she was in the hospital my father and I got much closer and now he and I talk every day and I almost once a week drive up to hang out with him).

Things are being set up in this chapter that will pay off later in the trilogy. Little hints of events that, when we get to other people, we will see their side.

Okay, time for the plot bunny and NO it isn't Mary and Matthew and One Piece. I might do that one next time if people want the details. No, this one is inspired by a fanfic that deserves a TON more love: Dance with the Star Wars and its sequels Racing Through the Stars and Skating with the Star Wars. Those fics imagined that, during Episode II, to hide Padme it was decided… to have her and Anakin compete on a reality show where couples learn to dance and compete against others. The sequel was based on the Amazing Race and saw Padme and Anakin again undercover… and Obi Wan and Mace joining in. The final one was Anakin and Padme in a skating reality show and Obi Wan and Siri forced to join in. Humor and romance.

I am basing this plot bunny on the second idea and also borrowing from an earlier plot bunny where I said TVs got invented during WWI. Basically, in this reality everything is the same in Downton save for two little things: Televisions are real and WWI never happened. Or at least it got settled so fast that nothing came about. The British government, needing to buck up spirits after the War That Almost Was decides to go with an INSANE idea: to draft random people and have them compete in the reality show The Great Global Race. These people will be paired up into teams of two and forced to travel to exotic locations around the globe, competing in challenges. There is a huge prize so everyone wants to win, as well as fame and honor.

…and it just so happens that because of a fluke nearly all the contestants are connected to Downton.

Matthew is already annoyed with having to do this, as it means he has to be away from Lavina. He is even MORE annoyed when his partner is revealed to be Mary. He makes it clear that while the money will be nice and he has been warned that he can't just throw the Race if they just do a so so job they can get booted out.

Too bad Mary, who hasn't met Sir Richard yet, still loves Matthew and decides to make the Race last as LONG as possible so that she and Matthew spend a ton of time together.

As for the other racing teams we have Sybil and Tom (who everyone keep disappearing during events and when they return Sybil has odd hickies on her neck), Edith and some guy from up north named Bertie (see, I can do something other than Michael!), Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson (the latter competing for the 'honor of Downton'), Anna and Thomas (Bates' leg would never let him race but he can watch and comment), and Robert and Cora (oh Robert trying to do challenges). There would be other characters from the shows that could be part of the race, up to whoever grabs this. And I also imagine that, with much of the house gone, the Dowager and Bates would end up watching the show together and giving commentary to the whole thing.

Imagine Anna trying to zipline in India. Robert forced to crawl through a massive cream pie to find a clue in France. Sybil and Tom having to drink glass after glass of sake to find the one that is water so they can get their clue and getting completely trashed and Sybil announcing to the world that she loves Tom and wants to have little Socialist babies. And through it all Mary and Matthew bickering and fighting and falling back in love.

Chapter Text

July 12th, 1916

"Are you ready for this?"

Sybil glanced over and Isobel and smiled weakly. "Not really. You know I dislike days like today, when I know it will only end in pain and suffering." She adjusted her nurse's hat, the two of them standing before the twin oak doors that separated them from their destination. Isobel was dressed in a similar outfit, which had been throwing Sybil off for over a year since in her first life she'd never seen Matthew's mother dressed as a nurse. Oh, she knew she had been one, as Isobel was fond of telling everyone about her medical background, but she hadn't ever see her dressed as one. The few times she had stepped in to assist she had been in the casual formal clothing that many upper middle class women preferred, not the white gowns of a practice of medicine.

"I think you are being a touch dramatic. And besides, this is part of our profession, my dear. I know they try and make it seem glamorous when they are training you, that you are saving lives and rescuing brave souls… but there do come days like this and all we can do is face them head on and know that what we are about to suffer through will result in good things for those under our care."

"I know, I know… I'm not nervous. Just… dreading it." Sybil squared her shoulders and set her face like a mask of stone. "Well now… no use delaying a second more." With that she reached out and grabbed the door, pulling it open…

…to reveal a meeting room with chairs set up for audience members and those waiting to be called upon by the men seated at the table at the head of the room.

"Name and purpose?" a woman wearing a British woman's army uniform that was standing just inside asked.

"Nurse Isobel Crawley. Guest."

"Nurse Sybil Crawley, representative for St. Luke's Recovery and Rehabilitation Hospital."

The woman checked her notebook and smiled. "You will be third to speak, Nurse Crawley. Please have a seat in the first row. I assume the other Nurse Crawley is here to support you? Mother?"

"Not quite," Isobel said. "My son and her sister are married. So more like an aunt, if anything. Rather confusing, our family tree."

"Well, still nice of you to come. You may sit together. We'll begin in about 10 minutes." The woman passed them a typed sheet of paper that had the agenda for the meeting and motioned for them to continue on, the two moving past other nurses, doctors, and army personal to sit in their designated seats.

Sybil looked around. "Looks like we are some of the first to arrive." She nodded towards the only other person in their row, a young doctor who was going over his notes.

"It is a good sign you came when you did. Too early and you seem desperate, too late and it is seen as rude. This was perfect timing."

"Are you saying I need all the help I can get?" Sybil teased.

Isobel, however, merely patted her arm. "You will do wonderfully."

Sybil sighed.

She hadn't meant to go back into nursing. Much like Matthew she had dreaded the war that was coming. She knew he had nightmares, as she was the only one he could admit that to now (in his past life Thomas had been his confidante but in this reality only Sybil knew that he'd once served on the Front), and in turn he knew that she had them as well. More than once, early on in those first few weeks in reliving her life, she had awoken the entire house screaming and thrashing, either reliving her death or the horrors she had seen in the hospital before she'd been transferred to Downton. Her family had chalked it up to the "fever", something Dr. Clarkson had agreed with. Hallucinations brought on by the illness when she'd learned of the Titantic sinking, no different than believing she'd had a baby. As time had gone on they had lessened but as the war had grown nearer and nearer they had started back up again. Of Lt. Courtney's suicide. The man who had died in the snow. Countless others. Limbs torn off, eyes burst from sockets, faces caved in… they haunted her dreams like wraiths. The coming of the war meant that was all hurdling towards her and she wanted no part. No part at all.

Except… she was Sybil Branson. She cared for people. She helped people. And when Isobel had told them a month into their stay with the Lothrops that she had found a recovery hospital that would take her on as a nurse… Sybil had shared a look with Matthew and said she wanted to join up as well.

The training had gone well enough (she would have been concerned if it had gone badly, considering she knew it all already) and General Lothrop had even stepped in to help ensure she was assigned to the same hospital Isobel worked at (it paid to have friends in positions of power and their benefactor was currently one of the most powerful men in London outside of Parliament and his own commanders). Much to Sybil's relieve the recovery hospital wasn't one of the ones working with men who were deathly injured but rather was much like Downton had been at the end of the war, helping soldiers who had been saved from Death's Door but needed further aid before they could move back into society. Men that needed to learn how to walk again because they'd lost a foot or a leg. Or how to use their non-dominate hand because the other was too scarred and burned to function properly. Teaching men who had lost their hearing sign language or blind men how to get around the world. While it wasn't the most pleasant work at times it was a far cry from the nightmare she and Thomas had gone through.

At first Sybil had tried to keep her head down and just do her job quickly and quietly, so that she didn't draw attention to herself. She would work with Matthew's mother often, able to use her as a cover for her ideas and suggestions ('Is there any way we can prevent this?' 'What if we were to try something like…'). Unlike Dr. Clarkson, who seemed to be utterly set in his ways and who had also seen her as the Earl's daughter and not as a colleague, Isobel was far more accepting of her thoughts and encouraged her to always question things and puzzle out better solutions. Thus Sybil could quietly fake her knowledge onto Isobel, making her gain all the glory. And she was happy to do that.

Things had been going well until one patient, Sgt. Reynolds, had snapped.

Reynolds had been brought in after he had taken shrapnel to the face, which had left the right side of his head with scarring, damage to his eye that blinded him, and his ear torn off. He had been sullen and quiet, brooding on his cot, and Sybil had known that if he weren't brought out of his brown study something bad would happen. She had seen too many men focus not on the fact that they were alive but that they had been altered; Matthew was a clear example, as rather than be happy that he at least survived the War he had wished he'd have died rather than live in that chair (pre-actual death; after he had died and came back he'd admitted to Sybil that if he'd awoken in that hospital bed he'd have been giddy as a child on Christmas morning that he was at least alive, even if he would have been stuck in the chair forever). Reynolds she had feared would kill himself.

She hadn't expected him to attack another patient.

Later, after it was all done, she had learned that another soldier who had just been brought in had gone to school with Reynolds. But rather than be happy to see a familiar face the new arrival had mocked Reynolds, for in their youth the Sergeant had been considered a charmer and all the girls had loved him. The new arrival, suffering nerve damage in his left hand, had insulted him, taunting that while he would have trouble holding a cup of water no woman would want to be with a monster like him. Reynolds had let out a roar of fury that scared the nurses before smashing a glass on the counter and driving it into the new arrival's face. That had started a brawl as other soldiers attempted to pull Reynolds away while the new arrival had begun to thrash and scream, striking his would-be saviors as he whipped about on his back.

Sybil had rushed in to find several nurses staring in horror, dumbfounded at what to do. But she had merely taken in everything before snapping off orders, even slapping one woman to get her to pay attention and follow her commands. Military police had been called, doctors pulled away from their dinners to assist, and the nurses organized into treating the wounded and restoring order. Sybil had then ensured that eye witness accounts were recorded and evidence gathered before going back to barking directions. It had only been when all was settled and she demanded status reports that she'd realized that the person she was demanding respond to her was the head doctor, Bullworth. The man had ordered Sybil to his office and she had followed after… not quite meekly as she didn't think she had it in her to do that, but at least bracing for him to begin screaming in her face.

"Tell me, Nurse Crawley," Dr. Bullworth had said, closing the door before walking over to his liquor cabinet and pouring a glass… which he passed to her, "how does a woman fresh out of training have more sense than my nurses who have three years experience on her?"

Sybil hadn't said, "Because I actually have five years now" but merely stated that she saw the situation and just… reacted. She'd also mentioned Isobel and Matthew and how she had been helped by General Lothrop. Dr. Bullworth had accepted that before asking her to give her thoughts on the hospital and what they were doing right and wrong.

From that conversation Sybil had eventually found herself in her new position as spokeswoman for the hospital. Not at first, of course, but slowly, over the span of several months. Sent to this meeting, asked to attend that events When the military wanted to discuss funding or someone needed to talk to the press or organize an event Sybil was pulled off her duties and put in charge. When the brass needed someone to dine with the rich and powerful and get them to open their purses who better to send than the woman who had been summoned to dinner most nights by a gong? Soon it wasn't just the minor events or stuffy parties she was being sent to but truly important meetings, ones where true changes were put in motion. Other women and even a few men were put under her command and they quickly came to respect her. While not having an official title Allen had proudly stated that Sybil was a Lance Corporal in all but name and taken to addressing her by that title at times as a warm endearment. She still helped patients, cleaning bedding and changing pans and helping with wraps, but just as much she found herself dressed in her uniform discussing budgets and other matters with top ranking officials, sometimes in halls like the one she found herself in now and other times at the high tables of London's elite.

She knew, in the beginning at least, that part of the reason she was given such assignments wasn't merely because of her talent but her connections. The first was obviously her father; most didn't know of the falling out and thus she was still seen as Lord Grantham's daughter and that helped with some rich lords who liked talking to the daughter of a peer rather than a 'jumped up doctor with delusions beyond his station', as Granny had once called Dr. Clarkson. Then there was the support of the General. While Sybil had moved out of the Lothrops' home to share rooms with Isobel she still saw Allen and Catherine often and apparently Allen had told many of the personnel in London that the Crawley girls were like his adopted daughters now, meaning that everyone who respected the gruff but fair General looked out for her too. And a LOT of people respected the man, considering his worth in the war effort. Finally there was Isobel herself… it had been shocking for Sybil to learn that while in the countryside Isobel Crawley was merely 'Matthew the heir's mother' at best and 'that loud-mouth woman' at worst, in London she was 'The wife of the great Doctor Reginald Crawley'. Matthew had never really realized it but his father, during his time in London before moving to Manchester, had been a highly respected doctor amongst the medical circles and Isobel nearly so. Had he not chosen a more simple life it was quite likely Reginald Crawley could have become the head of Barts. So she being seen as Isobel's apprentice had only made her more impressive to those in the know.

She drew herself out of her thoughts and listened as doctors moved to stand and talk, giving their prepared statements. They were… passable… in some cases. Painful in others. Some people weren't built for conversation, focusing far too much on facts and figures. They failed to realize that people needed a connection, not just data. Others were too emotional and that made them seem unhinged… the second doctor had been like that and it had made her grit her teeth and close her eyes because she knew even if he did need the money he wouldn't get it. Balance was the key.

"We will now hear from Nurse Crawley concerning a proposal to expand St. Luke's."

Sybil stood and marched forward. Shoulders squared but body loose. Head held high but with a light look in her gaze that wasn't intense or overpowering. Smile but not too big of one. Own the room. Own their hearts. "Thank you. Recovery is important not just for those who wish to return to the Front but those who, through serving to protect our nation, have found their lives altered forever…"

One six minute speech and a few questions later Sybil had secured the hospital enough funds to renovate another disused section of their building to provide more beds for men in need. Isobel had flashed her a proud grin and even having to spend another hour listening to other reports did not dampen her mood. Yes, it was hard work but it was something she was good at and while it didn't serve others as she had originally intended it did help nonetheless.

They were making their way down the steps towards the sidewalk to hail a taxi when Sybil heard her name called out repeatedly. No, not just her name. 'Lady Sybil'. So few people called her that anymore (only Molesley and the other servants at the Lothrop household, as well as the occasional Lord or Lady) that it took her a moment to get over her shock before she turned-

"Oh!" Isobel exclaimed. "Dr. Clarkson! Why this is a surprise!"

"I should say so!" the doctor said, hurrying over to them. He was dressed in his army uniform and it took all of Sybil's willpower not to snap to attention, as she had to remind herself that he wasn't her superior in this life. "I never thought I would see the two of you here! You, Mrs. Crawley, perhaps, but Lady Sybil…"

"I went through the training early on, Dr. Clarkson," Sybil said warmly. "That's why it took so long for me to respond… frankly I am far too used to being called Nurse Crawley nowadays."

"Ah, no harm then. Whatever are you two doing here though?"

Isobel puffed up a bit, taking hold of Sybil's hand. "Sybil here is the official nurses' spokewoman for St. Luke's."

"…you are the nurse that is the talk of all the medical circles?" Clarkson said, shocked but not in a bad way. He wasn't looking at her like 'how could you do that'; more like 'my word, how wonderful!'. It made Sybil smile all the brighter. "My my my, that is impressive, my lady… truly impressive."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson."

"I hope you aren't too mad at us," Isobel said.

"Whatever do you mean?" Clarkson asked, motioning for them to follow him so they weren't in the way of other pedestrians. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"For poaching Thomas, of course," Isobel stated. "I know he talked with you about enlisting but Matthew got to him first…"

Leading them back into the building Clarkson moved towards a bench and sat down, Sybil and Isobel joining him. "Oh no, don't worry about that. I only promised to put in a word for Thomas; he wasn't going to work for me. Most likely he would have been assigned to a unit. In fact I admit I am thankful Mr. Crawley was able to help him… he mentioned rumors about avoiding the worst of the fighting by signing up for the medical corps but I can attest now those claims were false. I fear he would have rather hated me had he signed up and thought I tricked him. What is he doing now?"

"Matthew and him work for General Allen Lothrop. They handle supplies."

"Well, I suppose I should look into talking with them both soon… would be nice to have someone who could help get more equipment and bandages when there are shortages."

"Always seems to be a problem, wherever one is stationed," Isobel said sadly. "But the men in charge of giving the funds aren't the ones who need to spend them, I suppose, and they don't see the need to waste good money, in their opinion."

"At least not on the care for others," Sybil said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. "They have enough money to give generals wonderful command centers and batmen to serve them but not enough to patch up their soldiers." She shook her head. "If it weren't for the fact that the Germans were just as bad, if not worse, I'd be concerned about our chances."

Dr. Clarkson sighed. "It's like that during times of peace too. No one wants to pay for the cost of living until it is them in my hospital bed."

"So what brings you here?" Sybil asked.

"Discussing locations for other medical facilities," Dr. Clarkson stated. He let out a sigh. "You know how it is… we are short on everything at times but the worst of it is space."

Sybil did know. It had been that reason that Downton had become a recovery hospital during the war. 'The sad thing is that while it might be the one thing to get papa to finally see the light I honestly don't believe it will happen now.'

The rift between the Downton Crawleys and the London Crawleys had not healed with time. Mary refused to speak of papa and Sybil had a feeling that while Matthew was still very much angry with her father he would have been willing to extend an olive branch had Mary asked. But she refused, feeling that it was papa's fault this had all happened and that it was up to him to take the first step. And with how stubborn he was that would never happen. He hadn't even set a letter to them after news of Mary's marriage had broken, let alone offer to assist. Sybil remembered how utterly angry he'd been with her and Tom but he'd at least given them his blessing and a bit of money, though he hadn't come to Ireland for the wedding. In this life he not only didn't attend Mary's wedding (not that he was given a chance) but he refused to acknowledge it, or any of them honestly, existed.

The rest tried but Sybil didn't fault them for their less than strong attempts. Mama had been pregnant when they left and from what Thomas had heard from O'Brien (and Sybil had a sneaking suspicion that mama was feeding O'Brien information to feed to Thomas) it had been a hard one that had left her bedridden for nearly a month. By the time she had regained her strength the trenches had been dug in; oh, she had tried to convince Mary to come and see their new sibling but Mary had utterly refused, stating that since Matthew was not welcomed in Downton and she was Mrs. Matthew Crawley that disinvite applied to her as well. Edith had agreed ('And how surprising that those two are thick as thieves now that they aren't competing over paramours!') and Sybil knew that while she did want to reconnect with her family she could not betray her new one for her old one. As for mama coming to see them or bringing the baby that was out of the question as well. Papa had apparently decided that London was far too filthy and dirty for a woman who had just given birth and she needed to stay in the fresh air that surrounded Downton. Mama could come later on but she couldn't bear to leave the littlest Crawley alone for too long, and thus where the baby stayed so did she. Letters were the most communication that was sent out but it had been ages since any of the girls had written as for every three letters they sent to their mother they got one in return and it was filled with the standard breezy information one might get from a distant aunt than their mother.

'These days Catherine and Isobel are more mother to us than our own and the General has been far more attentive to our futures than I dare say papa would have been had we never fallen out. Papa would only look for marriages that would give status to Downton; Allen wants to see us happy and successful-'

"Well, I am sorry but I really must be off," Dr. Clarkson said, pulling Sybil from her thoughts (and causing a flash of guilt to spring into her soul that she had been ignoring him). "I need to get to my meeting. That said, I am sure we'll see each other more often in the future, now that I know where you are working. And I hear talk that Downton will begin holding fundraisers soon to aid in the war effort so I am sure I will see you-"

"I am afraid you will not," Sybil said, cutting him off gently but firmly. "There is… a reason so many of us Crawleys are in London now."

Clarkson, not a stupid man by any means, quickly nodded. "Ah, of course."

"Dr. Clarkson, if I might give you a piece of advice?" The doctor nodded. "Be prepared that Downton will not be what you are expecting. I don't know what it will be like but know it has most likely changed."

"I… will keep that in mind, my lady." With that he said his goodbyes and hurried off.

"Was that wise?" Isobel asked. "Scaring the poor man like that."

"Better he know what he is walking into. Could you imagine him seeing papa and offhandedly mentioning talking to us?"

Isobel pulled a face. "Right. Yes, that would end badly, I agree."

Sybil stood and offered her arm to Isobel. "Come now, buck up. We got the money, the hospital will expand… today is a good day!"

"And tomorrow will be better. After all, you have your weekly lunch date with Tom."

Sybil blushed at that. "Please don't call it that. We merely-"

"He is courting you, even if he doesn't realize it. And you've wanted him to court you for a while. As you said, my dear… buck up. Now, the meeting was shorter than expected so I think the two of us should grab a small bite to eat and take a walk through the park before we return to work."

Sybil couldn't argue with that and Isobel slipped her arm through her's, the two heading off.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Edith paused before entering the bullpen, watching with a slight smile as Tom, who was working at his typewriter, did his best to make it seem like he wasn't paying attention to Edgar Brickland, whose desk bordered her own and Tom's. Edgar, a 30 year old man with sandy brown hair and a small van dyke beard, made up the final member of their War Opinion Trinity, with him handling the patriotic articles that forever praised the government and the war effort while Tom handled the rebellious side and Edith the moderate between the two. While in the paper the two of them might have seemed like bitter enemies in real life they were merely caustic friends, trading barbed insults but also more than willing to stop in at a pub for a drink after work. They knew the roles they had to play and did so with a gusto, to the point that for some hard hitting news articles the two of them, along with Edith at times herself, wrote up featured adopted pennames so that people wouldn't be startled that the Union Jack loving Edgar was condemning the government for a poorly thought out law or the Irish Radical was extolling the virtues of a bobby who had rescued a small child from a tipped over carriage.

"I just want to know when you will finally take her someplace proper, Branson!" Edgar said, leaning around his desk to try and catch Tom's eye.

"And I told you it is none of your business, Brickland," Tom said, jaw working as he pounded at the keys, making it sound as if heavy fire was coming from the bullpen.

"She is beautiful, charming, smart, and kind. I'd warn you that someone else was going to snatch her away but everyone can see that she loves you and only you."

"He's right you know," Gladys, one of the advice columnists, said as she walked by.

"No one ask ya!" Tom snarled, earning laughter from the other reporters. "Damn it all, why is it that people think my entire bloody life begins and ends with Sybil?"

"Because it does," Edith said as she finally made her presence known. "Or it should, at the very least."

"Not you too!" Tom complained.

"Yes her too!" Edgar exclaimed. "Thank you Edith!" He reached over and grasped Tom's shoulder, giving it a shake. "Even the lady's sister is rooting for you!"

"And I do so not just because she cares for you but because I know for a fact you care for her, Tom."

He blushed at that. "I just… want to take it slow, okay? With the war and all the changes I don't want to rush things." He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Could we drop this? Please?"

"Brickland, be nice and let it go," Edith said when Edgar opened his mouth, her tone making it clear he was to drop it. Most men would have chuffed at taking orders from a woman but Edgar's father had died young and he had been the baby of a family that consisted of his mother, an aunt, both his grandmothers, and three sisters who had been at minimum ten years older than him. He was long used to strong women. "Besides, we have other things to focus on." Edith reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope before sitting down at her desk.

"What is this?"

"Just came in. Go ahead… read it."

Tom raised an eyebrow at that but opened it up and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Let's see… To the traitorous Irish scum Tom Branson and his editor at The Strand. Once I enjoyed your magazine greatly but now, thanks to the German-loving writings of the bog trotter in your employ the only thing your magazine is good for is wiping shit from my shoe…" Tom looked up at Edith. "Wow…"

"I know," Edith said before breaking out in a massive grin. "Our first threatening letter!"

"Finally!" Tom declared with a whoop, Edgar clapping his hands. "Damn it all, I was wondering how long it would take for us to really get them rattled!"

"Well, you know what they say," Edith replied, "if we aren't upsetting them then we aren't doing things right!"

"What set them off?" Edgar asked with glee. "I'm guessing your complaints on the draft."

"It says further down," Edith commented. "It was the article about how too many are using dead men as props to make themselves look patriotic."

"Oooo, that was a good one," Edgar stated. "Almost got me on your side."

"Almost you tea swilling dandy?"

"Almost, you potato-sucking-"

Edith held up her hands. "Yes yes, you are very careful in your language."

"Thank you, milady," Tom and Edgar said as one, bow giving her a mocking bow. Edith laughed at that, shaking her head as Tom began to read more of the letter aloud to Edgar, using a nasally, mocking voice. When they'd started at the paper things had been awkward, as Tom had still thought of her as his employer's daughter and had been mindful of his words and tone. But months spent working long hours together, their desks butted up close and needing to consult one another often, had torn down the walls between them and Edith now counted Tom and Edgar as her dearest friends. It was hard for Tom not to act casually around her when he'd seen her asleep at her desk with drool leaking out of her mouth or squirt jam all over her shirt and then spend the rest of the day working with a massive stain on her clothes. Closeness had bred familiarity and allowed the two of them to develop a strong bond.

'If it weren't for how close I was to Michael I dare say people would think Tom and I were courting,' Edith thought to herself, tapping her pencil against the notebook she had for article ideas. 'Though maybe if I did come on strong with him it would get Sybil and him to stop dancing around…'

After about another 30 minutes Edgar stood up, stretching until his back gave a light popping sound. "Ugh… I need to get some air and some food. Either of you coming?"

"I packed," Tom said, pulling out a paper bag.

Edith frowned. "You remembered-"

Tom pulled out a small envelope and from it withdrew a pill. "I did."

"Because the doctor said with your heart murmur-"

"I will take it, Edith, no need to worry." Shortly after he had started Michael had required both her and Tom to have physicals done, as he wanted to make sure his reporters were healthy. While Edith had gotten a clean bill of health Tom was found to have a heart murmur. Nothing serious but it did mean he'd never be drafted and that he'd need to take a pill a day for the rest of his life. Edith had taken it upon herself to ensure he took his medicine as even after nearly 2 years he still forgot at times. "But Edgar, I can wait for you to get back and we can eat together on the bench outside? It is a lovely day."

"That will work," Edgar said, grabbing his suit jacket. "Edith, you free or are you planning something with our glorious leader?"

"Michael has asked me to lunch, yes," she said with a smile. "But I have nothing tomorrow and Tom will be on his lunch date-" she ignored his sputtering, "so we could go then. Maybe try that little sandwich place down the road?"

"Sounds good… what the-" Edgar looked past Edith and she spun in her chair, jaw dropping.

"Granny?!" she exclaimed as her grandmother stepped out of Michael's office.

"Oh!" Granny said, giving a tight lipped smile when she saw Edith. "Good, I was afraid you'd be off before we got done." She walked over to Edith, looking down at her with a bemused look on her face. "I know you have been gone a long time, Edith my dear, and I can look past your… cluttered workspace-" Edith grimaced, knowing how much of a pigpen her desk must have looked like, "-and how casual you are with your co-workers-" Edith blushed and squirmed, "-but I will NOT overlook you just sitting there and not giving me a hug!"

Edith leapt to her feet and gave her grandmother an embrace that was perhaps a touch too demonstrative but honestly she didn't care. "I'm sorry, I'm just surprised. I haven't seen you since… since Christmas!"

Of the Downton Crawleys only granny had truly kept in touch with the newly established London Crawleys. Mama could be forgiven as she was focused on the baby but Papa had made it clear that he had no interest in connecting with any of them. While he hadn't been to London in over a year in the first 6 months of their stay word had reached them that he had gone to his club but had made no attempt to contact them. Aunt Rosamund had sent a letter, asking to meet Mary and the girls for lunch so that they might 'mend things with Robert and make up for your mistakes'; Sybil had delighted in burning that letter. Granny though had come to see them three days after they had begun to settle, the only sour spot being when she'd clearly gotten upset upon the news that Mary and Matthew were married and she had not been able to witness it. But she had never blamed them and when she could she visited, mostly around Christmas. She'd even joined them last year in taking part in the Lothrops' tradition of everyone taking turns reading A Christmas Carol (with Granny actually doing a fair impression of Marley, in Edith's opinion).

"Well, there is nothing wrong with a grandmother coming to see her grandchildren, is there?" Granny said.

"Yes but you always come to the house, not here."

"Here, take my seat, milady," Tom said, standing up.

"No, no, Branson, I think not… chairs with wheels, whoever heard of such a thing? I dare say I am a good sport but that is a fun ride that I am far too old for."

Edith looked at Michael's door before letting out a sigh. "You aren't trying to get Michael to side with you, are you? Because he won't do it." After about a year granny's visits had begun to serve a second purpose: trying to convince the girls to return to Downton. Not to do as Aunt Rosamund wanted and beg papa for forgiveness but so that Granny could arrange a meeting between them and papa to try and settle matters. She felt that if she could just get them all alone together everything would work out, that blood would win the day. "Even if he did it isn't I you need to convince."

"I know, I know," Granny said, waving her hand. "It is Mary. She remains loyal to Matthew and I can't fault her for that. Robert still is quite pigheaded when it comes to him and Mary will not choose, even slightly, her father over her husband. And good for her, it means the marriage is a good one."

"Then why are you here?" Edith asked. "Why come-"

"I asked her to come," Michael said, stepping out of his office. Edith felt the corners of her mouth tug up as they always did when she saw Michael approach her and she moved to cover her mouth with her hand but he caught her fingers and clasped them in his own. "You see… I knew I couldn't talk to your father. And while I have already talked with Allen… I wanted to speak with the true head of the Crawley family. She missed her chance with one granddaughter but I will not cause her to miss another."

And with that Michael dropped to one knee.

"Oh my god," Edith whispered, her vision blurring.

"Edith… it's funny… I practiced this so much. Practically from the day I met you, if I am honest. Worked out the words, what I would say… but now that I find myself here… there is nothing that feels right. That doesn't feel fake. So… I'll just ask… Edith Crawley…" he pulled a box from his pocket and produced a ring. "Will you marry me?"

Now Edith's hand did fly to her mouth and she sniffed and cried even as she smiled, bobbing her head up and down.

"I believe that is a yes," she heard Tom whisper and she let out a laugh.

"What he said," she managed to get out before Michael leapt up and pulled her into an embrace, the entire bullpen breaking out into applause and cheers.

Author's Notes: And this chapter lets us catch up with the other two groups of the London Crawleys. I love the idea that Sybil is now a spokeswoman as it just fits her talents perfectly. I did competitive speech giving in high school (and yes, that is a thing, involves command of the stage and knowledge of the topic and how you handle audiences) and Sybil is a natural at it.

And Clarkson makes another appearance! And we learn a bit more about the falling out between the Downton and London Crawleys through him while setting up that rather infamous fundraiser that happened on the show.

As for Edith I enjoyed filling out the bullpen with characters that can interact with her and Tom. I wanted to show that he and Edith are now very good friends, now at the point they were in canon in the final season when Tom as Edith's brother in all but blood.

And yes, at long last… Edith and Michael are getting married! Now, I know some of you will be upset about Bertie but don't worry, while he might not get Edith I will ensure he gets a happy ending.

Next time we leapt to Downton, first the Downstairs and then the Upstairs, to learn how everyone there took the falling out, what life is like… and finally meet Baby Crawley.

And now our plot bunny. And it is another return to Episode 1 idea for you all. The Titanic sinks, blah blah blah, you know the drill. We get to Matthew and Isobel having breakfast when the letter arrives and Matthew reads it… before telling the cook to leave them. In fact he tells her to send the maid away as well, they have the day off with pay. Once they are gone he tells Isobel, "Robert Crawley has named me his heir."

To which Isobel finally whispers, "…father, how did they find you?"

And no, I didn't mistype that.

In this story Matthew is an immortal. More than that… he is a fallen angel. Originally the angel Sahaquiel, he did not fight with Lucifer when he rebelled against Heaven but he also did not think the punishment fit the crime and thus he chose to leave the Silver City and head down to Earth to live his life there in self-imposed exile, rather than stay with his siblings. And yes, in my mind this Luci is the Lucifer of Lucifer, and thus less the bringer of all evil and more a fallen angel who loves to drink and have sex and do drugs. Whenever Lucifer came up from Hell to have some fun on Earth before Amenadiel dragged him back down he would visit his little brother, one of the few members of the family he still likes, and they would have a grand old time. And in turn many of the angels of Heaven have visited Sahaquiel and asked him to return, since he hasn't done anything wrong he just chose exile. Sahaquiel has lived a VERY long life and done many things… he is a good person but he also has had fun. He's fought in wars and tried every drug there is in the world and at least three queens of England have screamed his name in a fit of passion. Every 20 years or so he will fake his death and start a new life somewhere else. One time he was a samurai who fought for glory. Another time he was a bank robber in the West. One memorable time he and Lucifer listened to Nero fiddle as Rome burned. He lives his life, tries something new, and then moves on.

Except now something he didn't expect has happened. See, about 50 years ago Sahaquiel, in the guise of Vincent Turnbull, adopted a daughter, Isobel. He'd never had a child before and decided to try it out; oddly enough everyone in the family liked the idea. Lucifer thought it was a grand joke, a chance to prove to dear old Dad that someone was a better father than him. Amenadiel and Michael hoped that when the girl eventually died Sahaquiel, heartbroken, would return to the Silver City to be with her. So they let him adopt little Isobel. Eventually she married a man, Reginald, and Sahaquiel allowed her to reveal the truth about him. Reginald took it well and welcomed him into the family. Sahaquiel had been preparing to leave only for Reginald to die and knowing that Isobel had suffered greatly from that, decided to stay, changing his identity to be that of her son, Matthew. He just looks a lot like his grandpa! They moved to Manchester and that was that.

Well turns out Reginald was related to Robert… and now Matthew is a Lord's heir.

Huh.

Well this will be fun.

What happens when a Matthew who actually MET Andromeda ("Oh, there was no sea monster… she made that story up to explain why she wouldn't eat seafood. Odd how that got around thought") arrives at Downton. One who says what he wants… does what he wants… arrives. An Isobel who is the adopted daughter of an angel and who calls the Devil and the Archangel Michael "Uncle" decides to shake things up. And what happens when Matthew/Sahaquiel meets Mary Crawley… and finds her rather interesting… and in fact is quite drawn to her.

…and what happens when his family begins to show up at Downton? Amenadiel, who shocked Robert and Violet due to the color of his skin and yet Cora swears she remembers seeing him when she was trying to get pregnant. He had such nice advice. And Lucifer, who pats Pamuk on the shoulder and tells him that he can't wait to see him down there (and then loses the smile when he finds out just what the man did to Mary… no heart attacks in this story!).

Humor, romance, drugs, sex, and Matthew with wings. What's not to love?

Chapter Text

July 13th, 1916

Elsie sighed as Mr. Wheeler adjusted his suit jacket. Not the traditional black jacket that a valet like him should have been wearing, but rather a tan one that matched the slacks he'd donned. Beside him was his suitcase, packed and ready, and he had an umbrella leaning against the door as he checked himself over.

"Are you sure you don't wish to stay for breakfast?" she asked. "Mrs. Patmore wouldn't mind."

"No, I have a train to catch. I want to get to Dover as soon as I can."

"But it will be a long walk… if you stay even an hour I'm sure his lordship will get Simmons to drive you once he's up."

"No, he won't," Mr. Wheeler said with a slight smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. It was the type of smile one might wear because if they didn't do something, anything, they would break down crying.

She shut her eyes for a moment. "Aye. He won't. I am truly sorry-"

"It's not your fault, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Wheeler said, holding up his hand. "I truly mean that. You have been more than kind to me and I appreciate it. Truly, let there be no mistake in that." She saw him glance up and she winced, knowing what he was hinting at without saying a word. "But I truly must be off."

Elsie watched him put on his hat and, almost desperately, she took a step forward. "No one else will see you off though!"

"You have said goodbye, as has Mrs. Patmore and the kitchen maids. That is enough for me."

"But won't you at least make your farewells to Mr. Carson?"

Mr. Wheeler chuckled at that. "All he ever said to me was hello. Why should I give him more respect by saying goodbye?" With that he put on his hat. "Please don't beg, Mrs. Hughes… it isn't becoming of you." With that the man opened the door and left, never once looking back as he walked into the predawn air. The head housekeeper squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, lips pressed together as she grimaced in annoyance and frustration before her shoulders slumped and she let out the weak breath she'd been holding.

Walking back to the kitchen she sat down on a stool as Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and the few kitchen maids they had left (or needed) worked on making breakfast. "I don't suppose there is any way you have a bottle of brandy lying around?" she said dully.

Daisy blinked, looking at Mrs. Patmore. She opened her mouth before shutting it. "She doesn't really want to know, right?"

Mrs. Patmore gave the girl a surprised smile. "Well, good for you Daisy for figuring that out!"

Elsie watched as Daisy beamed and got back to work. "I'm more concerned that she didn't flat out say you didn't have any." Her dear friend merely chuckled but didn't respond. "Mr. Wheeler left."

"No hope in convincing him to stay I take it?"

"I wasn't thinking that far ahead. I started by merely trying to get him to have breakfast. My hope was to then try and convince him to stay."

Mrs. Patmore laughed at that. "Fat chance of that! I'd say I'd never seen a man leave service so fast but in this house…"

Elsie bit back a groan.

"Oh chin up, we'll find another valet for his lordship."

"…how?" Elsie asked- no whimpered. "Mr. Wheeler was our fourth in two year! And getting him was hard enough, he had hardly any experience. He had served only one man before and only for a year. All the boys are getting drafted to go to war and the men too old to be taken are looking for positions where they might move on to being the butler. William covers well but we know that soon he will be called up and then we are down him as well." Propriety be damned she rested her elbows on the table and stared glumly at the window. "And speaking of William he is our only footmen at the moment since Donald got called up-"

"Bloody good thing too as that boy was all left hands and no thumbs," Mrs. Patmore stated.

"But better than nothing," Elsie said. "There is such a need for footmen that all the normal age for training has been taken and we lost all the hallboys to other estates poaching them. Ethel and Sophie keep fighting over who is the first maid when I wouldn't have either of them be second if the world was perfect. Thank the Lord above for Simmons taking over as chauffer… I will see to it the man is paid whatever he wants if he'll stay."

Mrs. Patmore raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh really? Well I had a job offer-"

"Don't... even tease… about that," she said darkly.

"It isn't all bad, Mrs. Hughes," Daisy said gently. "Yes, we don't have much of a staff as we… had before… but things are quieter now so there isn't much of a need."

"Daisy is quite right," Mrs. Patmore said with a smile, wiping her hands with a towel before patting her on the shoulder. "Things have been very quiet since… well…"

"His lordship drove the girls away by being a giant booby," Elsie said, at the moment so utterly frustrated she didn't care who heard her.

"Well, I don't-"

"Well I do know," Elsie said firmly. "Yes, things were going to be hard… we'd lost Mr. Bates and Anna though I can't be mad at them for their happiness." She honestly couldn't. In the dark days of war and chaos and change the Grantham Arms had become a quiet reprieve from it all. Mrs. Hughes normally didn't take days off but within the last two years she'd done it far more than she had the last ten, popping down to the village to have tea with Anna and Mr. Bates (she couldn't ever bring herself to call him John, just as he couldn't call her Elsie) and once a delightful dinner that had made her honestly consider begging them for a job. "And we were losing Gwen no matter what and Thomas had already decided to jump ship as it were… but then Branson left after that quarrel and any hope of asking Mr. Molesley to possibly assist died when Mr. Crawley left and after that things…"

The problem was that when Elsie looked around she felt as if she were walking not through her home for so many years but some sad mockery of it. The walls were the same, the rooms… but the people were gone. One moment she'd been familiar with so many people and the next nearly all were strangers. New maids, new valets, new footmen. Faces she'd never seen before, names she tried to remember. It was horrible. She was a ghost haunting someone else's home.

"I sometimes feel as if Downton's very soul was torn out that night. Like Lady Mary folded it up and put it in her pocket and took it with her." She sighed, shaking her head before standing up, schooling her features so that all her melancholy faded away and all that was left was the mask. While she did have feelings and emotions and thoughts she also knew that there was a time to give in to despair and time when she had to be strong for everyone else. Downton seemed to be clinging to the edge of the cliff by its fingertips and one stiff breeze would loosen their grip. What was needed was a strong hand, a firm hand to keep the established members of the staff feeling stable and preventing the younger ones from taking advantage. "Well, nothing that can be done about that now. His Lordship will be up soon so if William doesn't remember to help him dress make sure he heads up straight away. I'll trust Miss. O'Brien to handle her Ladyship… have we seen Nanny Walters?"

"Already up and about," Mrs. Patmore said.

"Then that just leaves getting the dining room ready." Elsie looked about, brow furrowed. "Where is Mr. Carson? He should be up by now…"

"Oh he is up," Daisy said politely. "He came in, told us he would take some toast for his breakfast, and then went to his office."

"And he's been in there ever since?" Elsie asked. "What the devil is he doing?"

"What else?" Mrs. Patmore said sadly and Elsie felt her heart sink. Without another word she left, moving through the tight halls towards Mr. Carson's office, not even bothering to knock as she swung open the door.

At first one would have thought that nothing had changed, that Mr. Carson's office remained as it always had and that unlike everything else in Downton these days it had remained frozen in time. A single fixed thing in the madness of the world they now found themselves in. With the continent being torn to pieces, British way of life forever altered, and Downton itself going through one of the greatest shake ups it had ever gone through since its founding Mr. Carson's office at first felt like safe harbor. But one only had to get out of the doorway and see the many crumpled balls of paper that fell from the trash can and onto the floor to know that all was not well in the world of Donwton's butler.

Elsie felt her heart ache as she laid eyes on the sole occupant of the office, dressed in his proper suit and his hair perfectly in place… but his eyes did not rise to greet her. No, he was focused on a well worn letter that he had spread out on his desk, the parchment faded and the corners worn and wrinkled. He had one hand placed almost tenderly on the paper, the other hand caressing his jawline as he scanned the strong thin letters scrawled upon the page.

"Oh, why do you do this to yourself?" she whispered.

But rather than answer her Mr. Carson lifted up the letter and began to read it, not caring in the slightest that Elsie herself had heard what it contained so many times she could recite it from memory.

"My Dear Carson, I write this letter from the comfort of London, where the kindness of two strangers has outweighed the cruelty of my own family. I first wish to apologize to you and how I left without even giving you a chance to say goodbye. There is little I regret when it comes to that evening but my failure to part without giving you proper thanks for all you have done to me shall haunt me for some time.

"I know I have disappointed you. My choice is not the one you would have wanted for me. I know you wished for me to have so much more in this life. You saw me as a queen and I dare say that no man would have met to your standards of what I was due, let alone a simple lawyer. Your dreams for me do not match the life I find myself racing towards. I am sure you have thought of what awaits me and have shivered in dread.

"But I have made my choice and I am happy with it. The love I feel for Matthew, in view of that which I have felt in the past, is like comparing the sun to a candle stump. For too long I have allowed myself to be pulled by one person's desires to another's, unable to find sure footing. I have attempted to build my life on shifting sands and then been told that I must smile and accept things as they were until they suddenly weren't. But I have grown tired of playing the role, Carson. So very, very tired. Much like how to go from child to woman I needed to put away my dolls and toys I find now that in order to move forward in my new life I must put away my insecurities and fears when it comes to what others think. I must live for myself. And I choose Matthew.

"Before you come to believe that he has forced this upon me understand that I have made this choice. He offered me a way out, as did so many others. I refused to take it. More so I fled from such excuses and exits and instead ran to the life he offered and swept it up into my arms. I want you to understand that.

"Papa has made his stance clear. I truly wish that things had been different, that he could have found a way to love me for me, but now that I have taken the first step I can not leave the path. By the time you receive this I will have been married for a week. Matthew and I have been made one and, as I committed in my vows before God, for better or for worse I will stand with him.

"I know this isn't what you wished for me and I know that you must find me rather foolish to have given up so much for one man. But I do not write this asking for your forgiveness… I ask that you find it in your heart to ACCEPT me. If this can be done I ask that you write and let me know.

"I wish you all the best and I thank you for your kindness.

"Yours truly, Mrs. Mary Crawley."

As he finished the final line, let Lady Mary's new title and role drop from his lips, he released the letter and sighed. Every time he read the last words to him from Lady Mary, written or spoken, he seemed to age another ten years before her eyes. Weariness would drip into his veins and weigh upon his soul and leave him diminished.

"Mr. Carson," Elsie began.

"She thought I would be disappointed in her," he said quietly, slowly pushing the letter to the side of his desk. "She thought that I would place the honor of Downton ahead of her happiness. That I would take it upon myself to judge her."

"With how his Lordship acted can you blame her? He is one of the most important men in her life and he was willing to send the man she loved off to die purely to make Downton look better."

Mr. Carson shook his head though. "No… no I doubt anything like that would have happened. His lordship had the right of that. Mr. Crawley is a smart man, talented too… I do not think he would have ended up on the front at all. Would have been placed in a position of command, where he could lead but not be at risk…" Elsie fought the urge to roll her eyes at that. She could practically see his Lordship pulling on the puppet strings, making the butler parrot his own arguments. With the news filling more and more with the horrors of the war and what British soldiers were facing the argument that the war would be some quick adventure had been shoved aside. Yet still his Lordship, and in turn Mr. Carson, had searched for other excuses to continue to label Matthew Crawley a coward. "And he handled it all wrong! His lordship deserves respect and Mr. Crawley raised his voice to him, mocked him… in his own home! What sort of man does that? One of low breeding and little understanding of our ways, that is who." He shook his head, jowls flapping about as he huffed. "It is as his lordship said; he simply doesn't understand how he can no longer think about himself. He must think about all of Downton and how his actions reflect upon it and all that have come before him and all that will come after."

"And does Lady Mary?" Elsie asked pointedly. "Does she think of such things?"

"That is different."

"How?"

Mr. Carson stared at her like a pouting child. "It just is."

Elsie mentally sighed. 'It is no wonder the poor man is so out of it… he is being torn between two loyalties.' She did not voice this opinion, as doing so would only earn her denials and claims that somehow Charles Carson was unlike any other person on earth and able to hold two conflicting opinions and yet somehow make them flow together. She did not envy him. On one hand he had the man he had sworn to serve as well as the honor of Downton. The butler treated any stain against the family or the Great House as a mark against his own soul, treating even the smallest error like a cardinal sin that would see him burn in hellfire. And yet on the other hand was his love for Lady Mary, who he had seen transform from a small child into a woman grown. He loved her as if she were his own child. He had risked his life against that monster Pamuk to protect her honor. And now he found those two sides of him in conflict with no sign of reunification in sight.

"If you truly feel that way… if you feel that Lady Mary has done nothing wrong in your eyes… tell her that already, you silly man. Answer her letter."

"I have tried!" Mr. Carson exclaimed, gesturing towards his overflowing waste basket. "I have tried hundreds of times but I haven't found the right words to say. To let her know that I support her, that I do not blame her for what happened… "

"While not betraying his lordship?" she asked gently.

Mr. Carson nodded miserably. "I cannot go against him… and I cannot go against her." He pulled out another sheet of paper and an ink pen, dabbing it into the inkwell on his desk. "I know the right words are somewhere. I just need to find them." He began to write, forgetting Elsie was there, before letting out a grumble of frustration and crumpling the paper up. "Perhaps I need to look back I what I wrote before… maybe one of them can be fixed-"

"Mr. Carson… Mr. Carson… CHARLES!"

The butler started at that.

"It has been two years," she said slowly, using the same tone and speed she'd used for a new member of the staff who had made a grave mistake but didn't understand what it was. "At this point she believes that you truly do doubt her. Dithering on wording will not help matters."

"But that is the point, Mrs. Hughes, that is the point! It makes finding the correct words all the more important. The right ones to explain my delay, to show that I have not abandoned her in my heart… to make her understand… to understand…" He trailed off and Elsie realized it was useless.

"…his lordship will be up soon, Mr. Carson. You best be ready." With that she left the butler alone. For just as Mr. Carson could not find the words to say to Lady Mary to fix the rift between them… Elsie did not know the words to say to Mr. Carson to fix him.

~A~O~O~O~F~

The rustling of his clothing as he reached for his tea cup. The slight clinking of his knife and fork against each other and his plate. The tiny pops his sausage let loose as he cut through its casing. Carson's strong breathing through his nose. The scrape of his chair as he pushed away slightly from the table. The crackling of the paper as he turned the page.

'Amazing how loud Downton can be when it is so quiet,' Robert thought to himself as he looked about the nearly empty dining room.

Downton had never been a loud place. It was not some wild saloon where people ran about the halls and servants clattered dishes and stomped about the floors. Dignity was shown to it, the dignity it deserved. And yet it had never been like this, so quiet and so loud at the same time. The sounds had changed, the ones he was used to removed so that the ones that remained, the background noise of life, became amplified. It was so very odd and it made Robert far more aware of his surroundings than he'd normally be. It also made himself conscious, feeling as if he himself were being far too loud when he was merely behaving as he normally did. Yet trying to moderate such things only drew his attention to them and made them worse.

Glancing over at Carson Robert fought a sigh; the butler still wasn't sleeping properly. There were bags under his eyes and his face had a weary drooping quality to it. Normally Carson held himself with rigid formality, still as a statue and ready to move at request. Yet today his shoulders weren't quite squared, his head dropped a touch lower than normal, and his reactions slowed and stilled. In the past, had Robert even glanced at him from the corner of his eye the butler would have sprang to attention, asking what he needed. But now Robert could look at him for several sections before Carson showed any sign of noticing. And when he did he was rather mute and Robert merely waved him away, making it clear he didn't actually need anything.

'Worried about the staff, most likely,' Robert thought with a small shake of his head. 'It isn't his fault that the labor force is so small and what few men and women there are available do not meet with Downton's standards. We are down a footman with only William left and once his father ends his foolish demands that William stay here and allow the boy to march off to war as he desires we'll be down to none.' He nibbled on a piece of toast. 'And now we are down a valet. Still, considering how Wheeler was that isn't exactly a bad this.' Robert's frown deepened as he thought of his latest valet. He had hoped that this one would be better than the last three but he turned out to be lacking when it came to his duties. Far too quiet for Robert's likes. It felt like he was conversing with a statue at times with how little Wheeler had responded to him. 'Carrey was too loud, Reinhold too smug, and Chambers was a bumbler. What I wouldn't give for a decent valet who knew how to do his job without holding lofty goals! To know when to speak and when to be silent. Someone like-'

Robert's jaw locked up tight, as if it were his tongue rather than his mind that was about to speak the name of the best valet he'd had. He refused to think of him… he had left and he might as well be a world away.

Of course Wheeler and the footmen weren't the only problems, as it seemed that all positions in the household were in a constant state of flux. Mrs. Patmore had gone through three different kitchen maids, none of them able to properly prepare meals to his liking. They'd cycled through so many hallboys that they could have made an entire separate staff with just those that had been let go because of messes and errors. He wasn't pleased with the maids either, as they were getting sloppy with making the beds and dusting. The same with the gardeners as well; he'd let most of them go in the fall after the growing season after they had failed to place in the Village's flower show. They hadn't replaced the groom yet for the horses, the man having quit after Robert had made demands concerning the horses that he'd disagreed with, and all those that had been interviewed had agreed with Harold rather than him.

Cora and mama thought he was being stubborn. Said as much too.

He wasn't stubborn, however. Merely the only person in Downton who saw the truth of the matter. After all that had happened, with the disgrace that had been brought upon them, he had to do all he could to ensure that everything else related to Downton was perfection. There could not be a single mistake, a solitary failure, surrounding their family. It was the only way he could bring Downton back from the brink.

As he had feared Matthew's actions had brought shame to Downton. His cowardice had made them the talk of elite circle, a matter of gossip and snickered japes. He had seen the looks people sent his way and knew they were thinking about how Matthew had refused to fight. The mumbled comments said under the breath of men Robert respected, the names of his daughters whispered when people thought he couldn't hear them. They were talking about how Mary had let her childhood fantasizes concerning Matthew blind her to his true nature and of how it showed poorly upon Downton. Invitations to dinners and events, already scarce with the war, had dried up completely and he didn't blame his neighbors as he wouldn't want to host a family as cursed as the Crawleys and their gutless commoner heir.

'But I am no monster,' he thought to himself firmly as he looked down at his paper and turned the page when he found the article not to his liking. 'If Mary would only see reason and annul her marriage I would welcome her back. And Edith and Sybil need only to apologize for their youthful indiscretions.' He took a sip of water. 'As for Matthew, should he grow a spine and enlist as is expected I would great him as I would any soldier. I will never grant him my blessing to be with Mary… he brought too much disgrace to us, but I would not cast him aside.'

Sadly there was no sign of any of his wayward daughters or the timid lawyer doing right by the family. Robert had been keeping tabs on them, asking acquaintances in London to keep an eye on his family, and all their reports stated that all of them seemed to be happy. Mary had settled into a life as a middle class housewife, Sybil was forced to be a nurse and live with Matthew's rebel of a mother in order to get by, and Edith relied on the kindness of Sir Michael. All that had seen them claimed they were pleased with their lives but Robert didn't believe it. They were hiding their angst, letting it only be seen in the safe confines of their room. They wore masks out in public and did not let show their pain or regret with their choices.

'How could one ever accept a noisy, dirty, chaotic life as a middle class family against the grandeur of Downton?'

He set his silverware down with a dull thunk that echoed in his ears, his chair groaning as he shifted.

Robert had just begun to rise from his chair when his mother breezed into the room, her face holding the same pinched, disapproving stare that had become the norm for her whenever she spotted him. Considering how often she was at Downton these days Robert got to see it regularly. It was the odd dichotomy that was his mother: she had never seemed pleased to see him during the last two years but Robert had seen more of her than he had before England had entered the war. She took the empty chair to his right and sat down, purposely not greeting him and instead looking over at Carson.

"If you could bring me something light, Carson? It doesn't matter what, I dare say I'll hardly taste it." The butler nodded and went to fill mama's plate. Of course his mother was the only one to demand to be served at breakfast. Only once she was done giving her orders did she turn to look at him. "Robert."

"Mama," he greeted with no warmth yet also no anger or annoyance; he'd learned long before the girls' flight that if he tried to show his frustrations or annoyances his mother would merely come at him with an even more acidic tongue. "We expected you last night for dinner."

"I had far more happier things to deal with than your foolishness and the dreary wreck you've turned Downton into," she replied with the same tone one might use to discuss the clouds in the sky.

Robert shot a sidelong glance her way as Carson set her plate before her, filled with a bit of fruit and some small muffin-like things that Mrs. Patmore had been making recently. "I'd say I've done quite well, mama. The war has hurt Downton's ability to make money but we aren't running a loss like some great estates. I hear that the Weatherbees are near considering selling off jewels-"

"The Weatherbees have always been wasteful," mama stated with a wave of her hand. "I knew there would be problems when Lord Wulguard married that Flouse girl. She had expensive tastes when she was but a child who had not earned the right to be so gluttonous with dresses and gems and it only got worse after she was married." She stabbed at an apple slice and nibbled on it before continuing. "But I wasn't referring to the finances, Robert. When I speak of Downton I mean the people who dwell within it, not the building itself." She glanced at him, lips puckered. "But I'm not surprised you fail to see that one is more important than the other."

While he knew that it would do no good and would, in fact, only encourage her to talk more, Robert's frustrations bubbled up over the lack of respect he was once more getting. "If you have a point, mama, would you please say it rather than being cute?"

His mother's eyes narrowed and in a low voice that he remembered from his childhood and his nightmares she said, "I would watch your tone, Robert. Right now Rosamund and I are the only two women in your life who are willing to speak to you. Not wise to whittle that number down. And might I remind you that Rosamund isn't best company at the moment."

Robert silently agreed with that. When Mary, Edith, and Sybil had fled to London and the household of the Lothrops they had quickly become oddities of interest within London society. The rebel daughters of the Earl of Grantham, one who had married a middle class lawyer and the other two who bucked the traditional positions set up for ladies of their standing. With attention came whispers and tales and the gossips loved nothing more than to make already tantalizing tales all the more dramatic. As such the girls had become innocent quivering maids who had managed to find their bravery in the 11th hour. Matthew the dashing hero who was cruelly cast aside for the sin of loving a woman above his station. And in turn Rosamund, whose part in the entire affair had somehow been revealed, had been transformed into the wicked aunt that plotted to keep true loves apart. A scheming shrew who'd envied her young nieces and wanted to see them in pain and miserable. Some claimed that it was because she herself was alone and wanted the whole world to suffer. Others that it was some sinister strategy to claim Downton for herself. And still more than she longed for Matthew and thought to take him as her lover.

The only reason Robert wasn't seen as the main villain in their tawdry tales was that he was portrayed as being too stupid to have plotted it. That he was the pudding-headed duffer who bobbled about his house, Rosamund whispering her spells in his ears and convincing him to follow along with her mad methods.

As a result of all this Rosamund had found herself blacklisted from London society. Invites to premier events dried up while charities that had once sought her favor now no longer accepted her money, fearing they would be tainted doing so. Friends ignored her letters and would cross the street to avoid her if they spotted her coming their way. That left only Downton as a place where she might actually find a friendly face… if only she didn't bring her bitterness with her. When she came to her childhood home all she could do was gripe about the slights made against her. How unfair things were, how she was being unduly punished, how much she hated the people who ignored her and then in the next breath mourn their loss. It made talking to her utterly exhausting and Robert sought any reason he could find to keep her from staying, or at least staying long.

"You allowed your pride to ruin what should have been the happiest years of our lives," mama said, pulling him from his thoughts concerning his sister. "Even in these dark times, when it seems like all the world is in pain, you were given a chance to grasp a bit of happiness… but instead you batted it away."

"What I see is I rejected false hope and false joy that would only bring a sliver of happiness in the shortrun and instead chose to look farther into the future, to a time when we rue Matthew's cowardice and see it for the shame that it is. When his lack of courage is a stain against Downton and his inability to seize glory has doomed us all. I was able to do that, unlike the girls."

Mama gave a tight-lipped smile at that. "Oh, has matters suddenly changed and we no longer find ourselves in a stalemate with the Germans?"

He didn't respond to that jab. He didn't like to think about how the war had been going… the length of it and the slowness in its resolution. He had assumed, like so many others, that it would be finished with quickly, that just a taste of blood would have the Germans fleeing and that British bravery would win the day. But it hadn't been over quickly. One battle had become two, two had become four, until it seemed as if all of Europe was burning. Every day the papers reported the horrors. The casualties. The deaths.

'Of course papers lie,' he told himself. 'They embellish their tales to sell more paper. Men are dying, to be sure, and perhaps the battle on the Somme has gone on far longer than any expected, but it isn't helped by paper sellers seeking to make their coin with salacious tales. Besides, the ones they are hearing these horror stories from are the ones that have returned. And they are injured and bitter, hating their own weakness. The war will end and with it will come the heroes who will sing their glorious songs.'

His face must have shown something because his mother gave a huff. "I see you are lost. No chance of talking sense into you. I'd ask what Cora thought but I doubt you know, considering she barely can stand being in the same room as you."

Robert glowered at what he considered a rather underhanded jab. When Mary and the girls had left that night Cora had been upset and railed against him and only calmed when he had convinced her that they would come to their senses soon enough when they realized they had nothing to use to support themselves. When the news had come that Mary had married Matthew without his consent he had growled and grumbled at her stubbornness… and Cora had broken down in tears and then told him that she would never forgive him for making her miss her eldest's wedding; his comment that she would be able to go to the next one when Mary came to her senses had seen Cora storm out of the room, forgetting all about British sensibility and return to being a brash American. It had taken time but eventually she had thawed but things had slid back when she attempted to convince him to make peace with the girls.

"Why should I go onto my knees when they are the ones that have scorned me? Let them return and beg for forgiveness… only then will I consent to hear them out."

He didn't know what had happened after Cora had left to talk with Mary, only that when she had returned she had glared at him and told him that he had cost her their family. Those had been the last words she had spoken to him. They now slept in separate rooms and their dinners had become quiet, lonely affairs. Unless they had mama over as a guest it wasn't surprising anymore for dinner to be eaten with only the sound of their silverware clinking against the plates to fill the air.

"William dear," mama said, waving over the footman. He moved to refill her glass but she shook her head. "No thank you. Would you please get Nanny Walters?" He nodded and quickly hurried off, leaving mama to continue nibbling on her breakfast. "Does it not bother you how much you have missed, Robert? Matthew and Mary are building a life together and rather than turning to you to share in those joys they turn to Matthew's employer. And while General Allen is a decent man from the little time I've spent with him he is not their father. But he is now seen as one. As for Sybil she has become a grand success. Oh, it isn't the life I would have wanted for her, dealing with bile and blood, but she is greatly respected by many in London and those that know of her only speak of her with respect. But you do not know that, do you?" She paused then and a glint entered her eye that had Robert fighting the urge to shift in his seat. He'd seen her look at him like that many times and whenever she did he'd then faced a bombshell that had left him feeling like he was a on a ship whose deck was burning right under his feet. "You missed one daughter's wedding, Robert… don't miss another one's."

"Another…" Robert whispered. "Edith?"

"Sir Michael asked for her hand. That was why I was gone yesterday. He contacted me"

Robert's shock lasted but a moment before it gave way to anger. "He did not seek my permission to marry my child?"

"He sought out me, as he knew of all of us I would be the only one Edith still respects," mama bit out. "But he did not ask my permission. Told me as much and I was startled till he explained why. It seems Sir Michael knows your daughter better than you do. He told me that Edith would claw his eyes out if he dared to think of her as property to be bartered. And that Sybil and Mary would be shortly behind to claim their own pounds of flesh."

Robert shook his head in disgust. "Another custom tossed aside carelessly…"

"Is that honestly all you have to say?" Mama snapped. "Edith is getting married and you care only that Sir Michael didn't ask your permission?"

He jabbed his finger at that table. "I do when it shows that the girls have gone wild and turned into savages who care not one wit about tradition!"

"Oh come now Robert, stop being so dramatic. First Cora and now you… and you wonder why Mary and Edith and Sybil acted as they did; they learned from you." When he didn't say a word she huffed in utter annoyance. "They are still honoring traditions and decency they just aren't allowing it to trap them in the past."

"You are arguing against honoring the past?" Robert exclaimed, incredulous. "You have fought for tradition for years! It is why you were against me marrying Cora, why you looked down on so many of my ideas-"

"I was against you marrying Cora because you did so only for her money, not for love or station. And don't you dare deny it Robert, you can't fib to save your life." He knew his cheeks were heating up at that… mostly because it was true. He had married Cora purely for the money and it had only been his good fortune that love had blossomed between then the two of them. "And as for your ideas that would have left Downton in far greater trouble than your father left it. But I remind you that I fought for the family. They have always been my number one priority. I supported tradition because it protected us and aided us… but now it has broken us and left us no family. Tradition becomes tradition because it is passed down… and now you only have one who you might-"

With a snap of her jaw mama went silent and the reason quickly made itself known. Robert turned and watched as Nanny Walters entered, her right shoulder hunched down slightly so she might better grasp the hand of the sandy-haired little girl who looked shyly at Robert before focusing on mama.

"G'anny," the child said, her voice a whisper but her delight clear to hear.

"Oh, come here Lillian," mama said, pushing her chair back so that Robert's youngest daughter could toddle over to her. Where Mary would have marched proudly, Edith scurried, and Sybil ran without a care Lillian shuffled forward on steps so soft they might as well have been on her tiptoes. She had been a quiet child, even when she had been born before the holiday season. She had hardly cried and was never fussy, as if she sensed that something was wrong and didn't want to draw attention to herself. A happy child but careful and soft in all her movements and motions. "My my my," mama said, reaching down and picking Lillian up to set her on her lap. "Aren't we looking pretty today."

Robert held his tongue. He knew that if he spoke out now, with Lillian in the room, it would only end in pain. On the day that Lillian had been born while Cora had recovered in her room Robert had stared down at the solemn little newborn and felt bitterness enter his heart that yet again the Lord had seen fit to deny him a son. He'd said as much when mama was in earshot only for her to grasp his ear and for the first time since he'd been 9 twist it until he nearly yelped. She hadn't said a word but the message was clear and Robert had never spoken in ill tones around Lillian again.

Still, as mama offered the little girl a strawberry from her plate he couldn't help but ask, "Is she old enough to be eating at the table with us?"

"Well, I don't know how long it will be until you drive this one away so I must make time with her when I can." Robert reeled back as if struck but his mother paid him no heed. To Lillian she said gently, "It is such a lovely day… would you like to have an adventure with me and eat outside? We could have Carson prepare us some nice treats and then you could play a bit. Would you like that?"

"Yes'em," Lillian said, little hands folded in her lap. Mama nodded and gently set her down, offering the little girl her hand which Lillian took, saying a soft goodbye to him before the two left.

The rustling of his clothing as he reached for his tea cup. The slight clinking of his knife and fork against each other and his plate. The tiny pops his sausage let loose as he cut through its casing. Carson's strong breathing through his nose. The scrape of his chair as he pushed away slightly from the table. The rustling of the paper as he turned the page.

Downton could be so loud… when one was so very alone.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: And while everything is nice in London we have the flip side of the coin at Downton. The ripples of that fight and other changes Matthew and Sybil and Michael made are being felt. No Anna means no strong support for Mrs. Hughes on the maid front and thus Ethel is now feuding with Anna's replacement, Sophie. Bates left earlier and now there are valet problems. The result is a sadder place, a moodier downstairs where there have been so many changes most can't get a stable footing. Aobut the only area that is doing well is the kitchen and that is only because Daisy is too loyal to Mrs. Patmore to leave. But as Robert revealed even there they've had turnover.

As for Carson we finally find out what happened with him and Lady Mary… and the tragedy of a man being pulled in two directions. It might sound unkind, since Carson is a man and not a machine, but I see this much like the situation Ash found himself in during the film 'Alien'. Ash had two directives: protect the crew (built into him) and get the alien to earth (programmed later). And they are in such conflict that it causes him to act as he did. The same with Carson… he is loyal to two people, as defined his entire life around serving Robert and caring for Mary… and with them at odds he doesn't know what to do. And thus we are left with a shell of a man struggling to find a way to please them both.

And with Robert we see just how delusional he has become. Oh silly man... people aren't gossiping about Mary and the girls…

Finally the reveal you all have been waiting for (and bugging me about, lol)… baby Crawley is revealed to be Lillian Crawley, Robert's fourth daughter. A shy, quiet thing who has grown up in a large house and sensed that something is quite wrong but is too young to understand what. Loved by all but also knowing that something is missing in her world, though she doesn't quite know what.

So this time our plot bunny is partially inspired by a reader idea... and an idea that I came up with after watching a trailer for a movie that came out recently on DVD.

It is Season 1 and Anna is off to wake up Lady Mary. Today is Mary's birthday but Anna doesn't think her ladyship will be much in the mood to celebrate. She is still angry about Matthew 'stealing' her inheritance and how it feels like everyone has abandoned her. Even the fact that, to celebrate, his Lordship is holding a grand masked ball has not lightened Mary's mood, for she has confided in Anna that her father and mother have not only invited many in their circle but also many potential suitors... her birthday is being used as a way to sell her off like cattle. So Anna is ready for Lady Mary to be in a foul mode.

What she isn't ready for is Lady Mary to wake up, wearily ask if it is her birthday... and then scream in frustration before leaping out of bed, screeching about how she thought she had the answer this time and how could it not have been that Turk who killed her.

Anna is fearful at Mary's mood and moreso when Mary decides to go to breakfast in her pajamas with her hair a mess because "I don't give two shits anyone what anyone thinks". As Anna trails after her trying to get her attention and get her to calm down Mary suddenly spins around and says "Your Aunt Gertrude used to call you button-eyes.", startling Anna as she NEVER told Mary that. Mary reveals that she did... 12 hours later. And in roughly 14 hours Mary would be brutally murdered by someone.

Inspired by 'Happy Death Day', this bunny sees Mary caught in the timeloop, forced to relive the same day over and over until she manages to survive the night and prevent her own death. And the deaths of others as her killer has no problem killing others. Thus we get a Mary who is at first frazzled and then... well... started to get a dark thrill out of just doing whatever she wants in a loop knowing that it won't be the one to break the curse. Like knocking on Matthew's door and when he opens it he finds her standing there completely naked and she begins to try and convince all of Downton to become a nudist colony. Or demanding that Evelyn has besmirched her honor and getting into a duel with him. Or making out with Daisy in front of her family because hey, everyone is curious.

The one thing I would like to see is the killer isn't obvious. Heck, I'd do it that in one loop we get Pamuk's little seduction/rape and Mary dies and thinks "Okay, it is him" so she beats the tar out of him... only to die. Get rid of the most obvious choice and really make people guess.

Chapter Text

July 14th, 1916

Michael leaned back in the firm-yet-comfortable chair, a glass of lemon water in his hand, Tom seated across from him with his own glass. 'I wonder if he wants a stiffer drink too. At least to celebrate with.' General Lothrop had been willing to have some champagne uncorked for a toast before the meal started but that was as far as he was willing to go to have spirits in his home. Hell, according to what Michael had gathered the servants had been forced to rush out to oen of the Lothrops' neighbors to buy a bottle. After two years the Crawleys that still stayed at the Lothrop Townhouse had gotten used to having water or club soda with their meals, sparkling grapejuice at best (a personal favorite of the old man) but Michael would never be able to handle going a full meal without something proper to drink. He didn't bring it up to Tom, as he didn't want to insult the man that had done so much for the women they loved, but damn it all if the General couldn't have at least sprung for a scotch! He understood where the man was coming from, especially after Michael had looked into his rather infamous family, but still…

'And I do mean 'women we love',' Michael thought as he glanced over at one of his best reporters. He remembered well Tom from the previous timeline and how much he'd loved Sybil… even without having ever met the youngest of the Crawley sisters Michael had seen clearly how much Tom cared for her even in death. Where other men would have sought to move on after their loss of their wife Tom had remained faithful. Hell, with some men the fact that they hadn't been given a son to carry on the family name would have driven them to remarry quickly but with Tom he got the sense that when the Minister had told him 'until death do you part' the Irishman hadn't been listening.

That made the current dance the two of them were engaged in all the more entertaining to Michael. He knew that Tom had been given the truth of the previous life himself, Matthew, and Sybil had lived and that for a while that had scared him off. That the knowledge he had found love and happiness had seen him, strangely enough, decide to push away the source of those feelings. But now Tom had come to terms with that and he and Lady Sybil had formed a deep bond… except the two of them, frustratingly, never seemed to want to move to the next step. They had lunch with each other once to twice a week and at dinners they were painfully friendly... and that was all. It reminded Michael far too much of his own relationship with Edith in his first life, when he'd been so awkward and unsure of himself. He saw in them the same wasted time spent bumbling about with fears of what society might think when all that truly mattered was each other.

"What?" Tom asked, looking at him.

"Hmmm?"

"You're staring at me. I can feel it burning the side of my head." Tom frowned, lifting his glass to drink only to choose not to bring it to his lips. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing in particular. Just... thinking."

Tom merely shot him an incredulous look. "You are a terrible liar, you know that? You are clearly thinking of something." He pursed his lips before letting out a groan. "Not you too!"

"Not me what?" Michael asked.

"Sybil and I. You are thinking about us and how we should be like you and Edith or Matthew and Mary and just marry and begin having babies!"

Michael, despite thinking jus that, shook his head in quick denial. "I wasn't thinking that at all. I was merely thinking of small, trivial things."

"Like what?" Tom pressed.

"Trivial things," Michael repeated.

"What trivial things?"

Michael just gave him a long stare. "You are beginning to sound like a woman, you know that?"

Tom set his glass down on the endtable and leaned forward, eyes hard. "What Sybil and I do is our concern... no one else."

"Correct," Mcihael said.

"If we want to wait for decades to even think about being a couple, we will."

Michael couldn't help but smile. "Well, you might. I think she has other plans."

Tom opened his mother but before he could speak Matthew and Thomas hurried in, still dressed in their uniforms and looking flushed and flustered. "Apologizes... last minute issues at the office."

Thomas nodded. "One of the men tasked with supplying petrol had several of his ships suffer some damage thanks to that storm last week and that will mean some delays in shipments to the French front. We had to contact some of our other supplies and see if they could pick up what he won't be able to deliver and that involved a new contract to be written up."

Matthew rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Bonsues for short notice, a rough length of time for the extra deliveries so that they aren't billing us extra after the first man gets things back up and running... it was like that knot Alexander had to deal with only we couldn't cut it and actually had to untangle it." He looked at the two of them. "How much trouble are we in?"

"Quite a bit," Mary said, walking into the room with a flinty smile on her lips. While dressed rather nicely she was a far cry from the Mary that had prowled the halls of Downton. No need to be dripping in jewels and she hadn't worn a necklace since that night when she'd freedom herself from her father's grasp. "But it will be forgiven if you hurry up. No time to change but at least wash up. I can handle dusty uniforms but I won't tolerate grimy hands." With that she left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving the men to stare blankly at the empty doorway.

"So should you be offended that she is treating you like a servant..." Thomas asked, "or should I be scared that she is treating me like her husband?"

"A bit of both, I think," Matthew said ruefully before moving towards one of the washrooms to clean up. Thomas, after a moment, mimicking Mathew and went to find his own place to clean up. Michael took the opportunity to flee the parlor room and move towards the dining room, thankful for the interruption and how it had gotten Tom to forget all about their conversation.

Allen was already seated when Michael arrived, having toured some of the shipyards that day and thus not been at the office when the mess that had delayed Matthew and Thomas had come down. Catherine was beside him, whispering quietly to her husband but stood and greeted Michael warmly with a kiss on the cheek.

"I wanted to congratulate you when you arrived but Edith was so tickled pink about it all that I lost track of time." Catherine patted his shoulders. "See to it you keep her that happy..." Her fingers locked around his arms and squeezed hard, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his biceps. "Understand?"

"Absolutely," Michael said with a wince, Cat finally letting go and moving so Allen could shake his hand. "If I break her heart I will be the first to lash myself."

"I'll hold you to that," Allen stated firmly. "The girls deserve nothing but happiness." Michael could hear the unsaid 'my girls' in the general's comment.

"And here I thought poor Michael would avoid such threats being here rather than Downton," Edith teased as she came in, Michael unable and unwilling to stop the smile that formed on his lips when he spotted her. They shared a brief kiss, far more chaste than he would have preferred, before taking their seats as the rest of Edith's strange family (and, thanks to the connection that he shared with Matthew and Sybil, his own strange family as well) arrived. While Michael hadn't attended a true Downton dinner party (at best he'd been at Duneagle and that was a beast of a different color to be sure) he had heard about them from Edith and he knew for a fact that how the Lothrops ran their dinner table would have left the likes of Edith's parents horrified. While it wasn't a wild Viking feast where everyone ate with their hands and more food ended up on the floor rather than in one's mouth, it wasn't the overly structured affair that the ladies had grown up with. It was far more middle-class, with dishes prepared and placed on the table by the Lothrops' cooking staff before being left to their own devices. No footmen circling around the table with platters of ornate looking food that appeared to be more like works of art than actual meals and then snatching away plates before one was done purely because the host had had his fill. The Lothrops believed in 'comfort foot' as the Americans were fond of saying and also believed in getting one's fill.

That night saw the table dominated by a large platter heaped with roast beef so tender it shredded perfectly without even the need for a fork, dripping with gravy. A bowl of potatoes cut into cubes and fried in bacon fat to give the outer surface the perfect crispiness. Sweet carrots in a glaze sauce and rolls so delicious the General didn't even bother to add butter to them but rather ate them plain. Quickly the room filled with noise and people began to pass around dishes, laughter and conversations swelling and falling at the beginning of the meal as each person served themselves with only the Lothrops' butler, who by now was used to his employers being far too middle class for their station, filling water glasses as needed. Off to the side was the bottle of champagne the servants had managed to obtain, Edith suggesting they wait till dessert to do the toast.

"When do you think the wedding will take place?" Matthew asked him and Michael, after swallowing the piece of meat he'd been savoring, fought the urge to answer that if it were up to him they'd be married already.

"I'm thinking into the new year, a spring wedding perhaps. I'll need time to get the paper situated so I am comfortable leaving it alone while I go on my honeymoon."

"I doubt very much you'll be comfortable leaving it," Catherine teased. "It is your first child, after all."

"And the best kind as you actually get a return on the money you put into seeing it grow," Tom jested, earning titters of laughter from everyone.

Allen let out a huffing laugh. "You speak more truth than you realize. Take take take and then when you want them to come to dinner suddenly they have plans." Michael quietly shook his head at that, knowing that he was merely making fun of a bad situation. Allen and Cat's children were lovely people but the war was causing chaos for all of them. Franklin, the Lothrops' eldest, dropped by when he could but with his own job in the military, his young son, and it clear that he and his wife Beth trying for a second he didn't visit as often as the older couple would have liked. Their daughter Jennifer had decided 6 months after the Crawleys had arrived in London to help Cat's sister Lilith after she'd broken her leg and ended up falling in love with the country life (and after she had broken things off with the boy from the war office she'd been seeing it was good for her to have a change of scenery). As for their youngest he'd gotten his first taste of freedom and like all young men had decided that he wanted to explore life on his own and that meant not spending time with his parents; that would change with age but for now it left the Lothrops without any of their children around.

'Probably why they've adopted all of us,' Michael thought. 'Edith and her sisters are their daughters in all but blood now and us men are always welcome here.'

Edith smiled. "I like the idea of a spring wedding. Enough time to plan but not too much to wear upon me."

"I can attest to that," Mary said with a chuckle. "It was nice in the beginning planning my wedding but by the 5th month I just wanted it done and over with! Looking at this piece of fabric or debating on the color of the flowers… it became ever so tiring."

"Besides," Edith stated, glancing and Matthew and Mary, "it will also ensure that we aren't stepping on either of your toes." She looked down at her plate and a sweet, innocent little smile formed on her lips. "Nothing too complex though… I rather loved your wedding, Mary, but I'd like it to be a touch bigger and have more time to ensure more people can attend." She looked up suddenly, fearful that she had insulted her sister, but thankfully Mary was all nods and smiles.

"Yes, I can see that. I won't pretend that I wouldn't want to change some things…" Mary trailed off and Matthew took her hand into his own. "Still, we can ensure that everyone we wish to attend do so."

Michael watched as the sisters began to chat about ideas and couldn't help but marvel at how different his life was now. In the previous timeline he'd been stuck with a woman that didn't even remember who he was and the woman he did love seemingly out of his grasp. Now he would make Edith his wife in less than a year, the paper was a success, and he was surrounded by people who cared for him.

"What are you smiling about?" Sybil asked him.

"The same thing you are smiling about," he whispered to her. Sybil considered this for a moment before nodding and returning his grin with one of her own.

~A~O~O~O~F~

August 3rd, 1916

Thomas slowly pulled off his jacket and slung it over his right shoulder, a smile forming on his lips as he felt the steady breeze force away some of the warmth he'd begun to feel as he walked along the sidewalk.

'What would the likes of Mr. Carson think of they could see me now?' He thought to himself, once more marveling at how much his life had changed in the last two years. For the first time ever he actually had some wealth to his name, the General having covered much of his living costs as the man had wanted to get Thomas set up properly. Despite being destined to be a lord the General was a man who firmly believed in elevating the lower class rather than ruling them and any help he could give he would.

Not that Thomas wasn't doing his own part. Too many of his class burned through what little they managed to save on wasteful, foolish things. Drink, fine clothing, trinkets they hoped would fool others into believing that they were higher than their station. Of course drink only made one act far lower than their birth, fine clothing tore and began fade and wear down, and trinkets never truly fooled anyone when all the rest of them was far below such things in terms of wealth. Thomas wasn't about to make the mistakes so many before him had made. No, he had plans… not grand ones, ambitious ones at least by his reckoning, but plans nonetheless. He would save his money, build up enough that he could easily afford a decent flat eventually while still having enough to invest once the war was done. Matthew had told him that when all the fighting was done people would want to rebuild and that would be the best time to put his pounds to work. He also would do all he could to ensure that the General kept him on after the war ended. He knew that Matthew wanted to go back to being a lawyer once the war was done but Thomas had no desire to return to service. Even with the reduction in staff that would one day come once the Germans were defeated Allen would need people to assist him and Thomas wanted to have himself established.

Placing his hands in his pockets Thomas looked about the storefronts. Usually he and Matthew were on the road and thus ate together at whatever pub or restaurant the two of them could find but today was different. Matthew had decided to surprise his mother and Sybil with a trip out to eat and thus Thomas was left to his own devices. Thanks to having done working lunches the last few days Thomas and Matthew had both cashed in some favors and gotten several hours off, meaning the latter had more than enough time to treat Mrs. Crawley and Sybil to a decent meal and Thomas had a chance to take a leisurely summer stroll before finally deciding on what he wanted to do for lunch.

The only real negative was that he would be eating alone, but Thomas didn't mind that too much. Before he'd come to London he hadn't been, as some would say, 'rich in friends'. He had always been someone that liked to keep people at arm's length, fearful that they were out to use him. Negative experiences in his youth, when he had been far too trusting, had taught him that it was better to wait for people to prove themselves before letting them in on his true thoughts and feelings. The problem was that such attitudes caused others to see him as untrustworthy himself and thus building meaningful friends had never been easy for him.

Coming to London had seen him gain more people he could rely on… one couldn't spend as much time as he did with Matthew without becoming close… but at this point he and Matthew and even the Crawley sisters were more like family than friends.

'Mr. Carson must be shaking in horror just SENSING someone thinking that!' he thought to himself with a snicker.

But other than them? Thomas didn't have anyone else he would go wandering off to find and suggest they spend time together. He was a loner and-

"Well, this is something you don't see often."

Thomas was yanked from his thoughts and he turned to find another man in uniform leaning against a wall, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He was around Thomas' age, maybe a year older at most, and all at once the former footman couldn't help but look the strange over. He was tall, one of the rare men in London that could actually stare Thomas in the eye without craning his neck up. Perfectly proportioned too; no overly long legs or stumpy limbs with stretched out torso. His hair was the color of gourmet dark chocolate and was not slicked back or held in place with any product though Thomas didn't know if any such creams in existence could tame those curls. Though he suddenly had the urge to try, even if just with his own fingers. The man wasn't what one would call a classically handsome; no statues of him would have been found in Ancient Greece or the like. But there was something about him with his lean sharp features and penetrating eyes that drew one's attention and held it solidly in place.

"And what's that?" Thomas asked. While he mentally knew that he sounded rather normal in his heart he couldn't help but hear his voice crack and squeak like he was some tongue-tied teenager once more.

"Someone in a uniform who actually knows how to slow down and enjoy life," the other man said with a smirk. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Afraid I don't," Thomas said, moving closer to the man. A glance at his rank showed he was Colour Sergeant. Still he didn't bother to salute, sensing that the other man wasn't one of the regimental pricks who demanded such things no matter the setting.

"Oh yes you do!" the stranger said with a light laugh. "Everyone in the war office is either brooding about the Frontor they are focused on playing politics and trying to move up the ranks because death just means new positions opened up. We get into messes like the one we are now in because too many people can't actually take a moment and remember that we are fighting so that we can actually enjoy life!"

Thomas had to admit that the other man was right. "Not just in the military either."

"Go on," the stranger motioned. He suddenly paused and shook his head. "Sorry, sorry… Jonsey." He held out his hand.

"Thomas." Giving Jonsey's hand a squeeze he continued. "I worked at an estate before the war and servants always fell into the same categories as well. Either so concerned about moving up that they made their entire lives be about the families they served or they fell into dark depressions and forgot to enjoy the small things in life."

Jonsey pressed his hand to his heart. "Finally… finally a kindred spirit! I've been surrounded by dyed-in-wool military men for so long… you, Thomas, are a breath of fresh air." He pushed off the wall and began to walk, motioning for Thomas to follow him. "So tell me, how did you break free of the trap?"

"Believe it or not it was the Earl's heir who helped me," Thomas said with a smile and a shake of his head. "He knew the war was going to be the hell that it is now and sought out some way to keep himself safe. He got a position in the War Office and in turn asked me to join him. I was about to make a mistake… was going to join the medical division-"

"Thought it would keep you off the front?" Jonsey asked with a sad sigh. "I heard about those rumors. Knew they were lies and tried to tell all the brave sots I saw that it was a mistake." For the first time since meeting him Thomas saw Jonsey's smile fall. "Far too few listened. Far… far too few. Good lads. Brave ones too. Not able to listen…" Thomas' jaw worked, wondering not only at what his fate might have been had he not listened to Matthew, but also how many people were dead because they didn't have a Matthew in their lives. "So this heir helped you out?"

"Still is. He isn't like most high borns… grew up middle class, so he knows a bit what it's like for folks like us." He gestured at Jonsey and himself.

"There is a story there…" Jonsey said.

"A long one. Almost as long as the one that ends with me calling my former employer's daughters by their given names and sharing meals with all three."

"Then I suppose I'll have to bribe you to get it. Have you had lunch?"

"I was thinking about it but not yet."

"Then I will buy and you will tell me your story."

Thomas considered the other man before shrugging. There were worst ways to spend an afternoon. "Lead on."

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Part One of 'A Tale of Meals'. Not a ton to talk about here that wouldn't spoil what is to come but I did enjoy writing this chapter and finally getting to introduce this new plot for Thomas.

For our plot bunny for this chapter I want to keep it rather vague, to give people plenty of room to play around with. The premise is simple: Early Season 1, Matthew, Mary, and the entire family are sailing for France, as Robert has been asked by an ambassador friend to look into something for him. During the trip there is a storm, one thing leads to another… and Mary and Matthew end up in a lifeboat, eventually stranded on a deserted island. The story would be about how the two of them deal with the situation. How one handled it would be up to the writer. It could just be standard silliness, like Mary trying to fish and failing horribly at it or them in a shelter they made that keeps collapsing. It could be something dramatic, a story of survival, of danger and threats. And it could be something very sexy; maybe getting to the island is so rough it leaves their clothing in utter tatters and despite Mary's determination to remain classy and fashion some kind of outfit out of the rags they have Mary eventually gets frustrated and just decides "Screw it, going naked" and we get funny naked island time with the two.

Chapter Text

Cora cut through a piece of Mrs. Patmore's wonderful chicken, purposely letting the clinking of her knife against her plate fill the air. It was the only sound in the large ornate dining room and whenever she lifted a piece of meat to her lips the silence return, oppressive and crushing. Or it would have been for anyone else. But for Cora Crawley silence had become an old friend… perhaps her only friend.

'And how terribly sad is that?'

It felt so very, very wrong for the Downton dining room to be so quiet. It was by no means a blusterous place, like some Western tavern filled with the honky-tonk banging of a piano and the laughter of men as they gambled with beer stained cards while cigar smoke stank up the air. But there had been life in the room once and now that it was as quiet as a tomb Cora felt even the inanimate objects that filled the room were judging her, scornful of the quiet when there should have been light chatter the fill the air.

Cora had long had visions of what her life would be like when her girls were gone. She'd imagined some loneliness but had thought that she'd be able to move beyond it easily enough. After all with three daughters there would be plenty of homes to visit and grandchildren to spoil with gifts. And when she wasn't visiting them there would be so many other things to do. Charities to help, friends to visit… and with Mary married to the heir (first Patrick and then Matthew) she would be able to run Downton, to take up control of the estate, and free\ her and Robert up to travel. Cora wanted to visit Paris and walk along its streets and dine of their fine food. She loned to see New York again and perhaps even travel to the likes of Spain or the Swiss Alps. The see the Pacific and perhaps even the Orient, or visit the lands that Robert had fought upon and gaze upon creatures that seemed more like myth than truth.

But all those dreams had turned to ash.

'With the war everyone is so focused on other things that there is no time for the charities I'm used to.' She let out a small huff but Robert didn't even bother to look at her. Not that she was surprised. He'd learned that when she wanted his attention she'd ask for it and unless he had something important to tell her it was better for him to keep his mouth shut. 'And travel is simply out of the question. Not until the war is done and even then it may be years before I can go. Sooner if Robert would go with me but as things are he won't risk leaving Downton unless I am here as his replacement.' Carson walked over and filled her wine glass and Cora lifted it and in one long, steady pull drained it dry and held it out to be refilled. 'And the girls… there will be no welcomings from them.'

Cora tried so very, very hard to focus on happier thoughts, brighter moments with her girls. But as always her mind traveled back to that fateful day at the Grantham Arms when she had made her greatest mistake. Before that she had been blameless in the whole feud, seen only as guilty in the sense that she was loyal to her husband. The girls had understood that and thus why Mary had been willing to meet with her, to try and sort out their problems and bring the family back together. But Cora had been bitter upon realizing that Mary hadn't truly been suffering after their fleeing of Downton and in fact seemed to flourish in London. Rather than her child looking about the grassy fields and hills of Downton with longing and seeking out a way to return from the exile of dirty and dingy London Mary had instead smiled fondly but made it clear she had moved past the trappings of her home. Where Cora had expected to find a child who was regretting her choices instead she found a woman content. Seeing her so happy and knowing how bad things were at Downton had led Cora to press her harder than she had planned, trying to coax her into coming to Downton and making amends with Robert and hopefully bring that light and joy back into the old house.

But that was when she'd made her mistake.

Mary had asked if Robert would welcome Matthew back into Downton and Cora, knowing how her husband was, had told her that at that time she didn't see such a reunion taking place. Mary had answered that she didn't see any need to return to Downton as it wasn't she who deserved an apology from Robert but Matthew. Her swift rebuttal, combined with Cora's own weariness with the entire feud, had led her to plead with Mary to reconsider, to come to Downton and make things right with her father, to swallow her pride and do what was good for the family. But Mary had taken that wrong, seeing it as Cora wanting her to apologize to Robert and get nothing in return. And when she had said just that Cora had told her that at this time that might be what was best… that Mary knew how her father was and that she needed to be the one to apologize, not him. And accept that for now it would be best for the family if she and Matthew parted.

After that their meeting had disintegrated. Mary had come at her with fire, any desire on her part to at least meet Robert half way, to find a compromise, was incinerated. Her daughter had demanded that she had done nothing wrong, that it was all Robert's fault, and that in turn Cora demanding that Mary apologize without getting even a 'sorry' from her father meant that she felt the same way about Matthew as Robert did. Cora had chastised her, told her that she was being silly and childish and blind, but Mary had refused to listen. Cora had chased after her daughter as she'd stormed out of the Grantham Arms and even ran after the motor that took Mary back to the train station until the vehicle was just a speck in the distance. She would have continued on if it hadn't been fear about the baby within her, as that little life had been the only reason she hadn't chased after Mary all the way to London. It was only when she couldn't see her anymore that Cora had realized just what she had done and fallen to her knees, not caring about her dress in the slightest as she'd screamed and sobbed Mary's name.

From that point on it was as if her daughters didn't exist. Letters sent pleading with them to come back to Downton went unanswered. Attempts to get third parties to talk with them, to arrange for them to return, only resulted in negative responses from her kind friends who worked to build any sort of bridge between the two different generations of Crawleys… and then news that the Crawley girls had completely cut them off as well. By the time Cora had recovered from Lillian's birth and could attempt a visit to London she hadn't been able to make the journey. Not because she didn't want to and not because of what she was sure the girls believed, that Robert had forbidden her. Cora would have rather enjoyed laughing in her husband's face if he had tried to command her not to do anything these days.

'No… it's because I'm a coward,' Cora thought to herself with disgust. 'I could see them right now… but if I got to their home and they refused to open the door…'

Her mental self-castigation came to a quick end when, of all things, Ethel the maid appeared in the doorway. Carson looked fit to be tied by the appearance of the woman at dinner but when he went over to her to obviously chastise her there was a quick conversation that was mostly hisses and whispers before Carson suddenly straightened and took on an air of dignity and respect before telling the maid quietly to go back downstairs but not before he accepted something the maid passed him. He missed her scowl at that command, but Cora didn't and knew that had Carson been in his right state of mind he would have never missed such blatant disrespect. Though, to be fair, if he were in his right state of mind the likes of Ethel would never have been hired. Cora utterly hated the maid who did not understand her place, who felt no fear in speaking to her before she was acknowledged. Cora missed Mary and Gwen and wondered when they would find maids of their caliber again.

Walking over to Robert the butler cleared his throat and said, "A message from the War Office, my lord."

"Oh?" Robert said, accepting the telegram. He looked over the note and upon his face blossomed a smile of utter satisfaction, one that Cora instantly found herself hating for she knew that he would not be smiling so if it were news about the girls. No, what he should care about, make his sole concern in all the world, would not have made him smile as he was and Cora had a feeling that whatever he was finding such pride and joy in would be something she'd find utterly disagreeable.

"Well, this is certainly a bit of sunlight to brighten the day!" he declared, puffing up all the more. Cora knew that he wanted her to ask what had him so excited but her own glowering mood would not let her give him such succor and as such Robert finally on his own had to speak out. "It's from the War Office. They have decided to give me a Colonelcy!" He clenched his fist in celebration and smacked the telegram against the table. "Finally! I was worried all this business with Matthew would see me painted with the same brush as him but someone clearly understands that I am no coward." He looked at her, eyes twinkling like a child of Christmas morning. "A chance to earn Downton some honor! To repair all the damage that has been heaped upon us these last two years! At last out burden will be lifted!"

But if Robert was like a boy seeing Father Christmas Cora was a naughty girl who suddenly realized that Krampus had come to punish the wicked. While she might have been trapped in Downton for these last few years with only Lillian to dedicate her time too she wasn't blind to what was happening outside the great stone walls of the Abbey. The papers had made it clear the nightmare that so many women were living now throughout Brittan. Tales of young mothers made widows, of grandmothers who found themselves outliving their children and grandchildren when the boys came home in boxes. Of souls who had dreamed of better lives who now had to care for the broken shells that had been the men they loved. Robert still lived in a world where every Englishman was invincible and with just a bit of pluck and moxie one could win the day. Cora had come to realize that Matthew had been right about everything and his act to keep himself in London had been the greatest gift of love a man could give a woman.

And in that moment she realized she did love Robert, for the thought of him dead and gone struck her straight to the bone.

What an utterly cruel thing to discover, that the author of your suffering was all you had left to care for.

"When must you go?" Cora found herself asked.

Robert smiled, clearly believing that her question meant that she was just as excited as him. "Oh, it will take a few days to make it official and I'll need to go to London in a month for a celebratory dinner... but after that I should know. Hopefully not too long... I want to get out there and give it my all, to stand shoulder to shoulder with those brave fighting lads and show them what Crawley blood will do. Oh, to feel the wind in my face and know that I am aiding my country once more... there is nothing like it, truly nothing..."

Cora rose up from the table. "Yes, win your honor, Robert. It will be a warm comfort to your wife and remaining child when you return to us in a pine box." And with that she stood up and left, not bothering to hear what Robert had to say.

~MC~MC~MC~

"What are you brooding about?" Catherine Lothrop asked, causing Mary to start. The two of them were waiting in the entrance of The Blue Diamond, one of London's most popular tea rooms. A favorite of the upper middle class and the upper class itself, The Blue Diamond was a place where one went when they wanted a bit of tea and a feast for all their other senses. Run by a man who came from a long line of bohemian artists to the point that the word bohemian hadn't even been invented yet for those of his line, the shop was a far cry from the tepid tea rooms that Mary was used to. If you'd been in one you had been in them all, with their small round tables and cream colored walls and fine white china that offset the stitched padded chairs in all their pastel glory.

The first thing one noticed when they walked into The Blue Diamond were the walls, each of which looked like a painting had burst from its frame, unable to be contained on a single canvas and deciding to live upon the walls themselves. A French park filled with picnickers that looked so real in spots Mary feared she might take a step forward and tumble into the painting like Alice going through the looking glass. Another was a woodland scene with a majestic buck staring at her between the trees, making her feel foolish for being quiet and worrying that she might spook him. But it wasn't just the sight that was treated. There was the light strumming of a sad guitar, its notes wavering and fluttering like the flapping of a butterfly's wings. The customary smells one would find in tea rooms were there as well but someone seemed to be taken far beyond what one would encounter anyplace else. It was as if in all those other shops the scents were merely phantoms while here they lived and breathed. Even the air somehow felt better on her skin, a relief from the summer sun that had decided to make up for all the cold blasting winds with a hot day that sent even the most sun-starved of Londoners seeking shelter.

'And yes I can't help but find something other than happiness here,' she thought to herself before Catherine nudged her.

"You are doing it again. Might as well speak up... I'm not like the women in your class, as I won't let go of this line of questions merely because you ask me too."

Mary scoffed. "You obviously haven't been paying attention to Granny when she visits if you think all upper class women drops subjects when they become awkward." Catherine though merely continued to stare her down and Mary realized that the woman was quite right and that she wasn't about to let up until Mary opened up. "Do you ever feel as if we are being ignorant of the world around us?" Catherine merely raised an eyebrow and Mary, in a low but passionate voice that reminded even her of Sybil's fierce breathy tones, said, "There are young men in France who are dying in the mud right now. Women who are receiving letters that their husbands or brothers or sons are dying or maimed. And what are we doing?" She gestured around them. "Having tea. Like there is no war at all! And I... I don't know..." She sighed, running the back of her fingers against her forehead. "I feel like we are spitting on their sacrifice."

Before Catherine could respond the hostess walked up to them and smiled. "A table just cleared up, Lady Catherine. Please, follow me."

Catherine quirked an eyebrow at that. They'd come to the tea room without a reservation and found it quite crowded and had been ready to head out and find someplace else when the hostess had assured them she would find a table for them. Mary, for her part, had a sinking feeling they'd either forced someone to rush their meal or had just stolen a table meant for someone else. When she'd been Mary Crawley of Downton Abbey she'd encountered such acts and never blinked. In fact she had been quite smug about it, enjoying the power she felt that others bowed out of her way. But now that she was Mrs. Matthew Crawley who only received such perks thanks to the patronage of the Lothrops she was far more bothered by the favoritism.

'The table selected is a fine one,' she thought, 'though thankfully not the best they have. I don't know how I'd handle that.'

Once they were settled and put in their requests (Chamomile for Mary as it would pair well with the scones she was already eyeing up, Rose Congou for Catherine as that was always her preferred favorite) and the attendant went to fetch their drinks and the cart of desserts and little sandwiches Catherine finally spoke, "Your problem isn't what we are doing," she said simply, cutting right to the point. "Were a meal like this a tedious, dull affair, no matter how extravagant, you'd not consider it an issue. No. Your issue is the feelings that such activities bring." She paused, locking eyes with Mary. "It is the pleasure that we get that is the fault. You feel that we have no right to be happy with so much pain in the world. That if others suffer then we should as well lest we rub it in the faces of others that we have escaped so much pain."

"Yes, exactly," Mary said, relieved that at least Catherine understood and was able to put to words that which Mary had struggled to express. "I don't think the whole world should turn to depression and heartache, of course. I'm not that foolish. I don't begrudge any of the Swiss, for example, for enjoying life. They want no part in the war and have only armed themselves in case the rest of us fail to listen. But for the two of us it is different. We are in the heart of this matter; the only way we could be closer is if the two of us were on the Front ourselves."

Catherine huffed at that as the attendant returned with their tea while another wheeled over the cart so they might make their choices. "We'd have won the whole thing a year ago if I were in charge." Mary chuckled at that and selected a few choice pieces from the cart, as did Catherine.

"For myself I only avoided the angst so many poor women are going through right now through luck and a twist of fate. Had Lord Merton not known Allen..." Mary shuddered slightly. Her dreams, every so often, would turn to horrid terrors where Matthew hadn't escaped the Front and she was left to wait in Downton to find out his fate. In some he returned to her utterly changed, as some men did when faced with the horrors of war. Visions of him becoming a drunkard, finding solace in a bottle and her only role in his life being something for him to smack and hit with his temper bubbled forth. In others he was a broken man, left shattered like a fallen glass, rocking back and forth in a corner while sobbing and nothing she did helped as he clawed bloody gouges in his cheeks. She dreamed of him crippled and never able to have children, a bitter thing in a wheelchair who watched the world from the window. Or his limbs blown away and his body riddled with scars, unable to do anything that made life worth living. In one truly nightmarish scenario she'd found him sitting in a chair, his back to her and mumbling to himself. When she'd finally gotten annoyed and walked around to confront him she'd found that Matthew was mumbling because he didn't have a face anymore, just melted flesh that covered where his mouth should have been, a shredded hole for a nose, and blood gushing from his egg-white eyes.

Her screams had brought the General bursting into her room with a gun drawn, thinking she had been attacked, Thomas shortly behind with his own service revolver.

But the worst, the absolute worst, were the dreams of his death. When she was sitting in Downton again, chatting with mama as if nothing had happened to drive them apart, when Carson would come in with an ashen face and a telegram that told her that Matthew had taken a bullet in the skull. Or going for a drive and papa telling her that Mary should feel so proud and she'd be confused until they arrived at the cemetery and she realized that they were going to Matthew's funeral but at least he was being buried with full honors her father would boost as he patted the headstone. One time she'd dreamt she herself was on the Somme, wearing a man's uniform and crawling through the muck, trying to reach Matthew as he was restrained by a pair of monstrous Germans, getting within grasping distance before one slit her husband's throat. She'd dreamed of him dying on an operating table as Sybil held her back and talking with him on the phone only for screams to fill the line before there was a great explosion. Of visiting Edith and Tom at the paper only for the news to arrive that Matthew had been drawn and quartered by the Germans.

Each time she awoke sobbing and many times she made him late for breakfast because she would cling to him like she was a child and he was a favored stuffy. Even in the tea room Mary felt a cold wave a dread fill her and she fought the urge to rush out of the shop and go right to the War Office and assure herself that he was alive. That he'd refused to listen to Papa and put her before honor and country. That he was alive and well.

"I feel like I am mocking those who are suffering by going about my life like nothing has happened," Mary said after the attendant had left and the two began to eat. "Am I wrong?"

"Yes," Catherine said simply, taking a sip of her tea. "You are."

Mary pursed her lips a glowered a bit.

"Oh don't give me that look. I'm older than you I'm allowed to be short and to the point. I have so much less life than you to waste."

Mary huffed. "You're like Granny… you'll outlive us all. I'll look like some mummy they yanked out of a tomb while you'll still have a spring in your step."

"Allen did love to claim he was Ares reborn when he was a younger man and I was his Aphrodite who'd merely forgotten her past," Catherine said, a small smile forming on her lips that Mary chose to ignore because thinking of the Lothrops being like her and Matthew in THAT aspect of their lives was horrifying; they were her surrogate parents, for goodness sake! "But my point remains, Mary: you are speaking utter nonsense."

Catherine held up her hand when Mary attempted to speak, making to clear that she had more to say but also wanted to savor her tea. Mary snapped her jaw shut, politeness the only thing keeping her from speaking, before Catherine finally continued. "Now, nibble on a scone and listen to me. You are just starting on this path… Matthew may return to being a lawyer when this war is done but he might also decide to remain with the War Office. As a lawyer he could rise to be Prime Minister, but with the Army? With the way he's integrated so well with Allen and the rest of the staff he could easily work his way up the ranks. I have been married to an army man for decades… I know what it is like to fear for them and I also know the relief that comes from knowing they are safe while others are asked to sacrifice all for our country."

Mary squirmed at that. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she wasn't the only person in the world with a husband in the military, even in the place she called home.

"Yes, there is misery in the world. Pain and suffering. Decent people have to go through horrible things and there is no sense in it. But that's why you must embrace the good when you can." She held up a miniature tart and stared at with a small smile on her face. "Enjoy life and all the pleasures it can bring when you can… because life is as fickle and changing as a New York socialite and will take it all away without warning."

"You make it sound so simple," Mary said, finally taking her tea and sipping on it.

"Sometimes the simple solutions are the right ones." She nibbled on her tart. "I sometimes think that is the problem with growing up. We are so desperate to race to adulthood and all the complexities it brings that we forget that sometimes life works best when we keep it simple. We can't enjoy things anymore, we have to overanalyze them. Look at them from every angle to determine all the facets of something and all the ramifications of our actions and when we finally do decide to partake we have so exhausted ourselves we've sapped the joy from the entire world. A child does not worry about what an extra biscuit will do to her figure she simply partakes! A boy does not worry what others think when he stomps in a puddle he does so because it is fun! It is age that makes us steal joy out of life."

Mary shook her head, setting down her cup. "But is it right? To just enjoy ourselves when there is so much bad in the world?"

"Are we flaunting our good fortunes?" Catherine asked right back. "Are we parading about the streets dripping with gems or mocking the unlucky?"

"Well... no. But-"

"Do we help how we can? Perhaps not as much as Sybil but then I think the Saints above is shaking his head and telling that girl to take a break."

Mary chuckled at that before nodding. "Yes, we do." They did their charity events and put in time helping those that needed aid. Mary had especially become fond of reading to soldiers at the hospital where Sybil worked. She remembered well how Matthew had made her own convalescence, when she'd been forced to stay in bed after Pamuk's attack upon her, go all the quicker by simply sitting at her bedside and reading to her. Sybil had confirmed the need for such people and Mary had spent many afternoons reading short stories and letters from home to the brave lads laid up in those beds. She often revealed that she was an Earl's daughter so that they would have a story to tell when they returned to their sleepy little villages and homes. In turn she never felt any danger and no soldier attempted to ask for more from her; she'd found out from a few men eight months back that one rather amorous soldier, a fellow by the name of Bryant, had made a lewd joke about her after a visit... and the next day had been sent to the intensive care ward when he was found bruised and bloodied in his bed, no one sure how the man had ended up beaten so badly. But after that when a soldier leered a second too long she would hear a cough and spot someone nodding in their direction and that was the end of that.

"Then there is no reason to be concerned," Catherine said with a small shrug. "What we do quietly does not bring misery to others. And if we suffer it does not lesser their own." The older woman frowned. "Oh dear," she said, looking over Mary's shoulder, a frown falling upon her lips. "I fear I have just argued against my point without realizing it. It seems I've discovered just how we were able to secure a table."

Mary turned slightly so she might take a peek without gawking. Standing near the entrance was the hostess, her face no longer welcoming but rather firm and set, talking to a woman maybe one or two years Mary's junior. No great beauty that was to be sure but there was something about her that made Mary hold her gaze. It took several moments to put it into words but she finally settled on 'innocence'. There was an unspoiled air about the woman, as if she had somehow stepped out of a picture book where the sins and vanity of man did not exist. She seemed so out of place for London before the war and certainly for it now as the military engine chugged along and everyone had become utterly jaded. She sported red hair but not the color of a harlot or a temptress as one might imagine Delilah as she tempted Samson. No, this newcomer had hair like warm inviting embers in a cozy hearth. She had a gentle face that would not cause a man to go to war but would at the very least inspire poets to weave tales of simpler times. She was dressed in a cream dress and held a sunhat in her hands, which she slowly rotated in her hands as she listened to the hostess speak. She never interrupted or injected a word but rather waited her turm, which was when she surprised Mary for she could tell by the tilt of her chin and the slight narrowing of her eyes that innocence in that one didn't not also mean meekness. No, she was holding her ground, refusing to back down, and that was only making the hostess all the more angry.

"Poor dear," Catherine said, moving to stand. "I should go apologize-"

"No, let me," Mary said, feeling a sudden kinship with the younger woman. It was clear that while she was well off she was not of the upper class and with her marriage Mary had grown to greatly respect middle class women. While she herself did not have to struggle she understand that was out of the kindness of the Lothrops than anything else and had it not been for them she would have very likely ended up right where the other woman was standing. Mary Crawley might have been new to her current side in the class war but she would be just a loyal and as fierce to them as she had been when she'd been an Earl's daughter.

Moving across the room Mary was able to finally hear what was being said and it confirmed that Catherine was correct.

"There must be some mistake. I came in her last week to make the reservation."

The hostess merely shot daggers at her. "And I am telling you that your name isn't on the list. And even if it was do you think there is a table for you?" While for anyone else it would have seemed that the hostess was pointing out that the tea room was quite full Mary could hear the judgmental undertones in the woman's voice. Clearly the jilted customer did as well, for her face screwed up in a scowl. In that moment she proved to Mary that while she may have been innocent that didn't mean she was weak-willed or easily cowed.

"I know for a fact that I talked to you last week," she said, putting as much steel in her voice as she could. "You complimented my hat. Now I don't know what changed between then and now but I reserved a table-"

"And the reservation is no longer here," the hostess said firmly.

"So you admit that you did have it," the younger woman said with a triumphant smirk.

The hostess, using the same stone cold drawl that Carson used to use when one of the Grey boys had been particularly naughty, stated, "So far I have been polite. Leave now and you can keep what little dignity you and yours have. But push me and I will see that ripped away by the constables when they-"

That was enough for Mary and she made her presence known. But it would have shocked so many who knew her from only her days from Downton how she chose to handle the situation. Sybil and Edith would have been indignant in their own particular ways. Darling Sybil would have stormed forth like Joan of Arc upon the battlefield, snarling and lecturing the hostess till all could hear. She would have directed her anger like a preacher during sermon, casting the hostess down for all she did. Edith would have feigned surprise before resorting to a mock snobbery, declaring that if the tea room wasn't good enough for the red-haired girl it wasn't good enough for her and made passing threats of what would come of upsetting her. Mary may have done one or the other or a blend of them back in her youth but with age came wisdom and she decided rather than make a scene like a child or even resort to passive aggressive retorts like mama Mary would instead emulate the strongest women she knew. Granny, Catherine, and even Grandmama Martha all would attack the problem in one way and one way only and now it was time for Mary to join their ranks.

"There you are!" Mary said, hurrying over with a delighted grin, the two turning and staring at her in surprise. "Oh lamb, it has been too long!" She embraced the younger woman in a close hug and whispered, "Play along." She felt the red-head stiffen before returning the hug as best she could and if there was any unease she may have felt it was hidden by the hostess' surprise. "Yes yes, I know we said 2 but Catherine and I were dreadfully hungry... you know how she is, lamb, and how there is no convincing her otherwise when she gets it in her mind that it is time for tea. We told them we were early but they said they had the table YOU arranged for us already set up and would bring another chair when you arrived. And here you are!" Mary squeezed her shoulders, much like she would have Sybil had they been parted for weeks on end and then finally reunited. "For once we were the early ones!" she turned to the hostess. "She always beats us everywhere, so this is a shock."

The hostess gapped at Mary, the color draining from her cheeks like a man who thought he was being invited to a party only to find it was actually his execution. "You... you know this woman, Lady Mary?"

"But of course!" she said with utter cheer. "We met... oh, what is it, one year ago or two?"

To her credit the redhead quickly supplied, "Year and a half, I think. Or close to it."

"Close to it," Mary repeated before turning to the hostess, holding the younger' woman's hand in her own. "Such a dear friend of mine... I would do anything for her and she for me. And of course you know that Catherine-oh dear me, look at me being so casual! Lady Oakwood so does get protective of those she's taken under her wing."

The younger woman impressed all the more by adding, "Can be smothering at times but I wouldn't have it any other way."

Mary allowed her smile to become all teeth and no joy. A predator's smile. "Now… about that chair?" The hostess rushed to go find a third chair and Mary wrapped her arm through the other woman's and led her to the table, walking like they had taken such strolls for years. Mary quickly caught Catherine's eye and the general's wife merely raised an eyebrow before smirking and standing up, Mary releasing the younger woman so that Cat could hug her and kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh my dear, it has been far too long."

"Yes. Almost feels like we're strangers now."

"We could never be that." The hostess brought the chair over and gave the woman a menu, taking her order and scurrying off with her tail between her legs. "Well, I see you've had fun, Mary."

Mary turned to the other woman. "We're the reason you didn't get your table. They gave it to us as we are more important in their eyes, it seems."

"Are you really Lady Oakwood?" the younger woman asked.

"Well, I will be once my husband takes the title but for all intents and purposes I am." She gestured towards Mary. "And this is Lady Mary Crawley, Earl's Daughter In Exile."

"Self Imposed," Mary said with a small chuckle.

"Well, thank you for your kindness. I dare say I would have been driven out had you not pretended to be my friend."

Mary didn't know why but the word 'pretend' bothered her. She knew that she was a hard woman to be friends with, that she had made many enemies before Matthew had gotten her to greet the world with open arms rather than with clenched fists, to have a song in her heart instead of acid on her tongue. And now finding companions in London was tricky, as the scandal that was her and papa's relationship tainted everything. She'd been relying on Sybil and Edith these last few years but knew she needed to do better, as even those relationships were infected. With Sybil she could never be truly open with her because she would always see her as the baby of the family. And with Edith… there had been too much pettiness from both of them for the two Crawley sisters to be true friends. But this woman before her? This was a chance to create something new. A friendship that would last decades.

And Mary would seize it.

"I don't see why it must be pretend," she said as she took hold of her tea cup. "People have met under odder circumstances."

"It gives a good story," Catherine added.

"Well…" the woman said, surprised that Mary wasn't going to brush her aside now that her good deed was done.

"Let us do this properly then… treat this meal as an introduction and go from there." She extended raised her cup in a mock toast. "This is the Lady Catherine Lothrop and I am Lady Mary Crawley."

The younger woman smiled gently before answering.

"Lavinia. Lavinia Swire."

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: *rubs hands together* Bwahahahahahahahahaha!

Oh, poor poor Matthew. What is worse than your wife and your ex becoming friends? Neither remembering the ex being an ex and thus there is no justification for your panic! Bwahahahahahahaha!

Now then, some plot bunnies.

The first one is one I teased on my twitter account as something I am demanding of the aliens I keep housed in Area 51 come up with (because Area 51 is my base where I get Bilbel and the other aliens to write plot bunnies… so please, no raids, the aliens need their sleep). Taking place in any season but I'd say 3 would be best, the Crawleys learn that a strange group has built a house without Lord Grantham's knowledge and a small number of the Crawleys go to investigate and basically kick the squatters off. Imagine their surprise though when they arrive at the large lakehouse and find a young, rather excitable boy named Steven there who is happy to greet them all… and his three 'aunts'. One a tall thin woman whose desire for order, manners, and constraint has Carson feeling cupid's arrow. Another a short, brash woman who has no problem speaking her mind and annoying Robert. And the leader of the 'aunts'… a VERY talk black woman with a deep soothing voice who may or may not be two female lovers merged together.

Yes, its 'What if Steven Universe took place in the 1900s and near Downton Abbey'.

It probably would work best as a series of one shots and contained tales rather than a full plot with villains and such… just like Steven Universe. Steven coming to visit Downton and constantly asking Carson questions of why he doesn't do things a certain way and the butler getting mad… only to realize that Steven is right. Pearl, Amethyst, and Garnet being invited to dinner and the awkwardness of all that. Tom learning about Rose Quartz and the war and being excited to talk to rebels only for the weight of what they went through and the cost to temper his excitement. So on and so forth.

The second plotbunny is inspired by something I did in 'Beckett and Castle Amok'. Taking place after the famous Perseus speech Mary goes to bed that night thinking about how she wishes her life were more like the tales of adventure and wonder rather than the annoyances of the real world where she must coddle cousin Matthew and deal with so much unknown.

And then the next morning she walks up to find everything changed. Her features are more exaggerated but not in a bad way… in fact she looks rather stunning and even more beautiful. Her nose smaller, eyes bigger and doe-like, body thin and lithe. Her garments are finer and all of Downton brighter and more majestic. And then there are the people! Anna enters singing a song as she cleans and birds swirl around her and help! Papa chortles and laughs more. Edith is quiet and demure and so is Sybil, both fading into the woodwork. The servants move with practiced ease without saying a word! It is amazing.

Mary soon realizes her life has suddenly become like a fairy tale, where she is the princess who has gotten all she wishes. There is even a prince coming to wed her and make Downton into a kingdom. She is thrilled and excited…

…until she begins to find out why living in a fairy tale and merely hearing one are far, far different.

For it seems very odd that other than Anna everyone else from Downstairs doesn't talk to her. And even Anna merely parrots thin compliments. She finds herself missing the passion her sisters had. The meals are always the same and her days are filled with boredom. And the prince is dull as dishwater.

Now, there are two ways this could go. Mary could decide to try and make the world like her old one, finding Matthew who seems the least affected and getting his aid. Love story, blah blah blah.

You could do that… or maybe Mary begins to behave like her old self and discovers something she never considered about fairy tales: most times they aren't from the focus of the princess or the royalty that already has all they want. Perhaps Mary learns that Downton is a cage, a trap, and like Rapunzel she has been captured and needs to find a way to get Matthew, the hero, to save her.

Or perhaps Mary behaves as she did in season one only for the world to course correct… and she realize she isn't the princess. She is the villain. And whoever takes this could make her struggle to get a happy end… or embrace it and decide "Screw it, I'm evil then", fleeing Downton and finding Matthew who, because she saw him as a usurper, is a villain in this fairy tale world because he isn't a perfect prince, and decides to become the evil queen and live out some evil fantasies.

Up to you.

Chapter Text

September 15, 1916

Making her way from the kitchen Anna shook her head, marveling at the fact that the staff she and John had hired (which in and of itself was a marvel for a woman that had been a maid a few years ago) to make their lives easier somehow managed to make it all the crazier thanks to their drama. Not that they were stealing things or setting fires or drunkenly racing horses through the village. No, nothing like that. Merely that their own personal lives, and the… excitement… they brought, had made things far more complex for the Grantham Arms and the Bates family.

'I wonder if Mrs. Hughes felt the same headaches when dealing with us?' Anna thought as she passed by Mr. Smithers, the woodworker, who was finishing his late lunch. He gave a small nod and a smile but left her to her thoughts, which she was thankful for. 'Daisy being blind to William's interest, Branson's political idea, John and I dancing about each other… oh, how all of us must have driven her to distraction and madness!'

Their cook, Mrs. Lester, was currently dealing with two different suitors, both of whom lived on farms on opposite sides of the Crawley landholdings and who loved to come in and pitch woo to her when she was supposed to be cooking, forcing Anna and John to chase them off. It never caused Mrs. Lester to be late with a meal, as she was far too dedicated to her craft to let some soft words about her beauty drive her to distraction, but it was annoying to find one of the two men sitting at the counter begging Mrs. Lester to leave her life behind. Then there was Peter, the miller's son who was their part-time handyman. He had enlisted early on only to return within a month, never revealing what had happened but claiming that he was needed in the village. John thought the man had scrubbed out (as while a bit handy with a saw and a hammer he got winded easily and couldn't run even if the hounds of hell were on his heels) but everyone else was convinced Peter was a spy or on a secret mission and thus pestered the Bates about what they knew.

And then there was Imogen, the current source of drama at the Grantham Arms.

Anna and John had hired the young girl (and she was young, having only turned 13 a few months ago) nearly a half year into running the inn, having finally grown comfortable enough to bring in outside help. Mrs. Lester had been their first hire and Imogen next. Where the cook had experience, having worked at another inn about an hour north of the village, Imogen had never worked before but needed to learn a trade, as she had been cared for by her Aunt and Uncle ever since her mother had died and couldn't rely upon them forever. It was similar to how Anna had begun working at Downton and Imogen had been around Anna's age when she had started working at the great house, so the Bates family had assumed that Imogen would be a perfect fit.

'When it comes to the actual tasks she is,' Anna thought as she began to climb the stairs, taking it nice and slow; while she was recovering well from childbirth she knew she needed to take it easy if she wished to return to full strength. The doctors in London had told her as much. 'Quick learned and has taken to everything I've thrown at her with utter ease and never a complaint. If that was all that mattered then she'd be perfect. But Imogen isn't me… she's Daisy at her worse.' Anna snorted. 'She's worse than Daisy.'

The problem was that Imogen was utterly naïve when it came to the outside world. Her job? She could handle easily. Just give her a list of directions and she followed them easily. Religiously even. But everything else?

The girl had been tricked into taking stale bread from the baker because she'd believed she had made it go stale by staring at it too long. Anna had given the woman a tongue lashing over that and when Mrs. Hughes had been informed word had quickly spread throughout the village and the baker had finally begged Anna and John to forgive her so she wouldn't starve. A traveling salesman had nearly convinced her to pay him a week's wages for a rock that could fend off tigers; John had beaten the man and retrieved the money AND the rock before passing him off to the constable for fraud. Anna was sure that if she sent Imogen out into the rain and told her to look up she'd drown before she remembered to close her mouth.

Today she'd been pulled away by Mrs. Lester to deal with a bedridden Imogen who had been sobbing that she was dying. It had taken 10 minutes before Anna finally realized that the girl had just had her first period and had no idea what it was. Anna had then spent nearly half an hour talking with the girl before Mrs. Lester had, thank goodness, agreed to take over and explain all the girl needed to know about the changes she was going through. It was a conversation Anna hadn't wanted to have for YEARS and especially not with someone who repeatedly asked if Anna was sure she wasn't turning into a vampire.

Normally she wouldn't have minded helping out the girl, as Anna knew if she didn't the poor dear would probably chase after a butterfly and end up in the Orient by accident, but today she had other things to occupy her focus. General Allen Lothrop had come for a visit and Anna had been forced to leave their discussion when Mrs. Lester had fetched her to deal with Imogen. She'd promised that she'd only be a minute but when the problem had been revealed a moment had become nearly an hour and Anna feared insulting the man by being away for so long.

'None of that,' she thought to herself. 'He'll understand. The General isn't like most army men, needing to be coddled and their egos stroked all the time. He is understanding and polite and-' Anna walked into the small room that served as her and John's private dining area and found an empty table and three abandoned cups of tea. '-gone.' Her shoulders slumped. "Great," she muttered.

"Anna?" John said, his tone loud enough to get her attention but soft enough to not disturb anyone. She blinked and turned out of the room, spotting John standing across the way. "We're in here."

Hurrying forward and already knowing with growing dread what she was going to find, she pushed past her husband and fought the urge to smack the smile off his face as she stepped into the nursery to confirm that yes, one of the most important generals in all of Brittan, the man whose pen ensured thousands of soldiers were fed and clothed, was currently standing at the changing table fussing with her son's nappy.

"I tried to stop him but he said I was doing it wrong," John said with a shrug and a smirk.

"You were," the General said without even glancing back at either of them. He'd tossed off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, a bowl of warm water and a washcloth sitting beside him as he carefully undid the pins holding the diaper in place.

"General, you-" Anna exclaimed, stepping forward with her hand extended. But the General deftly held the front of the diaper up to prevent the stream of urine that Anna had known was coming from getting anywhere close to him.

Once he was sure the babe was done the General leaned down and whispered, "I raised two boys, little one… you aren't going to get me that easily."

"He is better than you," Anna said to John who merely shrugged with a weak smile. He'd had more shirts stained from the baby deciding to deliver a 'surprise' during a nappy change than he'd had during his entire career at Downton doing a hundred other tasks.

"I might be a future lord but when my children were little it was just me and Cat. We wanted to save our money and not waste it on another woman who would care for our little ones." He tossed the stained diaper into the hamper that was nearby and set about dipping the washcloth in the warm water and cleaning the boy's bottom.

"I can do that…" Anna said, once more stepping forward only for the General to wave her off.

"I've had my hands buried in other men's guts, my dear. Have you ever felt a man's intestines squishing between your fingers? Not just living men either… men who were dead for hours, their organs bloated and putrefying in the desert sun. Once fell face first into a chap who had been torn apart by hyenas and was covered in maggots; saved my life actually as the patrol that stumbled upon me thought I was dead too. Had to hold my breath for a while… anyway, a little baby poo is nothing I'll get squeamish about." He leaned down again and said in a cheery voice, "And you curse less than those men."

The baby let out a gurgle and smiled.

"You don't need to do this, General," Anna said before smacking John's arm to stop him from stating he was welcome to do as much as he wanted. "We can…"

"I want to do it," the older man said. "And it's Allen, please."

"Forgive her, General," John said, limping over to the changing table. "You know how the military is, how hard it is to break habits? Service is even worse."

"Hmmm… I wonder what the Boers would have thought had I marched into battle with an army of maids and cooks. Probably would have wet themselves in fright." Anna moved to join them, handing the General a diaper which he easily placed on the freshly powdered infant and pinned in place. John quickly took over getting the babe dressed while Allen walked over to a pitcher of water and another bowl, Anna pouring so he might soap up his hands. "Besides, this war has made it all the harder to see my grandchildren so getting time to spend even a few moments with your little one is a balm for my soul." He flicked his hand so that droplets of water fell into the bowl. "And if you want to change his name to Allen…"

"We'll stick with Noah," she said, handing him a towel.

"You never did tell me where you came up with that name," the General asked, watching as John took a moment more to cuddle with his son before placing him into his crib. Anna knew that most men spent little time with their children but John had never expected to have a child of his own and thus treated Noah like the most precious treasure in the world. It wasn't uncommon for her to walk into the nursery to find him hovering over the crib, watching their son sleep. "It wasn't one of the ones Mary was trying to push on you, was it?"

"No!" Anna said with a soft laugh, her voice dropping as John began to hum to the baby to encourage him to fall back asleep. "Thought she didn't make it easy on me. We hadn't settled on any names when he was finally born and I told John I didn't want a single name Mary suggested… she has a big enough head as it is."

"Thank you for that, she would have crowed throughout the entire house if you'd selected one of her suggestions."

"But once we eliminated all of Mary's names that left us trying to decide on our own and neither of us could come up with a decent one." She paused as John pressed his fingers to his lips then placed them on Noah's head before standing straight and taking his cane, hobbling towards them. The three of them made their way back to their tea cups and treats, the General settling down with a sigh before motioning for her to continue her tale. "John was also quick to say he didn't want the baby named after him."

"John Bates might be in a good place now but the last holder of that name went through a lot of trouble to get here now." He took a sip of tea. "We also ruled out anyone we knew well, both for bad memories and also to avoid claims of favoritism." He began to tick off names on his fingers. "So no Roberts, no Patricks, no Matthews, no Charleses, no Williams."

"No Thomases," Anna said with a slight smile. One of her favorite threats during the end of her pregnancy when she'd gotten into foul moods was that she'd named their baby after Thomas Barrow; that always got John to leap to action. "Then we began worrying about nicknames."

"Nicknames?" the General asked, selecting a piece of sweetbread from the platter on the table.

John nodded. "Take the name Robert. Rob. Bob. Bobby. Robby. Bert. Bertie."

"Ah. Yes, I can see how it would be annoying to go through life with a hundred different names being tacked onto you. One young jumpstart thought he could call me 'Al' after a meeting a few months back… I made clear the error in that choice."

"Mrs. Patmore actually helped out with it," Anna said. "She told me, 'Keep it unique but common, so they aren't confused for a thousand other people but also don't stand out like a sore thumb. And short enough now that you don't have to cut it down later'. Once we eliminated all the long names we were left with a few short ones and Noah was our favorite."

"A good name. Strong name. Biblical but not out of place in the modern world." The General smirked. "Allen is still better…"

"We'll stick with Noah," Anna said, knowing the man was teasing. The General was such an easy man to chat with. She'd met him a few times after her appointments, when she'd been forced to spend the night at the Lothrop House and make her way back by train in the morning, and he'd always been kind and polite. Interested in her life as well. Where others would have seen her merely as 'Mary's former maid' the General had taken a great interest in how the hotel was coming around, her work at Downton, and her time before she had become a maid. She got the sense that part of it was him wanting to remember that servants were people to, so that he never forgot when he became Lord Oakheart all those that had been on his level once. It helped that he and John had struck up a friendship after the General had met with him to apologize for all that had happened with Vera. The two didn't see each other as often as they would have liked, what with the war, but John and him shared letters, each letting the other see what the world was like from their corner of it.

She let out a small chuckle which quickly became a laugh.

"And just what is so funny?" John asked, setting down his cup.

Anna forced herself to calm down and take a breath. "I… I'm thinking about what my mum would say… if she could see me now. Having tea with a General… who just changed my son's nappy." She let out a snort against her will and that set her off again.

"I do aim to please," the General said sardonically.

John smiled as Anna gained control of herself. "I find it far more humorous that you had to abandon your plan when Anna came in." She turned, confusion clearly written on her features, and John elaborated even as the General glowered at him. "He won't admit it but he was hoping Noah would create a mess of some kind that would ruin his uniform and force him to rush back to London. And, I imagine, he'd just so happen to miss the train back."

Anna raised an eyebrow at that but the General merely continued to lightly glare at John, proving his words to be true. She shot the older man a disapproving look and he shifted in his seat like a little boy caught trying to sneak biscuits.

While he had come early to visit with Anna and John the two of them knew that they weren't the sole reason for his trip, though they also knew he wished they were. No, he had been forced to come to Downton because Lord Grantham had decided to throw a charity event for the army and every department at the War Office was expected to put in a personal appearance to show his Lordship that his efforts were appreciated. For Supplies that meant the General. Mr. Crawley was automatically out, for obvious reasons, and while under any other circumstance Thomas would have been a fine choice sending him back to Downton would have been problematic for him, what with how he had left. There were a few other men that the General could have sent but they had tasks and projects to complete. That left either the General personally going or sending a clerk and that would have been seen as utterly disrespectful to the likes of Lord Grantham. That left General Lothrop forced to enter a building he had no desire of seeing the inside of and dealing with a man that he utterly loathed.

Anna frankly was surprised the General hadn't taken Noah and bounced him until he spewed on him like a shaken bottle of champagne.

The rest of the army officials would be arriving by a private train later in the afternoon but the General had decided to make a visit with Anna and John, the former to offer his warm congrats on Noah's birth and the latter to actually meet the man face to face for more than a few moments and share war stories. Where the rest of the army officials would have taken over the Grantham Arms and expected the two of them to be at their beck and call the General treated them like old friends and only expected that which they were willing to offer.

"It won't be that bad," Anna said with a smile. She selected a biscuit and nibbled on it, her normal desire to be careful with what she ate tossed aside with the need for the boost the treat would bring. While Noah had begun to do better he still wasn't sleeping through the night and it was only her time at Downton, being used to going to bed late and waking up early, that allowed her to function at all.

"Perhaps, if I were in the mood for such games to begin with." The General set down his tea cup and let loose a weary sigh. "I just have grown so very tired of these pageants."

"I believe it is a musical performance. A string group," John told him.

"I wasn't referring to who was performing I was referring to the people putting it on." He gestured at himself, a look of disgust twisting his features. Normally when they saw him he was in a basic uniform, functional and to the point. Today he had to wear a dress uniform with all the flair and decoration that was required. "I must dress up like some bloody popinjay because I need to impress some gilded falcon who wants to believe he is actually helping the war effort. Never mind that it is taking me away from my actual work, the work that matters. Work that ensures the men fighting in the trenches, dying far from home in the cold muck, at least have a bit more comfort and ease. No no… I must set that aside so that Lord Grantham can feel special." He let out a snort and his lips curled into an ugly sneer. "They claim this is to honor us but make no mistake, my dear, this is all about honoring him. Him and all the lords like him that love to sit on their thrones and feel that a few pennies has earned them pounds-worth of praise." He shook his head in utter disgust. "He wants to dress up like a child and have all of us fawn over him. 'Oh Lord Grantham, how kind of you to open your massive home and buy a band to play some songs for us poor stupid military men. And you are giving a donation that is 1/4th of what you spent to put on this monument to your avarice!' Just… Gah!" He through his hands up into the air.

"…tell us how you really feel, General," John quipped.

The older man stared Bates down before he began to snicker, the other two of them laughing with the General. When one would begin to calm down they'd look at the others and set everyone off again, creating a cycle of laughter. Anna gasped, tears in her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath.

It wasn't even that funny of a comment. But it was the stress relief that they all needed. The War. The Crawley Civil War. The stresses of family. They all needed to just laugh.

Finally once they had settled down Anna dabbed her eyes with her napkin while the General rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling, a smile that was born more of frustration than joy formed on his lips. "I just don't know if I can do this."

John scoffed. "You have stood in front a patrol of Boer Soldiers with a jammed revolver and bluffed them into surrendering but an event at Downton has you concerned?"

"You're welcome to come as my guests."

"Not on your life," John spat out quickly before raising an eyebrow and shrugging. "Point taken."

Anna frowned at that. "I feels so terrible that such a great estate has become a thing of dread, even for those that once called it home." She paused, taking a sip of tea and ignoring that it had grown quite cool. "Except it isn't the house that's to blame."

"And that is where my problem arises," the General stated, much more calm now. "My loyalty is to those girls and Matthew, all of whom were so mistreated by Lord Grantham and now I am expected to walk into Downton and shake hands with the architect of their misfortune. I simply don't know if I'll be able to do it. I keep telling myself, "Don't punch him in the face, don't punch him in the face" because I fear if I stop he'll greet me with a smile and I'll greet him with my knuckles in his pretty teeth."

Anna wanted to defend his Lordship. To tell the General that he wasn't a monster. That he was only getting Lady Mary's side of things and that while Anna was friends with her she also knew how Mary could be. How she could be blinded to other people's views and see things only from her myopic point. How many fights had she had with Lady Edith where Anna had been a witness and seen how horrible Mary was and then stood there hours later and heard the eldest Crawley play herself as the victim and Edith as a monster? Was it not possible that there was a chance, no matter how slim, that Mary had done the same thing with her feud against her father and the General had only gotten one side of the sordid tale? That he was basing his hatred on faulty foundations? Did his Lordship not deserve the benefit of the doubt?

It was also something deeply ingrained in her from her years of service. You were a reflection of the family, yes, but the family was also a reflection of you. The Crawleys would defend their servants from slanderous false claims and the servants would always defend the Family. No false word or whispering piece of gossip was allowed to pass without heated rebuttal and rage. It was not to stand, ever! Mr. Carson had made it clear that an attack on the family must be repelled with all the ferocity of a lioness defending her cubs.

"His Lordship has given us all so much and it is our honor and privilege to stand before him as his shield wall. To defend him against those that, through avarice and envy, long to bring him down and cast him into the mud. We must drive such attacks back and stand forever a united front against any talk, as if it were against our own selves. For I assure you… in this house it is."

She could hear those words clear in her head, as if she were once more a nervous 12 year old being told her position in the house while the man loomed over her.

And yet when she tried to mount a defense of his Lordship, even in her head, all she could remember is how coldly he had made his goodbyes to her and John on their last morning. She remembered how he had stared at John with a look of utter betrayal, as if the idea that the valet finding love and happiness was just as criminal as the theft John had been framed for. She thought of how his Lordship had done nothing to assist them when a word from him would have seen the hotel established firmly the very moment they opened their doors. Anna smiled fondly at the memory of Matthew telling her that should she wish it he would put in a good word at his alma mater, so that Noah might have a step up in life while his Lordship hadn't even acknowledged the pregnancy. She looked at the General, a man who had only known them for two years, and how he had sent letters of congratulations to them both and now sat with them and had changed her son's nappy and who, Anna wouldn't be surprise, would offer his own assistance to see her son flourish in the world… and how Lord Grantham hadn't even sent a card of well wishing. Even the Dowager had written her and John a note, stating she prayed for Noah's success and happiness. It was stilted and clearly a standard card she would have sent anyone but she had at least DONE IT.

So instead she reached over and patted the man's hand. "You claim you want to strike him for Mary. But she wouldn't want you to do that." She smiled. "She wants that honor for herself."

The General snorted but some light returned to his eyes. "Aye, and she'll have my bloody head if I take the first swing." He paused. "I don't suppose I could borrow Noah for this? Can't punch with a baby in my hands…"

Anna laughed even as she denied him and the three lapsed into friendly chatter, the knowledge of the night to come drifting away.

Though not completely. For the specter of the General and Lord Grantham's meeting hung in the air. And none were foolish enough to believe it would come about peacefully.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"You know," Tom said, snatching a dinner roll and tearing a chunk off before dunking it into the hearty stew that had been placed in front of him a few minutes earlier. "I haven't been able to have a proper beef stew in ages. Not since-"

"Dublin?" Sybil asked, mimicking his actions. Before their move to London he would have thought she was merely trying to copy him, seeing how he was eating and assuming she had to do the same out of some misguided attempt to make him feel comfortable or to ensure she didn't stand out. But their weekly lunches had shown him that Sybil wasn't merely a rich girl playing at being someone she wasn't. Sybil was as down to Earth as he was… the proof alone being where they were eating.

She'd been the one to pick it out.

Because it was one of her favorite spots.

"No, Bray." He took a bit of his stew-soaked roll before continuing. "Never had a lot of money during my brief time in Dublin to enjoy a meal like this." While the people at Downton would have scoffed at calling the food at The Red Finch Tavern fine dining Tom had eating in shacks where the floors were compressed dirt, the tables weren't cleaned because the food just soaked into the surface, and when you were done you just set the dishes on the ground for the dogs and cats to lick clean as that was sometimes the only wash-crew the place had. And you considered yourself lucky that at least you could identify where the meat in your bowl came from. "Did you, in that..." he waved his hand about, not saying the words in case someone was listening in (as that was something you could never be too careful of in a place like this), "eat in Dublin?"

"Not often," she stated, grabbing a pinch of salt from the bowl on the table with her bare fingers and sprinkling a bit more on her stew. "Focused on saving money... but it was a wonderful treat when we... I had the chance."

"So more eating at home?" he asked.

"Yes, though no one was happy with it at first." He must have given her a look because she scowled and dabbed her dripping spoon in his direction. "The food was completely edible!"

"Sure," Tom teased.

"It was!" Sybil complained. "It just wasn't flavorful."

"What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Patmore taught me a little... the basics and such. And I learned more working as a nurse... one had to. Part of the duty of caring for soldiers is feeding them, and those that mend their ills, after all. And there were times where you couldn't afford a staff whose sole job was cooking so we had to take turns. But I learned only to make the blandest of foods, as my teachers and Dr. Clarkson stated time and again that spicy or strongly flavored foods could cause havoc for one's digestion. The body can not handle too much sugar or spice when it is on the mend and while a treat might taste good going down..." she didn't bother to finish that.

"So you got used to cooking bland foods," Tom stated.

"I did... took me a long time to break out of the habit and even then there would be times where the meals didn't have an lick of taste. That's why going out to places like this were such a treat... I remembered what real food tasted like."

Tom watched as she grew quiet, focused on her meal, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. It had been these lunches that had made him accept, finally and at long last, that what she was claiming was true. Not the past lives part… but the life she claimed she had lived. 'One can fake an accent or throw in some Irish curse words,' he thought as Sybil, her elbows propped up on the table and her face hovering over her bowl as she gobbled up her stew, 'but you can't fake this.' He'd seen the rich and powerful try and pretend they were like the common man, to 'slum it' as it were, and it was always painfully obvious. A tightness in the eyes as they tried to hide their displeasure. An awkwardness in their body as if they suddenly found the lack of rules on how one must sit and hold their spoon caused them to forget completely how to eat. A tension in their back as they didn't quite know how to position themselves. Movements slowed down as old fears of dribbling juice and sauce on their clothing flared up. But Sybil had none of these concerns. She learned over the table and ate like any working woman would, no different than the gals that were now manning many of the factories in London.

When Tom had first suggested they have lunches together it had been a way to placate her and, he'd originally thought, push away the rosy view she'd taken of their relationship. He'd become convinced that the Tom Branson she had known had been a completely different person than he was and that while a relationship between them in that life had worked it never would never be in this life, the only one that Tom knew. Sybil had admitted that many things had happened between the both of them to alter their world views. Tom had been her secret keeper when she'd become passionate about the vote and she in turn had defended him when things had gotten volatile there and her father had sought his head (and Tom still wondered how far that other Tom's head had been up his own ass to think it a good idea to take Lord Grantham's daughter to a rowdy political rally). Later on, during the war, he had been someone she could talk to about the horrors of being a nurse, for she had feared that admitting any of the negatives to her family would result in her parents and sisters snidely telling her that they'd warned her and she had been wrong. In turn he had allowed his frustrations over his inability to do anything meaningful and political to drive him to an act that, while a harmless prank in some eyes, would have seen him at best jailed and at worst shot. He wagered that the battering to his ego that he couldn't even pull off throwing filth and ink on a general had seen him humbled and more willing to adjust his views to match Sybil's.

So he'd agreed to the lunches as a means to prove to her that he wasn't her Tom and despite what she might have thought she was still Lady Sybil Crawley. He'd figured they have a few bites to eat but soon she'd beg off to go to fancier places, make more connected friends, and that would be the end of that. That she'd see that he, in that past life, had merely been the best of a selection of poor choices and now she had those options back once more. She would realize it and let it go.

Except she hadn't.

Sybil had loved the food at the first restaurant, a run down little place that Tom liked but would never have invited anyone from the paper too. She raved about them. And she'd fallen in love with the casual, "natural" feeling of the taverns and small out of the way restaurants that Tom had taken her to, to the point that when it was her turn to pick she'd commonly head back to them. It wasn't a case of pretending to like them just for his sake; no, there was a genuine delight in her eyes when she had a heaping plate of messy food placed in front of her that just couldn't be faked. It wasn't that she wanted to be merely with him either, though he knew that was a large part of it. Isobel had confided in him that Sybil had taken her several times to The Red Finch when they wished to get away from the hospital and feel like more than cogs in the war machine. Sybil didn't know Isobel was telling such stories.

And Tom had to admit that he too had found himself more and more looking forward to their lunches. It was a small piece of home, a reminder of who he was underneath the suit he wore. That one time he had worked with oil under his nails and soot smearing his face. That his workplace had not been filled with the ticking away as typewriters but the clattering of metal.

'Of course the company is wonderful too,' Tom thought has Sybil waved down a server to get a refill of water. 'We discuss politics of course... according to her in her first life that is what first brought us together. But it's more than that... I could listen to her talk about merely what she saw when she looked out a window and I would be entertained.' He smiled. 'It's what I love about her.'

He had taken three spoonfuls of stew before his last thought consolidated and he realized just what that meant... and how in that moment he knew it to be true. That everything she had claimed had been true. That he had fallen in love with her, that he had been willing to sacrifice everything for the dream of being with her. And not having her, in that life or this one, shook him to the core. The idea that she might be snatched away, that another man might move in and claim her because he dallied away and he'd never get to look into her eyes or hear the way she breathed his name...

"What?" Sybil said, giving him a funny little smile. "Oh! Do I have something on my face?" She grabbed the scratchy napkin and began to dab it along the corners of her lips. "Where is it?"

Tom shoved his chair back and walked around to her side of the table, pulling her up and pressing his hands to her cheeks before, like a descending angel racing towards the rising divine, he stopped fighting the pull that had been within his soul since he'd met her and allowed their lips to collide.

He felt her tense and for the briefest, tiniest moments he thought that he'd been so terribly wrong and that he'd missed his chance. But then she melted into him, her hands sliding along his waist as she melded herself against him and attacked back with just as much ferocity as him. And when they finally broke apart he looked down to find tears rolling down her face even as she smiled so brightly that in that moment the sun had become a mere match head in comparison.

"I..." she said, jaw trembling slightly before she let out a laugh. "I want to say so many things but they feel so small for this!" She hiccupped and laughed at the same time and it was the most beautiful thing Tom had ever heard.

And then Sybil's eyes darted over his shoulder and her smile went from the sun to a tempest.

"What?" Tom asked, refusing to let go and thus resorting to swinging around so that his right arm remained around her. He noticed a few patrons were trying not to look, staring at anywhere other than the two of them but there was one man, perched on a stool by the bar, who openly ogled them. He was tall with swept back hair and a clean face that was sunken in spots. He wore a black suit with a simple tie and when he smiled at them and raised his glass in a mock toast he looked more like a corpse risen from his coffin than something that belonged with the living. He dropped a few coins on the counter and made for the door, still wearing his rigor mortis smile, Sybil remaining tense until he finally was out of view. "Who was that?"

'Richard Carlisle," Sybil said, her voice no longer filled with joy but rather annoyance.

"The paper man?" Tom said. He awkwardly made his way back to his seat, knowing they were making more of a scene standing there like two lovers in a play, but he reached across the table and clasped Sybil's hand in his own, needing the contact. "I think Michael has mentioned him. And never fondly."

"He only dealt with him in this life time. But the last..."

"You met him?" Tom asked, wondering for a moment if Carlisle had been a suitor of Sybil's before dismissing the notion. Beyond what he knew of her first life and how busy it had been he also simply couldn't see the two of them together. She was like a sprite from a fairytale, weaving through the flowers and the glens while he was like some skeletal predator who slinked about praying on the innocent-

"He and Mary were engaged."

And suddenly all the pieces fell right into place.

"But wait," Tom said, holding up his free hand, realizing that the pieces didn't. At least not how he knew them. "What about Matthew?" He'd purposely made sure to find out as little about the previous life the likes of Matthew had lived, as he felt what small amounts he already knew were far too much. Life was meant to be lived without prior knowledge, to experience it so that every moment was fresh. It wasn't like a well-loved book where every twist was already known. So when Matthew had offered to tell him anything he'd wanted Tom had kept it to the absolute bare minimum, politely rebuffing anything else. Thus he knew that the war would end, he knew that tragedy had struck their family far too many times, and that was about it. Sybil had let slip information about her time as a nurse and tidbits of their married life but that had more been innocent mistakes than actually seeking to inform him of matters. As such Tom had little knowledge of what Mary and Matthew had gone through in their courting, only that it had taken far too long in Sybil's opinion.

Sybil sighed, shaking her head as she echoed that very last thought. "Remember how I told you that Matthew and Mary were rather childish with their romance."

"I remember you saying they were so addled in the brain you wondered if their nurses had both dropped them on their heads when they were infants."

"That does sound like me," Sybil admitted with a slight chuckle before continuing. "Everything that happened with Aunt Rosamund went far, far different in my previous life. I didn't find out until years later, during the war when Mary felt herself trapped with Carlisle and tormented herself with what might have been and needed to bare her soul, that rather than standing firm on marrying Matthew no matter what she… dithered."

Tom scowled at that. He'd gotten plenty of hints that Lady Mary had a heart of ice from the staff but by the time he'd come to Downton it had already begun to thaw. The idea that she would reject Matthew purely because she wanted a title… it didn't fit the Mary he had come to know.

'But I suppose that is the point… that Mary and the one I know aren't the same women. Not anymore.' Out loud he stated, "She rejected him because of the baby?"

"Not quite… she just put it off. But that was enough for Matthew. I can't say I blame him… I was wrapped up with Gwen at the time so I didn't notice but once he laid out what she did I understood completely why he broke things off with her. He went off to war and because he hadn't met Allen yet in that life he was on the Somme. He met a woman, Lavinia, and Mary became engaged to Carlisle." Sybil paused, anger flashing in her eyes. "From what I've come to understand the man had information on her… Matthew never said it aloud but I believe… it doesn't matter. The man found Mary at her most vulnerable and rather than support her he used it to ensnare her like she was a rabbit." She looked down at the table and sighed. "I'd thought we would be able to avoid him but it seems his focus will turn to you and I rather than Mary."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked.

"I am Lord Grantham's daughter living in exile… one who has made a name for herself at the hospital. You are my father's former chauffer and now a famous reporter and columnist for the man that bought up several parts of Carlisle's empire…"

Sybil didn't have to say anymore, as Tom could see just how juicy the gossip would be concerning the two of them. It would cause them nearly as many problems as it would have had they remained at Downton, neither of them making something of themselves, but it would still cause headaches none the less.

And that was why, even as they finished their meals, Tom decided that it might be wise to make an appointment to meet with Reichard Carlisle… and learn more about his new enemy.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And thus we set up two new bits of drama for the upcoming chapters: Carlisle becoming an annoyance… and General Allen Lothrop vs. Lord Robert Crawley.

Next chapter will see Robert meeting the General again while we'll also get more with Matthew and Mary concerning their dreams for the future.

And now time for our plot bunny. This one might seem rather shallow in terms of changes but when we dig into the options I do believe it could create an epic. The premise is very, very simple: What if Downton took place in New England in 1776?

Here is how I see it going: Robert's great great grandfather immigrated from England to the colonies because he received a royal decree from the king to take over a large plot of land and govern it. Thus Downton is born in the colonies, a massive estate that also oversees several towns and such. Robert is just the latest in a line of Lord Governors to rule over Downton and of course he is utterly loyal to the crown. Cora comes from a wealthy New York family that traces its line to New Amsterdam but who never held a lordly title (so still seen as Robert marrying for money rather than station). Mary is basically the same woman we know, as is Edith, but Sybil's interests are so much into women's rights as they are into Colonial Rights.

Bates is an old friend of Robert's, his aide during the French and Indian War where he received his wound. He was a famed tracker and is friends with many of the Indian tribes.

Now, this being set in the colonies one would be able to change some of the main characters, shifting them out for new characters who, and I'm going to be blunt, would be slaves. This would certainly add another wrinkle to the social standing in the house.

Things are shaken for the Crawleys when Patrick and his father die while sailing to England and Robert must turn to his last male heir, a lawyer from Boston named Matthew. Matthew would arrive with his mother Isobel, as well as his good friend, another lawyer named Tom Branson. Now, if I were doing it I'd also make another one of the cast Tom's sister… perhaps Gwen or Anna. Gwen might be best. Anyway, things would be basically the same until about half way through the first Series where we would learn the startling truth: Matthew and Tom are part of the Sons of Liberty. Matthew is the one believing that the colonies just need representation in the House of Commons while Tom is the one thinking they should declare independence.

Series 2 is where things would truly get interesting. The American Revolution. Robert, Mary, and the like as Loyalists, Matthew, Tom, and Sybil as Rebels. How would the families handle the war… both the ups and downs. And what would happen to Downton when America was free?

Chapter Text

Robert grumbled to himself as he grabbed the lint brush and began to run it along his shoulders. William was supposed to be helping him but after the boy had fumbled one too many times he'd told him to go back to his other duties and he'd handle things himself. He'd briefly considered summoning Carson to have him take over, as it was the butler's fault that he didn't have a permanent valet to see to his needs, but dismissed it. Too much to do as it was.

He simply didn't understand what had happened to the man as it seemed ever since the war had started every hiring choice he had made had been a poor one. He'd gone through several valets that weren't up to snuff. They still only had one footman, as they'd lost the last few to other jobs or the war and been unable to keep anyone one long enough for them to truly learn the job, meaning they were stuck in a cycle of hiring fresh faced boys that left just as they were settling into their duties. The maids they'd brought in were, at best, acceptable. And not even acceptable at Downton standards, to be sure… only acceptable for other people. Guests might not notice the falling quality of life in Downton but Robert did and it could be pinned on the staff. Reactions were far too slow, tasks were handled sloppily, short cuts were taken, and an air of gloom had settled on the estate where once there had been life.

'How hard is it to hire good help?' He thought to himself as he tugged at his jacket again only to grumble when he realized that his shirt had been buttoned improperly, with him having missed one hole and causing the whole thing to be crooked. He nearly ripped the jacket off but forced himself to take a breath before removing it more slowly, not wanting to tear it. Clearly whoever had stored it last had done so improperly as the damn thing had shrunk and now clung to his form, making it rather uncomfortable. It still looked good, as military uniforms could always stand to be tight rather than an oversized messes, but he'd have to see about getting a new one made so he didn't have to live in fear of popping the stitches. 'The war is simply no excuse… Downton remains one of the grandest jewels of England… there must be young men out there who are worthy of working here and dream of serving my family. Carson just isn't looking hard enough. I'm not asking for a strapping young buck; they are off having a jolly good adventure on the Continent! But a young boy, someone ready to move up in the world of service, they would be perfect. Or an older bloke whose battles are being him but can still use his hands and seeks to spend the last few years of his life with an honorable profession. But who does Carson bring here instead?' Robert snorted. 'Useless clods who are all fingers and no thumbs who wouldn't know a brush from their own ass.'

Robert sighed, unbuttoning his shirt as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His lips were pressed in a firm little line and he could see a bit of redness in his cheeks from his angry thoughts. He knew he should calm down and take his time, that he wasn't expecting the first of their guests to arrive for another hour, but his frustrations still got the better of him and as he began to rebutton his shirt he couldn't help but think of all the problems plaguing Downton. Of the mishandled staff and the poor conditions and just how far the grand house had fallen.

'I will need to take time to discuss this with Carson. I know he does well, better than anyone else I could get. Many estates are having troubles far worse than ours. I heard Greystone lost its butler and underbulter to the war and are left with a valet who should be retired to run things. And the Moorshires had to cancel a dinner because they lacked footmen to serve and their sole valet came down with the flu. Carson has done well keeping things at least moving as they should but that doesn't excuse slipping on the job. And the war is no excuse.' Tucking his shirt in Robert shook his head in remorse. He hated thinking bad about Carson, or any of the staff really, but it was his duty as the Earl of Grantham to look beyond his personal views and instead think solely on what mattered for the estate. Its upkeep and its image. It had to be protected, maintain. It would do no good for any of them if he let it fall. The lives ruined, careers ended, the scandal. No, he had to close his heart off to loyalty save to the loyalty he held to his family name and family home.

'The truth of the matter is,' Robert thought, 'Carson's choices in new hires have been rather questionable for a while now. Branson was a troublemaker from the start. Oh yes, his references were fine enough but how could Carson not know of his political leanings?'

While he would never admit it to a soul Robert had taken to having Carson quietly get Sir Michael's papers so he might see what the man who had come into his home only to betray him by filling his wayward daughters' minds with lies and false promises thought of the world. Robert had been shocked when he had discovered that Edith was writing for the paper and even more so about her views. While never as much of a traditionalist like Mary she hadn't been a radical either. She had respected how the world was and what was required of her and done so with a smile. Pleasant and happy and understanding in her duty. To read her articles though and see her liberal views of the world and the rights of women and her thoughts on the war had been shocking and left him utterly flabbergasted that his daughter could ever type such things. He'd come to believe that she was merely lending her name to the articles out of some misguided love for the newspaperman and that it was Sir Michael himself who was writing the pieces; mama had seen fit to kill that theory dead. She had seen Edith at the paper and told him that her views were her own. Robert did not doubt his mother was telling him the truth as she found it so much more enjoyable to kill with honest words than to use lies that could be uncovered. Had he been right she would have never said a word.

If Edith's part in the paper had been shocking then Branson's had been horror inducing. To see the vile, traitorous words the man wrote and know that once he'd allowed the man to live on his property and to drive him about made Robert feel shame and hatred he didn't know was possible. Every article was a mockery of him and Robert was sure many in his social circle were cackling in delight at his misfortune of being the Earl who had hired the Irish Radical who now made his living betraying the Western World. Branson had been Carson's responsibility and he had utterly failed in ensuring his character was such worthy to be in Downton.

'Is it little surprise he so willingly helped the girls flee?' Robert thought to himself. It still bothered him the Murray had refused to get the police involved. When he'd learned that Branson had taken the girls to the Crawley House and then the train station he'd wanted the man brought up on charges of theft. For him to be thrown in a cell for daring to take from him, for betraying Downton. Bur Murray had shot down his desires, stating that Robert himself had told Branson to drive the girls where they wished to go and he'd never given the order for him to stop. As such Branson had merely done as commanded and he'd sent a telegram to the house reporting where the car was along with his resignation. To have Branson arrested would only make things worse as it would give the girls a platform to air their grivences. Oh, the public would have sided with him, of course, seeing that he was just in his desire to keep traitors from staying within Downton, and the girls would have been embarrassed and brought to heel. But not before they did damage to his social standing and Murray had convinced him that was enough to let Branson off for taking the car.

As for betraying Downton there was nothing the law could do about that.

Which meant the British legal system was sorely flawed.

'But then again they let that coward Matthew be a lawyer so why am I surprised?' Looking over the shoulders and front of his jacket he saw they had become dusty again and he set to work running the brush over the fabric, mimicking how Bates had cleaned his clothes. He'd seen the man do it a thousand times and it seemed like such a simple thing but Robert still found it so very odd to do. 'Bates… now that was probably the last smart hire Carson made. And he didn't even make it! I'm the one that suggested it! If it were up to Carson I'd have stuck with Watson. Offered him whatever he wanted. Humf. That man thought he was far better than he was. Bates was humble but skilled… he knew just what to do and did so quietly and efficiently. He spoke when he needed to and he let me talk when that was what I desired.' Robert anger dropped and with it came sadness. God, how he missed that man. Bates had been perfect at the job, letting Robert feel like he had a true ally in the house that did not see him as the young master or as the old doddering fool that he knew some of the younger staff liked to snicker about. Bates knew who he was, his strength and his character, and had easily slotted himself into Robert's life perfectly. Oh, he couldn't do everything a valet should do, what Carson would have wanted. No acting as a third footman on busy nights or handling luggage but when one was as skilled as Bates that was to be forgiven! The man was just that good.

And then he'd left them. Left Downton. Left Robert.

'Carson should have nipped that right in the bud,' Robert thought darkly as he inspected his jacket one more time, finally satisfied that it was lint free. 'Allowing the staff to get familiar like that… unheard of! Simply unheard of! What next, keep the door to the women's rooms unlocked so that any trumped up Casanova can stroll in? Or maybe allow them to just share rooms together? Why not just allow the staff to kiss each other right in the middle of the servants' hall?' Robert clenched his fist and forced himself to breathe, to not get overly worked up. 'I will give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Bates and Anna were rather careful. It could have happened right under his nose. But if I find out another couple has formed downstairs without my permission then Carson and I will discuss his continued work at Downton. If he can not control the staff and get them to understand their place then I will find a butler who will!'

The problem was that Downton had to be stable and it simply wasn't, not anymore. Too many changes, too many people leaving and arriving. There was no way for things to settle, to find level ground. The war had driven the entire world into a swirling cauldron of madness but Downton was supposed to be a refuge from that. A place where one could forget the nightmares of the outside world and remember that there was still stability and peace to be found in corners of the world. The Germans wanted to take that away, to make all of existence function on their schedules. And for a people that prided themselves on precision all Robert saw was anarchy in their methods. English ideals would win the day and prove themselves superior but how could they do that when places like Downton were in turmoil. If the estate could not continue on as it always had it was a victory for the Germans, that much was sure!

Robert ran his hands along the dress jacket and began to make sure all the straps were properly in place. It wouldn't do to look like some slack jawed bumpkin who'd found the coat in the trash and slipped it on just to make himself look important. He was an officer. A Colonel! A…

A…

'A joke,' he thought, bitterness and depression filling his veins as he looked at himself, disgust suddenly flowing through his body. He was exactly what the regiment wanted: a perfect little doll to dress up and showcase to people. A prized dog, no different than Isis, groomed for the delight of the audience and sent to walk about and do some tricks and then given a pat on the head when he was all done.

He looked back at how he had crowed to Cora and felt like an utter fool. He'd been so delighted that the army wanted him back, was ready to march into battle and prove himself… and then the truth had been cruelly revealed to him. Like a man walking through what he thought was a great ballroom only for the curtains to be pulled back and reveal he was in a rotting barn so too had Robert been shown to all to be a naïve dullard. He remembered the heat on his cheeks as he'd been told that his promotion was little more than something to liven up parties. How there would be no victory and valor in his future, merely dinners where he was brought out for entertainment. The mascot tasked with bucking up spirits.

And worst of all they thought they were doing him a favor! A favor! Keeping him away from the front was a gift in their minds. All the men at the club had reacted with horror when he'd told them he was ready to ship out. They'd reassured him, like one would a scared child, that they wouldn't do something so 'cruel'. That he was to remain in England, safe and sound. That they'd never force him to the Continent. They'd done it out of kindness, out of mercy.

How he hated them all in that moment.

Mercy. Kindness. Their belief that they were doing him some grand favor. It was like rotten food upon his tongue. He couldn't even feel justified in his anger and rage because in their hearts they had believed they were doing something wonderful and noble for him. Protecting him. They didn't see that he needed to be out there, had to be on the field, proving Downton's worth. They had merely given him the title without any of the dignity it deserved. Because they wanted to wrap him up like the finest crystal and only bring him out for special events.

'Or it's because of Matthew,' he thought to himself bitterly as he ran his hands along his sides, pushing away any left over wrinkles and creases. 'They know he is a coward and now his acts have stained my good name. If he had gone to serve they would have seen how brave Crawley men were and begged me to lead the charge. Longed for more of our blood to be out there, winning the day! But instead I am stuck in England, a pariah because of that coward.' His face twisted in frustration and he smacked his dresser with his palm. 'I told Mary this would happen… I told her! But did she believe me? Of course not… she always believed that she knew more than the rest of the world. It didn't matter how old she was she always believed she had far greater wisdom that she actually had. Blinded by her own preconceived notions to see the reality of the world. Her arrogance never letting her see what was truly happening; living in a fantasy world of her own making!'

Moving out of his room and down the hall Robert continued to dwell on the slings and arrows that had been cast on him and his reputation. He wondered what other factors might have led to the disrespect he suffered. He pushed aside Matthew, deciding to be magnanimous to the yellow-bellied worm and see if there might be some reason other than his pathetic actions that might have caused Robert's shaming. He quickly ruled out anything he had personally done; he still retained good standing at the club in London and certainly hadn't mocked or insulted anyone of importance. No cutting words that would see a man strike out in revenge against him. Cora could always have sent a letter to someone but that he doubted very much. She had been upset with the thought of him going to the front but he did not image her so cruel as to trick him like this. And mama, as acidic as her tongue could be, would not utter shameful comments to people as she understood that his failure would reflect badly on her.

'Something my children never learned,' he thought with glum annoyance. 'Rosamund is a possibility, as she has been far too loose with her words of late, but she has been blacklisted so greatly I doubt there is anyone of importance in London that even knows her name… or would admit to knowing.' He paused at an intersection of hallways and balled his right hand into a fist. 'But the girls… they must have done something. Perhaps they made jest of the military in a show of solidarity with Matthew. Mocked those brave lads to the wrong person. Or they allowed their tempers and their tongues to say far too much and enraged the wrong person!' He shut his eyes as a thought dawned on him and his stomach fell to his knees. 'Worst still… seeing how they behaved and how they rebelled against me removed all sense that I could effectively command soldiers! Oh, now I know it is that!' He could practically hear the generals mocking the very idea of placing him on the field, for if he couldn't even control his children how could he ever hope to control strong brave lads? How could he gain their respect when they knew he'd failed to command his daughters' loyalty? A man's home is his kingdom… and what kind of king was Robert if he couldn't bring his daughters to heel?

'It is that… them and Matthew. The architects of my failure. Their actions have done just what I have feared and now any hope of Downton being able to rise above their sins is dashed!' Robert began to march forward, lifting his head up and squaring his shoulders. 'NO! I won't give up like they did! I am Robert Crawely and I will prove, starting tonight, that I am not the man they think me to be! I will show that I am worth of this rank and they will all see the error of their ways. That I am not Mary or Edith or Sybil or that traitor Matthew! I will show them all!'

Filled with new determination Robert headed down stairs and stopped in the foyer, waiting with strong posture and dignified grace for the first of the army officials to arrive. Carson was manning the door, looking a solid as ever and for a moment Robert could believe that nothing had changed and his dark thoughts on Carson's abilities had merely been him using the poor man as a punching bag. And the more he thought about it the more he realized that Carson wasn't completely to blame for all that happened. No, once more that could be laid at Matthew and the girls' feet. Who would want to work at a house of scandal such as Downton? Certainly not him, if he were of their station. He'd want to work at an estate where the heir was a brave war hero, not a sniveling coward afraid of getting a little cold and dirty.

'The poor chap,' Robert thought to himself, forcing his face to remain neutral. 'It isn't his fault this happened. And he always favored Mary so seeing her betray us must have struck him hard. But of course he would never say a word against her because it would reflect badly on all of us.' Robert mentally nodded to himself as William brought in the first set of luggage, the generals filing in. 'I will need to have a talk with him, to let him know I don't blame him for any of this. Things must change, of course, but I will make clear it isn't his fault for getting the best from a pile of rubbish.'

Robert warmly greeted the first group and thanked them for coming. He didn't detect any annoyance or incrimination in their words as they thanked him for putting on the event and the money he would be donating. No, they all merely complimented him and Downton, expressing how lovely his home was and how welcomed they had already been made to feel and how wonderful the night would be, a pleasant distraction from London and the War. It made Robert feel much better to know he might have some allies after all.

The second group came, three this time, and the first two were just as much all smiles and warm words. It was the final one, the one who lingered near the door looking anywhere but in Robert's direction that gave him pause. The man wasn't acting ashamed as one might expect from the way he darted his eyes about. No… there was something else there… an anger, as if in his eyes Robert was a foul enemy he refused to give the dignity of attention-

He froze, finally remembering who the man was.

General Allen Lothrop. The man that had given Matthew his coward's way out.

A dark seething filled Robert's stomach.

He remembered what mama had told him. How the girls, after fleeing from Downton like the immature children they were, had sought out General Lothrop for aide. And rather than do the proper thing and bring them back to their father so they might be punished for their insolence and then brought back into the fold, the man had stuck his nose into Robert's business and allowed the girls to live under his roof. He had prolonged their exile, ensured they didn't truly feel the weight of their actions. What did it matter that they had been cut off when that busybody happily paid for all their desires? Rather than know what it was like to be cold and hungry and return to Downton properly chastised and ashamed for what they had done they had been allowed to stay in London. What should have been a few days of suffering that would make them understand how gravely they had sinned and how much they had taken Downton for granted had become two years of smug entitlement, believing they were justified.

General Lothrop had done that. Just as he had allowed Matthew a way to continue his cowardice. Any other man in the army would have heard Matthew's reasons and seen him for the frightful lickspit he was and utterly refused his help. He would have cast him away rather than sully himself with his presence. Lothrop should have grabbed Matthew by the ear the moment he came up with his mad scheme and marched him to the recruiting office and forced him to enlist on the Front. A firm hand… that is what the coward needed. Maybe if the General had been a stronger man he would have prevented all that had happened from occurring. Instead he had coddled the upstart lawyer and allowed him to avoid his duty. He had disgraced his uniform and betrayed his nation!

'And he is the one that is given high honors while I am embarrassed?'

The General finally looked his way when it was clear it was his turn to make a greeting and when Robert saw his eyes something occurred to him. Lothrop was aiding the girls and Matthew. For whatever sick, twisted, traitorous reason he had decided to side with them over King and Country. But just how much did he side with them? Was it merely offering room and board? Or something more? The man had connections… he was high up in the War Office. He could easily dictate directions and those below him would see them done without question… and never revealed his role.

'He did it,' Robert thought, the conclusion striking him like a thunderbolt. 'He's the reason I'm not going to the Front! He told them not to ship me out! He found out what they were planning and altered my marching orders.' The General grimaced slightly but began to approach. 'Or he is the one that decided to promote me to begin with… but always planned for it to be an honorary title. A slap in the face, a grand joke against me.' Robert set his jaw. 'He set me up.'

He wanted to hit him. He wanted to drive his fist into his nose and feel it break against his knuckles. Then he wanted to have Carson toss him out of Downton, bleeding and battered and knowing he was not welcomed.

But Robert didn't give in.

Not just because he knew that a coward like Lothrop would use such actions, no matter how justified, and twist them to have Robert get in trouble with the law. No, he would not strike him because that would lower him to his level. Robert would prove he had far more honor than him and he would humble and shame the man by showing that his breeding trumped any false power Lothrop had wrapped himself in.

"Welcome to Downton, General Lothrop."

"Thank you for having me," the General said, extending his hand. No compliments, no talk of joy and warm wishes to his host. Only the most bare minimum of greetings. He didn't even use Robert's title.

Robert took the man's hand and squeezed as hard as he could. "Of course, unlike the other generals this isn't your first time being here." The General did nothing and Robert applied a bit more pressure to his handshake. "How long as it been? Two years? Quite a long time to not be in a place filled with tradition. I don't know how I'd handle it."

Lothrop smiled slightly… and squeezed back.

Robert felt pain shoot up his arm and heard the bones in his hand creek and crack.

"Yes… filled with tradition and so many new baubles and trinkets." Refusing to let go Lothrop looked about, lips pursed as he stared at each wall, holding his gaze on random pieces that Robert had acquired and decorated the halls with. "And yet despite being filled with some many of those pretty things… it feels all the emptier." He finally released Robert's hand. "But I suppose that happens when one is in your… situation."

Forcing himself not to flap his battered hand about in an attempt to get the circulation flowing once more Robert stood all the taller, looking the army man directly in the eye. "I can see why you would think that. When you don't understand the history and tradition that such things have it is easy to dismiss them. All a matter of education. I would be happy to enlighten you."

The General merely smiled back with eyes as cold as black diamonds. "I'm afraid I won't have the time for a grand tour, Lord Grantham. Thought I would love to learn more about this place… I have heard so much about it in these last two years." He began to walk away, looking up at the ceiling while Robert chewed on that soft insult. "I remember hearing once that grand estates like this represent their masters… that you can tell the character of one by the other. I don't know if that is true though… as I find Downton rather cold and hollow. Well put together, yes, pleasant to look at… but lacking a vitality… a virtue. Soulless." He turned and narrowed his eyes for just a moment.

Robert, refusing to go down that path and allow the man to take more shots at him, turned to another topic. That was the problem with Lothrop waiting to be last; now there was no one pressing him to hurry up and the two could exchange "pleasantries" as much as they wanted. "I hear things have been busy for you. Dealing with all sorts of muck with the war and other parts of your… life." What he was hinting at was clear to both of them as the General's eyes flashed with rage for a moment before he caught himself.

"Yes… though I would more say I am blessed. I opened myself up to new things and I've been rewarded. I've gotten to know good people and count them as friends… as family. Amazing what you can gain when you have an open mind. Luckily for you there is just so much free time in your life now, isn't there? Plenty of time to grow and explore. New hobbies, new connections. Just so much time filling the hours of your day."

Now Robert narrowed his eyes. "I find ways to help. I just became a colonel."

Lothrop didn't take the bait. "Well, I wish I could stay but I should meet with the others."

"Perhaps we'll talk again," Robert stated.

Lothrop didn't even bother to look at him as he walked away.

"I would count on it."

"May you enjoy the hospitality of Downton."

"Oh, I will and I must. I do believe this will become like a second home to me… after all… I am very close to your heir."

And with that he was gone.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And I'd dare say Round One goes to the General!

Now for Round Two… for the night is young.

But not next chapter. Sorry folks. Next chapter we jump back to London where Mary and Matthew get to have a cozy dinner, discuss their future, and may or may no end up naked by the end.

Onto our plot bunny which is inspired by reviewer ClaireR89. An alternate take on this story, during the Series 3 finale Mary begins to have trouble in childbirth while Matthew has briefly left to retrieve something she asked for (I'm thinking the good luck dog she gave him). Sadly she, like Sybil, suffers complications and passes away giving birth to George. At that very moment Matthew's car is struck by another driver and he too dies.

Fate, deciding that it can't handle such tragedy, decides to step in and send them both back to the day they met. Now, you could just go with this… have Matthew and Mary see each other, instantly confuse everyone when they begin to kiss and hold hands (you could do it at dinner, so they are utterly clueless why everyone is staring at them oddly when they are so comfortable with each other and then utterly SCANDALIZED when they go off to have sex.

But… ClaireR89 came up with a delicious twist. See, Fate made an oopsie. Mary and Matthew went back… but their souls ended up swapping.

Now there are two ways this could happen. The first would be that Matthew is now Robert's heir, having grown up in Downton and thus Patrick was never heir. Mary, meanwhile, is Isobel's daughter and they've moved to Crawley house for… reasons (maybe the death of Patrick made Robert want to bring what family he has left closer. Maybe Isobel and Mary saved Edith when she was in London, the family learned of their connection, and it was decided that they would move to the village). But you have a world where Matthew is the elite and Mary is the middle class girl. How would that change things.

ClaireR89's idea? They swap bodies. Matthew wakes up as Lady Mary Crawley and Mary waked up as Matthew Crawley.

And oh boy the comedy from that. Not only from the two dealing with being each other but also that, again, they remember their previous life. And if you don't think Mary, as Matthew, wouldn't raise some eyebrows with her brash way while Edith and Sybil would be gobsmacked by a kinder Matthew as Mary…

Just a ton of potential.

Chapter Text

Mary lounged on the couch, her shoes kicked off and her legs curled up under her, idly reaching for the wine glass that sat on the small end table to her right. The warm glow of the electric lights was just enough to allow her to read the book she'd just purchased while not overpowering her and making her feel like she was staring into some tiny sun. The glass was filled with what would have been seen by her as a cheap vintage just a few years ago but having lived in the home of an utter teatotaller who utterly refused to even consider letting a drop of alcohol touch his tongue for her it was pure nectar stolen from Dionysus himself. The bottle had been another purchase she'd made that day, a rare frivolous gift to herself. While she may not have liked the General's desire to have water at dinner rather than something a touch harder she had also come to understand one benefit of it: the money saved. When she and Lavinia had gone into the small shop to select the bottle Mary had felt like the earth had torn apart under her feet as she ogled the prices.

'No wonder Matthew was so concerned with money back then,' she thought as she remembered how many times her husband had gotten a pained look on his face when she would make an offhand remark about the wealth of Downton. 'With how much we put away at dinner each night I dare say would could have bought a small island with the pounds we swilled away!'

She'd been thinking a lot about money recently, mostly thanks to Lavinia. Her friend had casually mentioned something about Mary living with the Lothrops… nothing biting or insulting, just innocent to the point that Mary honestly couldn't remember what the other woman had said... and it had made her realize that she couldn't live forever through the kindness of the couple. No, that wasn't right. She could easily live through their kindness. The General and Cat were those sorts of people who would have welcomed her and Matthew to stay forever in their home if they so desired. The General himself had admitted if he had his way all his children would remain under his roof, with their children and their children's children living there even if it meant building additions onto the townhouse. When they loved someone they wanted to provide for them and the Lothrops had grown to love Mary and Matthew in equal standing with their children.

'And that's why I can't rely upon them forever,' Mary thought to herself, setting her wineglass down and grasping her bookmark so she might mark her page. 'Because of that kindness. I will not abuse this gift. In fact, in a perfect world,. I would pay their generosity forward. One day, when Matthew and I are their age, I would love to find a couple just starting out and offer them the aid Allen and Cat have given Mathew and I.' She couldn't help but smile at that little dream before her lips fell into a more thoughtful position. 'But to do that we must have the wealth to pass along.'

Thus she had recently truly looked at how much it cost to live in the world. Not that she had been frivolous... she hadn't gone racking up debt in Catherine's name or stomping her feet in outrage if she weren't served the choices beef on the finest plate. She had been grateful from the first moment she had set foot in the Lothrops' home and she continued to be humbled by their kindness. But only in the last few weeks had she begun to think about life away from them. Mama would have been horrified but Mary had taken to looking over the finances with Matthew, seeing how much he made and how they were using it... and growing it. For even in war there were ways to make one's money work for them and Matthew had ways of sniffing those out.

'And I want to learn to do it myself,' Mary thought to herself. 'And I want to understand how to properly run a home. Not the wasteful focus on decadence the Crawleys who came before me were so obsessed with... true management. To understand how every cent brought in improves things and how every pound cast out into the world can be stretched to its very limit.'

The little trip with Lavinia that afternoon had been the final step a test for Mary, to see how she handled such a mindset. She had spent the week before baking pies and such, as was her normal pass time, but rather than merely give them away Mary had sold them to a small tavern restaurant that she'd learned about from Sybil. She'd kept careful track of how much the ingredients had cost (having made a special trip to a grocer to get the numbers and also marvel at a store that before she would never have entered) and figured out exactly what her profit was. Finally, after having gathered up a small sum she felt comfortable with she and Lavinia, who had been amused by Mary's test and decided to assist, had gone out to see how enjoyable a day they could have living just off Mary's own work.

It had gone fair enough. A few minor adjustments... lunch had caused her to gape in shock and seriously begin considering how rich her meals were in both flavor and cost. But otherwise-

"And what has you in such deep thought?" Matthew asked, making his presence known as he entered the drawing room. He begun to loosen his tie even as he dropped a kiss upon her forehead.

"Oh, just this book," she said easily enough. There was no true reason for her to hide her new friend but for a reason she couldn't quite explain she wasn't quite ready to share Lavinia with anyone else. Perhaps because she was the first friend that Mary had gained that was truly her own and earned through her own charms and talents. Not because of whom here parents were or out of a sense of obligation... no, Lavinia and her had bonded purely because they were Lavinia and Mary and she wanted to keep the relationship close to her heart for a touch longer.

Matthew, not sensing anything off from her statement, looked down at the book and smirked. "The Valley of Fear?"

"I blame you entirely for my literary tastes. Your middle class ways have infected me like a disease."

"And yet you don't sound too troubled to be 'sick'."

"I never said it was a bad infection," Mary teased before sitting up. "Now go and change... I told Molesley to get one of your finer jackets ready and press your best white shirt. I need to go see Martha and prepare myself."

"Are we going somewhere?" Matthew asked as Mary made her way out of the room and to the stairs.

"The opposite, in fact," Mary stated. "For once we have the house to ourselves and I thought we might pretend we were the wealthy elite once more."

Matthew shook his head in good humor and merely motioned for her to continue up the stairs, ducking into the spare bedroom Molseley was standing by while Mary went to their room. As Catherine's lady's maid assisted her in removing the clothing she'd worn for her outing and putting on the lovely black and emerald dress that the Lothrops had given her last Christmas Mary felt as if the years had slipped away and she was back in Downton again, Anna forcing her into a corset while she tittered away about this or that. Except while all the trappings were the same Mary found that she was different. The corset was left rather loose; where in the past she had prided herself on taking as much pulling and squeezing as Anna could muster without a word of complaint she'd grown used to the more casual styles of the Lothrop home and now allowed the corset to only be tightened ever so slightly.

Coming down the stairs she found Matthew waiting for her, looking handsome as always in his tails, and he offered her his arm before leading her to the dining room where the Lothrops' cook, seeing a chance this night to do something new, had gone all out to provide a filling yet romantic meal for the young couple. The only thing that made Mary a touch sad was that there was no excuse she could use for sliding her chair closer to Matthew's, seeing as they had the table all to themselves.

"Did your day go as well as mine?" Mary asked as she served herself.

"Well enough. There are, of course, always the hiccups that arise when one is part of such a large machine like the War Office but it went rather well." He dished out some salad for himself before continuing. "Of course today was a bit more hectic than most, seeing as Allen put me in charge of our entire division. Luckily enough of the lower ranked officers knew not to try to take advantage of me and my lack of knowledge in certain aspects… not when they all know that Allen will be returning tomorrow and most likely in a foul mood."

"Yes, the concert at Downton," Mary said. She could tell by the way Matthew looked at her that she must have been smiling the fake little smirk she'd been prone to wearing at Downton… normally when she had been talking to him during their first few months of meeting. "I'm fine, darling. I am. I can handle discussing it."

"Since when?" Matthew asked and Mary knew this time she was absolutely glaring at him. He held out his hands in a gesture of peace. "Sorry… but you must admit you have been rather… touchy about the whole thing. Within good reason." He added that last part in rather quickly.

"Yes but just as Downton is now my past so too is my inability to even mention the name or discuss… certain individuals that still live there." Matthew merely nodded his head, wisely seeing that anything he said might anger her, and Mary focused on eating a few bites of her dinner before continuing. "And those men are quite right to tread lightly today… Allen will be in a black mood when he returns. I have little doubt Papa will be able to hold his tongue and be civil. He'll say something foolish, about one of us perhaps or be really bold and mock us both, and the General and him will have the confrontation that has been brewing for quite some time."

"I hope visiting Anna and John and seeing the baby will cool his temper a bit."

"It might," Mary stated. "Or it might just make him even more enraged, knowing how Papa treated them as well." Matthew sipped his water (Mary's wine was for her and her alone… if he wanted some he could buy his own bottle!) and said nothing. "Though it might not be so bad. Catherine told me she has a few things arranged to try and mellow his temper when he returns tomorrow morning."

"Such as?" Matthew asked.

"Well," Mary said with a chuckle, "don't be surprised if we are eating rather plainly tomorrow… and the meal is heavy on meats." Allen had once told them that he was a simple man and that when he become Lord Oakwood his would be a table that the common man would nod at with approval and the elite would screech in horror upon gazing. He wasn't a fan of meals that were more artistry than filling, preferring hearty meals to the likes one found in a middle class London restaurant. Furthermore the man loathed many vegetables save for potatoes and ate meat like an American cowboy. Mary had first been absolutely shocked when, a few weeks into their stay, Allen had finally decided to stop having the cook make food he knew she'd be comfortable with and return to his favorites. The beef tips in thick gravy and wide noodles she'd accepted without batting an eye, even if they were a bit low-class in her opinion (still very good). But then had come the meal he'd fallen in love with after a trip to the American West to deal with finalizing a contract: fried chicken.

She'd hesitated, along with all the other Downton exiles, as the General had rolled up his sleeves and tore into a drumstick like he was hovering over a worn wooden picnic table on some cattle ranch. But it had only taken one comment from Tom as he'd sat down and selected a wing to get Mary to toss aside her reservations and join in.

"Lord Grantham would have a fit if he saw this."

Mary may have needed to scrub her hands twenty times to get the grease off her fingers but no meal had tasted better… and not just because of the skill of the Lothrops' cook.

"So we'll be swapping fine clothing for aprons and rolled up sleeves," Matthew said with a chuckle.

Mary finished her salad before continuing, the Lothrops' butler and Molesley (who helped on occasion) cleared the table and prepared for the next course. "I would wager yes. She also has been holding on to a few books she wishes to give him. And if he is still moody she'll go with the heavy artillery."

"And that is?"

"She's gotten one of his old Calvary swords resorted."

Matthew let out a whistle at that. "I know he's been talking about that… he says if he has to have pieces of history hanging in Wolfglen Manor, the ancestral home of the Lothrops, then they would be his own."

"Not my uncle's… he allowed my cousins to disgrace our name and now forces me to clean up his mess. Nor my grandfather who scoffed at my father purely because he was the second son and the youngest of four. No… it will be my own history I hang on those walls. The line begins with me now."

"Well, that will certainly help," Matthew said as they moved on to the next course, a cut of fish drizzled in a light sauce. Cutting into the meat he asked, "Where is everyone else then, if Allen is off dealing with Downton?"

"Catherine had a charity event and told me to expect her to be back very late… said she wouldn't be surprised if she returned after midnight. Edith is most likely at the paper and I wouldn't be surprised if she stayed the entire night and slept in one of the offices… I know she brought a change of clothing with her when she left this morning. Something about some vote she needed to focus on, I honestly lose track of half the things our government is doing nowadays." She waved off that thought before continuing. "As for Thomas he said he was meeting that friend of his from the war office?"

"Jonesy," Matthew supplied. "The two of them are getting on rather well. Clever chap, a bit too smug for my tastes but then again Thomas has always been a cocky one himself so they fit well together. Actually Thomas seems to be the more level-headed of the two of them. They invited me to lunch a week ago and I got the impression Thomas was trying to keep Jonesy from saying something truly scandalous."

Mary raised an eyebrow at that, swallowing the mouthful she had been chew. "Crikey, Thomas being the level-headed one?"

Matthew laughed at that before he looked up at Mary and smiled. "So we are truly alone, are we?"

"Well, as alone as we can be," she said, nodding towards Molesley and the Lothrops' butler. She considered what she had just said before turning to the two of them. "Would you terribly mind granting Matthew and I a bit of private time? We'll call once we are ready for dessert."

"Of course," Molelsley stated, the butler also nodding in agreement before the two left, shutting the doors firmly behind them and leaving the couple completely and utterly alone.

"Your grandmother wouldn't know what to do if she suddenly had to eat without someone close by," Matthew teased.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I dare say she'd surprise you with what she is capable of." Mary took a sip of her water. "Matthew, since we are alone I want to talk to you about our future." He tilted his head a little and she quickly added, "Nothing bad! Far from it! Good questions… good thoughts. Things we need to think about for our lives." She looked down at her plate, swirling a piece of fish in the sauce. "We won't always live here, you know."

"I know," he said quietly. "The War makes it easy, as odd as it is the say about something so horrid, but afterwards things will be different. And I don't just mean about my position under Allen, should I choose to decide to stay working for him."

"Will you?"

"I honestly don't know. It is interesting work, to be sure, and I am grateful for it, but I can't help but wonder how much of those feelings come purely from me seeing it as my only option. If I left now I would be sent to the Front, end of story. I am trapped in a cage but it is a very nice cage and I don't mind it at all. But when the world is no longer consumed with madness and the cage door is opened? When I am free to leave it? I don't know if I will want to stay or spread my wings." He paused and lifted up his plate, setting it closer to her own before moving his chair so that when he sat down he could take her hand in his. "But what do you think?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean what do you think? After all this would affect you just as much as me."

"I don't- no, you are right." She shook her head. "I was about to say that it was your job and choice and I would do as you wished but we both know that isn't true, don't we? I am not a meek housewife that mildly goes along with whatever her husband decides. Were you to decide to…I don't know… join a circus I would have words with you concerning that."

"Join a circus?" he teased.

Mary huffed. "It was the first thing to pop in my head. Most likely because you act so much like a clown at times."

"Still, the circus?"

"Enough!" Mary said with a playful scowl. She considered what he said, puzzling it over rather carefully. "I suppose it all depends on how the war ends and what that means for your position. Will you continue on as things are? If so I don't think I'd mind at all if you chose to remain in the army. You could rise up quite high… I dare say with your wit you could be the… lord commander or whatever they call it." Matthew snorted at that. "But suppose the war means much rebuilding on the Continent and that means you traveling about, going from one war-torn city to another. I know what that kind of life can be like thanks to Lord Flintshire. I know there are some women that love to live in exotic lands and be seen as rare flowers by the locals but I am not one of them. I was born in England and I wish to remain here as long as possible."

"Even if I were posted in, say, Paris?"

Mary shook her head. "A visit? Quite lovely. Live there? Not so much."

"Then let us assume the job remains the same. Would you be happy here?"

"London is quite lovely."

Matthew though shook his head. "There is a 'but' there, I can sense it."

She nodded at his deduction. "Despite my issues with Downton… my childhood was a wonderful one. When I imagine my life now I do not see the cluttered streets and soot-caked walls of London but rather open fields with grass as far as the eye can see. Where one can look out their window and imagine that they are all that dwell on this world, that we are God's first creation, blessed with paradise. Where the snows are always white and looking up into the sky the stars blanket the heavens. That is what I desire… that is the life I wish for us to have."

"And I would give it to you," Matthew said honestly, giving her hand a squeeze. "It would mean returning to practicing law." He grimaced at that.

"Would that be such a bother?" she questioned. Just as he had asked her what she desired so too would Mary consider his wishes. It wouldn't be fair to him to slave a way at a job he hated, thinking about what might have been had he stayed with a career he truly loved, only so she could live where she desired.

"The work itself? Of course not. I have always enjoyed being a lawyer and while I gave it up to better fit into my role at Downton I am quite happy to return to a version of it now under the General… and would be willing to return fully if given the option."

"You gave up so much for us, didn't you? And we never even realized it."

"I'd say I got a fair trade," Matthew countered, bringing her hand up to his lips and giving it a kiss. "But it wasn't the work that had me worried… rather what it brings in. Allen and the War Office have been very generous to me, to us really. But if I were to leave and start of my practice or buy into a partnership I wouldn't be making what I am now, at least not at first. It would take years of work to be able to give you a life you were used too…"

"I don't care about that," Mary said, turning to face him more directly. "If we live in a grand estate that is wonderful… but if we live in a small house that will be just as wonderful. It won't be the paintings on the wall or the quality of the china that make it our home it will be the people within. You… me… and hopefully…" She trailed off, eyes dropping to her lap.

"Soon," Matthew promised.

It had bothered Mary to no end when, after a year of being married the two of them had come no closer to having a baby. She knew the pressure had been minimized, that the need to have an heir didn't matter when the two of them honestly no longer allowed Downton to dominate all aspects of their life, but still the need was there. Because despite how either party felt Matthew was still the heir. He would one day be Lord Grantham. And while papa looked to that day with dread and Mary no longer longed for the title and standing and simply wanted a long and happy life the world would still expect them to secure the line. It had been driven into her head since she was a child that her greatest accomplishment would be to provide her husband with children. It was what she was expected to do, her duty in life. She saw how foolish that was now, how backwards and rather insulting to boil down all of her existence to giving birth to a son, but just because she understand how silly such thoughts were didn't mean that she still didn't have them.

'And more so… I want to give Matthew children.' She finished off her fish and Matthew went to get the servants so they could serve dessert and yet her mind still went to the thought of a child. 'A combination of myself and Matthew… the best of both of us in a small form. The eternal proof to the world of our love.'

After a year and a half of difficulties Mary had finally humbled herself and, with more embarrassment than she'd felt in years, went to Sybil for advice, telling her she feared that something might be wrong with her. Sybil had suggested going to Anna's doctor and a few… rather uncomfortable examinations... the problem had been found. A small bit of surgery, a some time recovering, and all would be taken care of. She'd thought about doing it without Matthew's knowledge but Sybil had outright declared that if Mary didn't tell him she would. Thus it had been with both embarrassment and hope that Mary had gone to Matthew and told him that she could fix their issues.

And he'd asked her to wait.

Matthew returned with two plates of Crêpe Au Naturel, setting one for her before returning to his seat. He must have seen the way she was looking down at her belly, the one she longed to have grow large with their child, and set his fork down. "You know I want children with you. You know that right?"

"I do. And I understand why you want to wait." Matthew had been very clear on that point: their children would not open their eyes for the first time to see a world at war. They would be born into peace. "But what if this all goes on for years? Decades? It feels at times like the war will never end! The Germans are just so stubborn and there seems to be no movement on our part to finally end it-"

Matthew cut her off before she could ramp up her argument too much. "The war will end. It is no different than a storm. Clouds father and the rains fall and sometimes it is a short shower and other times entire days are lost to the pounding rain. But the clouds will part, the sun will rise, and things will return to as we knew them. This war will end and when it does I swear to you we will celebrate by bringing a life into this world. And it will be a better world… both because of peace and because that little chap will do so much good."

Mary smiled waterly at that. "Your speeches should be outlawed… they ruin makeup far too much." She fanned her face to try and drive away the tear.

They ate in silence after that, savoring the food and dreaming of the world that would one day come, where young men weren't sent off to die needlessly. Where they would be able to choose their own destinies rather than accept, admittedly happy, lives merely because they offered protection.

She had just finished her last bite when Matthew suddenly pulled her to her feet and kissed her so soundly she felt her world tilt. Finally catching her breath she looked at him in surprise as he flashed her a roguish smile.

"But just because we are waiting doesn't mean we can't practice." He began to undo his tie as he led her towards the door opposite the one the servants were waiting by.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed, scandalized. "Someone might walk in-"

"We are all alone. You said that yourself. No need to tiptoe to our room and keep ourselves quiet."

Mary blinked at that, seeing the truth in his words, and suddenly found a giggle bubbling up from her lips. It was wrong. It was naughty. It would have never flown at Downton.

15 minutes later the maid would shake her head as she picked up the bits of clothing that led from the dining room to Mary and Matthew's room, ignoring the sounds of passion from just behind the door.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Just a nice chapter to touch base with M & M and set up some answers to questions people have been asking.

Not much else to add so let's go with a very simple plot bunny: Series 1, Matthew is forced to stay at Downton for a few days due to the Crawley House needing some repairs. Robert and Cora are in London, Isobel has gone to assist with a charity event, Sybil was invited by a family friend to go on a small vacation with them, and Edith went with Violet on a small trip. So just Mary, Matthew, and the servants. Naturally Mary wants nothing to do with Matthew and the two basically ignore each other.

Until they both arrive in the main hall to find a bassinet set up, a crying baby inside, and a note that states "Mary and Matthew, this is your son" written in Mary's own hand.

And that's it. Mary and Matthew suddenly have to deal with a baby. Take it where you wish.

Chapter Text

"Do you want to play with the doll?"

Cora watched as Lillian considered the cloth toy she was holding. It was rather plain for a Countess' daughter, more of a stuffy than the standard dolls one thought of when imagining the beloved plaything a child of Downton should have. She had seen what some of Robert's peers had thought made lovely toys for their children… porcelain dolls in fine dresses and hand painted faces. Beautiful to look at, perhaps fine companions for tea parties, but otherwise treated no different than how so many in England saw their children: decorations to be shown off before tucked away, out of sight and out of mind. Cora though, despite all she did to act otherwise, was American. She had been raised by a man who while having gained wealth that put Downton's purse to shame had begun life as a simple man from a poor home and remembered the love and attention his parents had given him. He'd done the same for her and Cora had been determined to do the same for her children.

Once Robert's mother had bragged about how she had far more involved in her children's lives than her peers had in their heirs' lives. "An hour for tea every day." She'd been so utterly PROUD of that. Cora had been horrified by that thought. The idea that Robert and his sister hadn't actually eaten with their parents until their teens, that armies of nannies and servants had cared for them… she had refused to raise her children that way. She would spend time with them, love them and care for them. There would be the nannies and governesses of course but she wanted to be there for her children.

The proof of that was the doll. A cloth toy stuffed with fluff and a stitched on face and yarn hair. A simple toy but something that could be tossed about and hugged and loved without fear of breaking it.

She'd had one made for each of her girls. Mary's had been a pretty thing with black hair and a blue dress. Edith's had been brown-haired with a gray dress with red trim. Sybil's had been a deraggled little thing by the time she'd finally grown out of it, the blonde hair frayed and the dress replaced twice due to the rough play.

Now she sat on the floor of the nursery and held out a red-headed doll to her youngest child.

Lillian considered the doll for a moment before nodding. "Yes." Her voice was utterly soft, not so much a whisper but rather a muted sound. Quiet yet also filled with conviction. She wanted to play with the doll, there was nothing else to say. Where Mary would have demanded, Edith would have been uncertain, and Sybil would have just taken it and run off before Cora could finish, Lillian merely considered the doll before deciding that yes, she wanted to play with it, took said doll, and begun to do just that.

Cora reached out and stroking the little girl's hair as she set about building a little house for the doll with her blocks. It was slow work, Lillian carefully lining up the block and placing them so that they were perfectly squared with each other. It went slowly and Cora knew that some might have seen her and thought her meek and dim from the way she measured out her words but she could see easily that the child merely was one that desired perfection and weighed all options before committing. She was not brash like her sisters but that didn't mean she wasn't sure of her opinions. Even at her young age she knew what she wanted and when she settled on it no one could command her otherwise.

'So like your sisters,' she thought as Lillian finished the square that would be the foundation of her dolly's house and began to build up the walls. 'How long before you decide to leave me too?'

It was just so utterly hard. Cora wanted to pick Lillian up and cuddle her and hug her and never let her go. Keep her close and stroke her hair and tell her how much she loved her. How she was now one of the only lights in her life. But she was so very scared. Terrified that she'd drive her away in her quest to keep her close. She remembered how her mother had once told her that when one tried to squeeze their fist to hold more sand it merely made it spill between one's fingers. But she also didn't want to give her too much freedom, lest the little girl grow up thinking she wasn't loved. Because she was loved, so very much.

'Perhaps it's unfair of me,' she thought as she watched Lillian consider which block to stack up next, 'but she is getting love that was meant for four.'

"Well, there you are," Violet said as she made her way into the room, her cane tapping against the floor as she ambled across the nursery and took a seat in the solid oak chair near where Cora knelt on the floor.

"I suppose you are here to scold me for not standing at attention?" Cora asked, keeping her tone light as Lillian rose and toddled over to Violent, reaching up and patting the old woman's wrinkled hands with her small chubby ones. Violent, for her part, merely smiled and mimicked the toddler, running her fingers along the back of her hand before motioning for her to go back to her games. Lillian nodded and went back, a small smile tugging on her lips as she did so.

"I'd prefer not to, if that is all right with you," Violet said, lips pulled together tightly. "I know you think it my duty to behave like some monstrous ogre but I can show restraint and kindness, I'll have you know." She shifted in her seat. "The fact of the matter is that I quite understand your desire to spend time with Lillian."

Cora didn't say a word for several minutes, giving Violet a look that let her know she wasn't ignoring her. It was only when Lillian moved across the room to gather more blocks from the finely crafted toy chest that she spoke and only then it was in a low whisper. "You'll be horrified, I am sure, but I truly don't care: if it weren't for Lillian I would have long left Downton."

"And where would you go?" Violet asked.

"New York, most likely. It wouldn't be unheard of for a Lady to take an extended leave of her home to return to the place of her birth."

"Not across an ocean though," Violet said. "Or, at least, one as large as the Atlantic. To the continent? Well, that is rather common. Many women take trips there on their own to tour Europe. The colonies though?" Violet paused and let out a little laugh. "Of course that's mostly because there is so little to see there!"

Cora though shot her a dry look. "I would remind you that England is far smaller than the United States. In fact all of Europe could easily fit within its borders."

"Ah, but there is a difference between size of land and size of culture," Violet argued. "I have stayed in homes that are older than that country. And its size only makes more clear how empty it truly is." She shrugged. "Still I suppose you would find something to do there… for a little while."

"Or a long while."

"You don't-" She paused as Lillian finally returned and the two lapsed into quiet as the little girl continued on her own little manor made of blocks. Both had learned that Lillian heard and understood more than most realized and neither wanted to upset her by talking of anything less than happy things. She wouldn't scream or cry but Cora had witnessed Lillian shrink into herself when people were upset and it would take days to make her feel comfortable enough not to walk about like she was carrying a precious egg upon her head. Once Lady Wetherton had, while having tea with Cora, allowed her voice to become to sharp while Lillian had been walking by with her nanny. The poor child had refused to come downstairs for nearly a week, worried she would upset "the tall lady". Nanny had tried once to carry her downstairs only for Lillian to instantly slip away and hide upstairs, forcing all the servants to tears about the guest rooms till they found her. She wasn't skittish… merely sensitive to the world around her and preferring to avoid its traumas if it could be helped.

Finally Nanny Walters came in, a touch startled to find both Cora and Violet sitting there. "Oh! Your ladyship. I just came- the little miss needs her bath and then to head to bed. But I can-"

"no no, please," Cora said. But rather than rising up she held out her arms and felt her heart melt when, after making she had placed the last block in place and it was straight, Lillian shuffled over and gave her a hug. "Oh, my empathetic little princess," Cora whispered, feeling Lillian wrap her arms around her middle. "Mama loves you so very much."

"Yes. Love you too." She said it so matter-of-fact, so much like a truth that was known to all, that it made Cora's eyes sting with unshed tears. She quickly blinked them away as Lillian pulled back, staring at her for a long while before finally nodding and moving over to say goodnight to her grandmother.

It was only when she was gone that Violet spoke. "Cora, you don't mean to suggest that you'd seriously consider… leave Robert?" Needing to do something Cora rose up and began to put the loose blocks away, though she refused to touch Lillian's little block house while Violet looked on. "You know that for people of our station such things simply aren't done."

"But I'm not of your station, am I? I'm just the uppity little American pretending to be something she isn't." Cora let out a sigh. "Forgive me… that wasn't right. You aren't the one I'm mad at."

"Though I dare say I deserved that for how I treated you when things started." Violet folded her hands in her lap and let out a quiet breath. "It seems that is a trait us Crawleys share… directing annoyance and disrespect on those our children choose to love."

Cora didn't take the bait.

Violet looked up at her, lips puckered as she continued to pick up the nursery. "You mean to tell me that if it weren't for Lillian you'd have left Robert and gone to New York?"

"Of course." She didn't bother to look up at her mother-in-law. "I love Robert. I won't claim that I don't. The thought of losing him to the War made my heart clench. But there is a different between loving someone and liking them and honestly I don't much like Robert anymore. I look at him and see the man who didn't just merely drive our daughters away but who has shown not an ounce of guilt for doing so. He cares more for appearances than he does about happiness." She gave a little shrug. "It would be easy enough. America leads the world in divorces… my mother would hire a lawyer and argue cruelty or abandonment. Knowing her she might try adultery… her last letter was rather harsh when it came to Robert and what he did to the girls so I could see her seeking to ruin him." Violet let out a hissing gasp at that but Cora continued on. "Or perhaps I'd settle in Nevada. After 6 months I would be declared a resident and they are rather laxed with their divorce requirements. Then there is a Mexican Divorce-"

"You've put far too much thought into this," Violet stated, "for someone who claims to still love Robert."

"It would break me to do it, I admit that." Cora shook her head as she dropped the last toys into the chest. "And it is something I most likely wouldn't actually go through with. But there is a comfort to thinking about it and know I have the option. To know there should things ever truly get too bad I have a way out."

"But surely there is more to your life here at Downton than just Lillian and Robert," Violet said, leaning forward. It didn't matter that Cora was standing and her mother-in-law was seated... somehow the old woman still managed to look down upon her. It was a trick Cora had never managed to master.

"What?" Cora asked, for once deciding not to be demur and polite to Violet but make clear how odd and strange her comment was to her ears. "Charities where I am little more than a figurehead for them to point to when they wish to make themselves look grander? Luncheons that border on tedium? Oh yes, I know... I keep the furniture from flying off!"

Violet merely leveled a cool stare at her. "Such remarks aren't cute when Mary and the girls say them and they are less so when you utter them." She settled back in her chair. "And it is those very girls that I speak of. Your daughters."

"Who want nothing to do with me," Cora said with bitter disappointment.

"Because you have done nothing to make things right!" Violet declared, thumping her cane against the hardwood floor.

Cora stared at her slackjawed for a moment. "What... what else would you have me do? I send letters, I send gifts, I beg them to come see me-"

"There, right there." The Dowager jabbed her finger at Cora like it was a fencing blade. "There is your mistake."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Violet said with a huff. "Do you know why Mary and Edith and Sybil welcome me into their home... even that tiny little flat Sybil shares with that rebel of a woman?" Cora knew Violet was speaking of Isobel and couldn't help but smile at that. "Because I didn't try to bludgeon them with sheets of paper thicker than most cakes or buy their willingness to reengage with gifts. The former is easy to ignore at best and comes off as patronizing at worse. And the latter is an insult, frankly. There is far more depth to them than that!"

"So you'd have me do nothing?" Cora challenged.

"I'd have you see them, speak with them, and make it clear that you love them and respect the choices they've made in their lives."

Cora though shook her head in misery. "They won't come to see me."

"Again, that is your mistake." Cora stared at her, not comprehending what she was getting at and finally her mother-in-law huffed. "Expecting them to come here, the theater of their tragedy, instead of you going to see them!"

"Go to London?" Cora asked, wanting to make sure she'd heard Robert's mother correctly. When she merely shot her a look Cora waved her off. "Oh, I couldn't do that."

"And why not?"

"Downton-" Cora paused and realized that she'd only admitted moments ago that save for Lillian there was nothing tying her down to England, let alone Downton.

"My dear you just told me that you fantasize about how you'd escape this place and travel to New York. I dare say London would be a shorter trip."

She had here there. "I couldn't go because Lillian is here."

"And they do not allow children to take passage on trains?" Violet questioned. "Well... that is a new rule I had not heard before. I wouldn't mind of course, as far too many children are rather loud and boisterous while riding on trains-"

"I didn't mean that," Cora said sourly. "I meant that Robert wouldn't allow it."

"Oh? So one moment you speak of how Robert holds little sway over you and the next you need his permission to do something you've done in the past? I remember you taking Mary to London when she was Lillian's age."

"That was different."

"However was it?" she pressed. "Because this time you aren't going to visit friends but rather your children?"

Cora glared at her but the longer her mother-in-law returned her stare the more Cora's will wilted like a flower in the summer sun until finally she felt herself collapse into herself. "Because I'm afraid," she finally whispered. "Now there is a chance they might let me be a part of their life. I can hold onto that. But if I go and they reject me..."

She wasn't sure when it happened but she suddenly found herself sitting in the chair Violet had been in, the old woman beside her rubbing her between her shoulder blades. "Yes, there is risk. But I think you are looking at the girls far too harshly and letting what happened in the heat of the moment cloud your judgment. Your only sin was siding with Robert, or at least giving them that impression. His actions are currently your own because of that but Mary isn't a statue and as much as she might like to think her heart is ice I know that it is not. Go to her, Cora. Go to her and ask for her to let you be a part of her life again. When she agrees to it Edith and Sybil will as well. It is Mary who has caused the separation and it is her that can mend it." Violet considered something for a moment before nodding to herself. "In fact I would say Lillian would help in that matter greatly. Mary might be cold to just you but if you arrived at their doorway with her littlest sister Mary would be far more open. At the very least she wouldn't cast you out onto the stoop. It would be good for the little angel as well... she should know her sisters."

"But what of Robert?" Cora asked with a hiccup, determined not to cry no matter how much she longed to. "When he finds out-"

"He'll what? Cast you out?" Violet asked. "If so then he is a fool that will have doomed himself. Not just from society but I. And as for you and Lillian...well, the girls were exiled and they have done rather well. General Lothrop might not be of our ilk but the depth of his heart makes him a king among kings. What else can you say of a man who took in three girls he'd barely known and treated them with kindness and love? And Mary would not see you left homeless after you two had just worked out your problems." She patted Cora on the back. "Go to them, Cora. Go to them and fix the rift. You missed Mary's wedding... don't miss Edith's. Go and make things right and find a way to be part of their new lives. And once it is healed then all of us can work to pound some sense into my pudding-headed son."

Cora smiled at that and finally nodded. "Yes... and I think I know just where to start." She stood and smoothed out her dress. "I was told we had some important guests downstairs... I should meet with them. Including a certain general." With that she marched out of the room, her heart all the lighter.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Allen was not in a pleasant mood.

He had never been one for large gatherings. Oh, he could handle dinners, that was perfectly fine. It was rather common for all those in attendance to slowly split off into smaller groups and that is where he thrived. He was far too used to seeing large groups as something he had to command, not something to merely be a part of. Have him chat with a cluster of men that numbered no more than 5 or so and he was perfectly fine. He'd tell a few stories, listen as others made their comments, and then wonder when dinner would be. But a large gathering filled with numerous people, many of whom he didn't know, where they were all expected to mingle together? That left him not knowing how to act. His first reaction was to stand up and take command, to give directions and orders. His second was to leave and just go do things himself because when it came to anyone he didn't know he didn't trust them in the slightest to handle things in a sensible way.

The musicians continued to play and he did his best not to shift in his seat. The red dress jacket he was wearing wasn't his favorite and he'd have much rather worn his standard olive or tan uniform than the ridiculous outfit that was required by the military to don.

'Serves no purpose other than to make me look stupid,' he thought to himself.

His mood wasn't helped either by the fact that he found the music to be rather dull. Well, just by itself, of course. Allen was someone that liked to keep his mind stimulated. When he'd been a private the other soldiers had nicknamed him 'Professor' because he liked to read whenever there was a lull in the fighting. He enjoyed word puzzles and other times would work on mathematic problems purely to amuse himself. The other men hadn't got it back then but his commanding officer had. "Lothrop, you're mind is a horse that wants to run about even if it's stuck in a pen!" one Captain had once shouted at him. And he was right. Cat knew that on long train rides all she had to do to keep him busy was to give him an enigma to process and he would happily remain quiet in his seat and not say a peep, allowing her to chat with friends or plot out her next book without him constantly bugging her.

The music would have been perfect if he were able to read a book or jot down thoughts on a pad of paper or puzzle out something. But no, all he could do was sit there, staring with a stony face as the band continued to play the standard dry music and everyone pretended it was something new and exciting and wonderful.

'Like anyone here would know new and exciting,' he thought, forcing himself not to scoff out loud. 'They wouldn't know what those were if they took form and bit them on the ass!'

He gave up trying to remain still and shifted his weight, grimacing slightly in pain as he felt a twinge where his leg met his hip. Part of the problem with his build was that he was designed for movement, not stationary positioning. Command him to walk 10 km a day and he'd manage it with ease. Tell him to sit in an unfamiliar chair and his hip would begin to lock up. He could already feel the pain coming on and he hoped that there would be a break soon; if there wasn't then he risked developing a limp from the pain and then it would take days or even weeks to work out kinks.

'Damn chairs,' he thought as he reached down and drove his fingers almost painfully into his hip muscles, wigging them back and forth to try and loosen everything up and mitigate the pain. 'Downton Abbey is sooooo wonderful and so bloody fancy but they couldn't get us chairs with better padding?' He could see that others were hurting as well, their tailbones beginning to throb from sitting in the hard oak chairs for far too long. Of course Robert Crawley looked perfectly content to spend the entire night in a chair, sitting forward listening to the music and basking in the knowledge that he was forcing so many military personal to be uncomfortable to stoke his own ego. 'And that is the real reason I am in such a foul mood,' Allen thought to himself as the band, even though they had moving towards would could have been a lovely ending, moved to continue the piece.

His words to Anna and John had proven to be quite correct: he needed to keep reminding himself not to drive his fist into the Earl's nose the moment he's seen him. The fool had tried to intimidate him… HIM!... with a strong handshake and then resorted to poison-dipped compliments and acid-filled chatter. Allen had envisioned that he was cradling Noah in his arms, as it had been the only way he'd gotten through the conversation.

The girls had hidden it well and strangers might have missed it but Allen and Catherine had raised a daughter and he knew how one could hide their tears when others were around. In those first few days, when he'd come upon Mary sitting alone in a room, he'd seen how she'd leapt up and avoided locking eyes with him so that he couldn't see the redness that tinted her sclera. He had watched Edith struggle to enjoy her new freedom even as homesickness claimed her. And he'd heard Sybil murmur to herself about all the many different ways life could have gone and things might have been different. It had taken them a lot of time and effort to move on and while they were all in better places the father in him remembered well who it was who had hurt the three women that had become the daughters of his heart.

And yet here he was, forced to sit under Robert Crawley's roof (and in the back of the room, a clear insult to his station and honor), listen to music he provided, sit in his horribly uncomfortable chairs that could go straight to hell, and then thank the man for throwing a few coins at the military like he'd won the entire bloody war for them!

Allen was not in a pleasant mood.

Thus when he saw the two women who he figured had come from the village or one of the neighboring towns to listen to the performance stand up he'd thought maybe someone had finally had enough and were far more daring that him and were leaving. He considered that perhaps they would convince Lord Grantham to finally get his head out of his ass and call for a break so people could stretch, perhaps use the washroom, get some circulation back in their legs. But then they'd reached into their purses and begun to move along the rows and Allen had realized that they were merely handing things out to people. He'd been forced to go to one performance where everyone had to hold candles while a poet spoke of the stars in the night sky and considered that this was merely a variation on that. He hoped not as he'd been so bored with the poet's ramblings that he'd begun to consider lighting another man's hair on fire with his candle just to find a way to escape.

It was to his utter confusion, however, when he noticed that they seemed to be only focusing on certain people. No women at all, only men. And men who weren't in the ceremonial uniforms of the army…

"What is it?" Allen heard one of the footman ask of the woman who'd moved to stand before him. She might have been beautiful if it weren't for the vile scowl on her features and it grew all the worse as she lifted up what she held.

"A white feather of course," she said with utter loathing. "Coward."

Allen was not in a pleasant mood.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Allen roared, leaping to his feet and sending his accursed chair slamming to the floor, everyone turning towards him in shock. The poor footman who'd been given the feather had gone nearly as white as the plumage and the other man who'd been handed it didn't look much better. The musicians stopped their music cold, the sound cutting off like the reaper's blade had sliced through it, and all focus was on the enraged General as glared at the two women. "You DARE to use this moment of all moments for your… petty attention-seeking grandstanding!"

He could tell that those who had only had a bit of experience with him, namely the servants of Downton, were startled by the transformation in his voice. The army officials that he called collogues and friends were familiar with it but that didn't mean they didn't shift in their seats. Allen had always had a rumbling voice, filled with sardonic tones that put many at ease. But those that had seen him tear into cocky new recruits or be unleashed on prisoners who refused to break had heard the voice he now used to lay into the two women. It was like a bear growl mixed with brimstone, not so much spoken but forced up from his throat and past his lips. He knew he would need plenty of tea with lemon and honey to undo the damage he was doing to his vocal cords, as he wasn't a young man anymore and pulling off the commanding snarl was tearing him up but at the moment he needed the power that came from that voice.

The women were either dedicated, brave, or stupid… perhaps a mix of all three, but they both stood their ground and faced him down.

One snapped like she was a mother scolding her child. "These people should be aware there are cowards-"

"Do you KNOW who I am?" Allen snarled, cutting her off and taking a step forward. "I am General Allen Lothrop, head of Replenishment and Supplies for the entire British Army and the most senior officer in this house." He took two more steps forward and one of the women, the one that had given the valet the feather, finally began to show cracks in her brave features. "So don't you ever lecture me again." He swept his eyes over the two of them and sneered in disgust. "Oh… you're two of those."

"Two of what?" the second woman said, still having a bit of backbone though her fierceness had begun to fade. "Concerned women who wish to aid in the war effort?"

"Egotistical busybodies who compensate for their own failures by bringing down others. Oh yes… I've dealt with your kind far too many times. Whimpering whining worms who make up for all their shortcomings by wearing a façade of indignation and pious superiority." He ran his tongue along the edges of his upper teeth. "Aid in the war effort," he mocked, face scrunching up as he threw their words back at them. "Pathetic."

The first woman was looking about, realizing that this wasn't going as she had hoped. Allen could only imagine that in her mind she'd envisioned some grand heroic scene where all of them had rallied around them when they revealed the 'cowards', joining with the taunting and mocking before applauding them for their bravery in bringing to their attention the blindingly obvious that there were some sitting with them who weren't enlisted. The second though was a true zealot to her cause and wasn't fazed so easily. She squared her shoulders and declared, "We are not pathetic. We do our part, unlike these-"

"Have you enlisted to work as nurses?" Allen said, the growl leaving his voice and with it came the return of his natural jesting tone, the one he commonly used when chatting with Matthew or Thomas or his dear friend Richard. That startled the second woman all the more, having not expected his rage to suddenly disappear. But Allen saw several officers wince for they knew the trap he was laying out that the women were sure to prance right into. "No… no, I think not. You don't deal with death and suffering like that and still believe that war is something that young men to march off to happily. You don't hold the intestines of someone's son or husband in your hands and cheerfully believe that war must be marched into as lightly as your feathers weigh.

"Perhaps a factory then," he asked, now prowling around the two women like a wolf sizing up a wounded pair of does. The two of them moved closer together as he smiled with all teeth and no pleasure. "Let me see your hands." They just stared at him. "YOUR HANDS!" he roared, making everyone leap back in fright. The two women lifted their arms up and had he been in a better state of mind he'd have been disgusted with himself at how they moved to shield themselves. "You have soft hands," he said simply, taking a step back. "Never put together a car or assembled weapons for those boys you want to march out to fight and die for all of us, have you?

"So what is it you do?" he asked with a mocking lightness. "What do you do to aid in the war effort? Oh yes… you hand out feathers. Well, I dare say the Germans are going to tremble at that!" He scoffed. "You didn't come here to "expose cowards"… he came here to make yourselves feel better about your own cowardice. You could have helped in so many ways and yet you sat at home and could only wrap yourself up in your false bravery like it was a moth-eaten quilt."

"General… that is enough."

Allen slowly turned, staring down Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. He flexed his fingers and wondered if he was going to get the chance to smear the man's nose all across his flabby face.

"You are going to allow them to get away with this mockery?"

Lord Grantham squared his shoulders and stared Allen down with utter arrogance. "If they want to expose cowards they can. More power to them. It seems to have worked in exposing you as not only a coward but a traitor."

A Brigadier suddenly leapt to his feet to defend Allen but he held up his hand, forestalling the complaint. Allen only dimly realized that the footman he'd been defending had risen and hurried out of the room. "Those are powerful charges, Lord Grantham. I don't suppose you have a way to back them up?"

"I think the way you have cozied up to certain yellow-bellied cowards already proved you lack the stomach for true battle. Your words here only prove it. You're scared, General… you'd let the Germans march all over us and destroy our way of life if it meant you could sit in a chair and not have to show an ounce of courage."

"There is a difference between doing something you know must be done and naively marching off to do it," Allen retorted. "The War must be fought… but I am not blinded to the horrors of it. I actually care for every drop of British blood that is spilled… but of course I actually have to deal with the effects and can't hide away in my gaudy estate with my gifted rank-"

"Get out," Lord Grantham snapped.

"-and pretend I am a soldier-"

"Get out at once!" he shouted.

"-rather than a child playing make-believe!"

"You will leave at once! YOU are the true coward!"

Allen snorted. "Oh, I'll gladly leave." He turned to those that were still sitting, which were mostly the people from Downton and the surrounding areas as most of the military men had risen to defend him, their silence only bought out of his gesture for quiet. Some might not like what he said but they respected him and knew he'd earned his rank and they wouldn't stand by as a pompous lord degraded him. "Good people of Downton, you came here to support the Army… instead you support your lord. Because I'd rather march into hell naked than accept a dime from Robert Crawley!" He paused and nodded to the musicians. "Thank you for the performance."

With that he spun on his heels and marched out of the room, it taking only moments for every last member of the armed forces who'd been attending to follow after him. He could hear Lord Grantham, who'd suddenly realized that EVERYONE was now abandoning his event, asking the men to please stay but not a soul did.

An hour later Allen held up a glass of water and looked over at John Bates who lifted his own glass, though his was filled with brandy.

"And that is the story," Allen said before taking a drink.

Anna, who was seated nearby, looked at him in shock. "I can't believe you spoke to him like that! I… even at my hottest I'd never…"

"Well, when Downton next does something to royally enrage you think of what I did and smile," Allen said with small smirk before he downed his glass of water like it was cheap whiskey.

"How much trouble do you think you'll get in?" John asked, grabbing the pitcher and refilling the General's glass. "I know Central Command wanted this to be a pleasant evening."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get chewed out tomorrow and something will be put in my file… but they can't do much more than that. I'm too valuable to them." He paused, pursing his lips. "I suppose I can kiss my 4th star goodbye for a while."

"I'm assuming that's not good," Anna said.

John was the one who answered. "It would be like Thomas being up for the position of valet but told he had to remain a footman. Or I suppose an underbulter not being promoted to butler would be a more proper metaphor."

Anna shook her head. "Oh General…"

"Enough of that… Cat will be mad enough at me as it is." He paused and chuckled. "Not because I actually yelled at the blowhard but because she's worried I'm going to work myself up and give myself a heart attack."

John though just looked at Allen, considering everything that he'd told them. "And will this affect you when you are Lord Oakwood? You said you needed to bring dignity back to that title…"

Allen groaned. "I hadn't even thought of the bloody title. Hell, you're probably right." He let out a sigh. "I suppose my first few dinners will have a lot of declined invitations. At least among the lordly lot."

Anna noticed him looking her way and correctly guessed his thoughts. "You can't invite me and John to your first dinner as Lord Oakwood."

"And why not? You and John, Mary and Matthew, Sybil and Tom, Edith and Michael… add in the kids and-"

There was a knocking at the hotel's door and the three of them went silent. The rest of the army officials had gone to catch the late train back to London but Allen had always planned to stay the night at the Grantham Arms. All the guests were up in their rooms save for two having a quiet card game by the fire, leaving the three friends to sit at a table and enjoy some late night drinks before heading to bed. John had taken to locking the doors at night with a strict policy of not opening them again until the early morning; he'd told Allen about some Turkish diplomat and how that vile fellow had shown him that people were at the most vulnerable when they thought they were safe. With a wife and a new baby he wouldn't allow anyone to wander into his hotel while he slept.

John moved towards the door and for a moment Allen wondered if Lord Grantham had done something foolish like call the constables on him for disturbing the peace. He wouldn't put it past the man. But rather than men in police uniforms it was someone else who entered the hotel when John unlocked the door… someone Allen had never expected.

"Sanctuary," Cora Crawley whispered, clutching a sleeping Lillian to her chest.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Oh, having Allen rip those two bitches a new one was so satisfying!

And I bet you didn't see that ending coming!

So I sprained several fingers in my right hand yesterday so I am going to keep the plot bunny short as I don't want to aggravate my injuries too much.

What if Season 1 of Downton had occurred after WWI instead of before it? Basically everyone is the same age as they are in Season 1, but several years later. Patrick and James died sailing back from the Continent. Matthew fought in the war. Sybil never got to be a nurse but it is now the Roaring 20s. That sort of thing. How would things be different?

Chapter Text

Even the worst member of a staff could be dependable in certain aspects.

This was a truth that Carson (for he had worked so long in service that even in his own head he called himself 'Carson' rather than 'Charles' or the heavens above forbid 'Charlie') had held as nearly as true as the Commandments, no matter how blasphemous that sounded. One didn't last at Downton if they weren't dependable in some way for while the Crawleys believed in charity that didn't matter when it came to their servants. Whenever he had an issue with a member of the staff and idly considered sacking them he would remind himself of what they were well at and that helped temper the urge to remove many of the men and women that he thought far below the honor of Downton.

Thomas had been a liar and a cad but had been skilled with clocks and had a sharp memory that let him remember where things had been stored away. Daisy was a dull-witted girl who could never settle on a thought of her own but she had never once failed to awaken on time nor complained about staying up late (one of the reasons why Carson had agreed with Mrs. Patmore to give her more duties in the kitchen). Mr. Bates had his limp but had been the closest thing Carson had had to an under-butler, able to quietly yet firmly take nearly the entire staff by the hand and guide them towards the proper course. Ms. O'Brien had an acidic tongue and would cling to any slight against her like it was a shawl that could protect against the cold but when it came to her duties she never shirked them. She might complain bitterly about them but then she would do them, much like an old hunting dog that would snarl and snap when someone approached but still dutifully lead them to the kill.

Which was why Carson was so startled when he came down the stairs only to find Ms. O'Brien standing in the hall looking so flummoxed.

"I thought you were going to see to her ladyship," Carson said, looking up from the schedule he'd been examining, deciding on what sections he should inspect in the morning to ensure that quality was maintain. The lady's maid had left only ten minutes earlier to prepare for Lady Grantham's room for her and he knew that she would never return to the downstairs even if her ladyship wasn't there. No, Ms. O'Brien would wait, perhaps organize some drawers or tidy up a bit, until the lady of the house arrives to undress and have her hair put down and her makeup removed.

"I did." Ms. O'Brien gave him an odd look, as if everyone in the world had suddenly decided that the sky was purple and she herself could remember it always being blue. "She wasn't there... in fact it seems no one has seen her. Not since the beginning to the performance, anyway."

Carson forced himself not to grimace. He didn't like thinking about the performance and all that had happened there. His Lordship had been embarrassed (and a small, traitorous part of him that he ruthlessly cast down into the pits of his soul, whispered that his lordship had embarrassed himself), with all of the military personnel leaving and the people of the village and the surrounding areas suddenly wondering if the small donations they'd given would actually be used to help the brave lads fighting in Europe. His Lordship himself had been angered by what had occurred, so much so that Carson had quietly told William, who had fled to the Downstairs pale as a sheet, that he himself would see to Lord Grantham that night and the footman should get some sleep. Carson knew that stronger men would have demanded William steel his nerves and do his duty but Carson had seen how affected the boy had been by those women with their white feathers and taken pity on him.

He was glad he had, for his Lordship had been in a foul mood when Carson left him and William would have taken all of it as a personal slight rather than Lord Grantham merely venting his frustrations to a sympathetic ear. His rage had shifted quite rapidly, from one target to the other. He'd cursed General Lothrop's name and sworn to make him pay for his actions. He'd rued the moment he'd ever laid eyes on Matthew Crawley and let him darken his door. He'd turned his bile towards the feather-women themselves, angry that he hadn't cast them out as they had merely stirred up trouble and played on his emotions. He'd even found time to rant about the builders of the Titanic, for if they had "just bloody well done their job Patrick and James would be here and none of this would be an issue!"

Forcing those thoughts from his mind he focused on Ms. O'Brien. "She must still be up and about then. I would have thought she'd have retired early but perhaps she knew that sleep wouldn't come easily and decided to wander about."

"But that's the thing," Ms. O'Brien stated. "I've asked about and the only one to see her was Nanny Walter."

"Nanny Walter?" Carson asked. "When did see her?"

"About an hour ago, shortly after the military men left. She said that her ladyship asked to see Lady Lillian even though she was tucked into bed and whisked her away without a word."

That... was odd. Her ladyship doted on the child, sure. Carson had always been proud that the Family was so loving and supporting of their children. He knew in many homes the young were seen as little more than bartering chips; you hoped for a strong son to attract a lovely lass from an established home and thicken the branches of the family tree. You desired your daughters to be elegant and charming so that heirs would fight over them... and later, when you needed a favor from that family your daughter could whisper in the right ear. Otherwise the children meant little less. For his lordship and ladyship their daughters had always been given far more attention than most of their peers.

'And yet to take Lady Lillian after she'd already been put to bed... that doesn't make any sense.'

"You are sure she isn't-" he began only for Ms. O'Brien to cut her off.

"What? In her room? I didn't check under the bed, if that's what you mean."

He held up his hand, giving her a dark look. "I meant in none of the usual places. Lady Lillian's playroom or perhaps walking to halls?"

"I've checked Mr. Carson," she said, it tint of worry coming through her sharp words. "I checked the first floor too, in case she had decided to take her to the library for a story or something like that but everything is dark and quiet. No one has seen heads or tails of her."

Carson puzzled that over. "And there is no chance she... well..." he waved his hand about, "Went to see his lordship?"

Ms. O'Brien shook her head violently. "Oh, there would be a better chance of the Wild Hunt racing through the house and offering me a spot as lead rider than her ladyship visiting his lordship."

"There is no need for dramatics."

At that moment Mrs. Hughes approached them. "What's all this then?"

"It seems Ms. O'Brien cannot find her ladyship," Carson said.

"Can not find?" Mrs. Hughes said, almost as bewildered as he was by that line of thought.

"She was last seen with Lady Lillian," the butler stated before adding, "and yes, I know how out of place that is."

"Something is wrong, Mr. Carson," Ms. O'Brien stated. "Something is very wrong. She wouldn't just go hiding in her own home."

Mrs. Hughes patted the sour woman on the shoulder even as Daisy came up, her brow scrunched up. "Now now, I'm sure she's around. We'll get some of the footmen to look about to try and locate her. She probably heard of what happened at the performance and wanted a bit of comfort from the wee girl."

"Mr. Carson," Daisy said quietly but insistently.

"In a moment, Daisy," he said before turning to Ms. O'Brien. "Now, I will see if any of the hallboys are still up and ask them to assist. Mrs. Hughes, if you would track down William? If he has gone to bed I'll retrieve him myself."

"Mr. Carson," Daisy said again.

He ignored her. "It is possible that one of the guests remained late and wished to talk to her ladyship... I know many in the village had questions. She could be outside conversing with them and lost track of time."

"But to take Lady Lillian with her?" Mrs. Hughes stated. "In her nightwear?"

That was still an odd point but Carson decided they'd solve that mystery when they found her ladyship; it did no good to puzzle it about and guess her motives until they actually found her. "I will send William to walk about the perimeter-"

"But Mr. Carson," Daisy said, actually having the nerve to step forward and press her smaller body between himself and Ms. O'Brien. "That's just it... William's gone too."

Carson looked at her, eyes widening before narrowing. "He-" The butler paused, allowing what she'd just said to replay in his mind, to confirm that he'd heard correctly, before asking again, "William's GONE?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Daisy said, head bobbing up and down as she looked at him with her large dewy eyes. "He just rushed out of here a few minutes ago! Mrs. Patmore went after him and told me to get you!"

Carson turned and began to make his way to the kitchen, the others fast on his heels. "Does he know where her ladyship is?" he asked, wondering if perhaps something had happened and William had gone to help Lady Grantham. Perhaps one of the villagers needed assistance and her ladyship had heard and in turn informed William and he'd rushed out to help. 'Or,' his mind whispered, ice water going down his spine, 'perhaps she herself is hurt or worse... there were many who weren't happy with what happened tonight... perhaps someone loyal to that General decided to hurt his lordship through her ladyship-'

"I don't think so," Daisy said as she struggled to keep up. "He came in with his eyes all red but even though he was crying he looked real determined. He told me he wished he could give me a proper goodbye but he couldn't as there was no time and he didn't want to rush it. Then he was out the door." She let out a little gasp. "OH! And he wasn't in his livery! Just a tweed jacket and dress shirt... but he didn't even have a tie on! And he had a carpet bag in hand!"

He felt something tighten in his cut and came to a short stop, whirling on his heels and surprising even Mrs. Hughes with how quickly he'd done an about face. "Look around for her ladyship… get anyone you can find to help. I'm going to William's room." He could tell that Mrs. Hughes had already clued in on what he feared had happened with William.

"Whatever for?" Daisy asked.

He didn't answer her. He merely moved as quickly as he could.

~A~O~O~O~F~

The Next Day…

"You don't think they ran off together, do you?" Ethel asked in what she had thought was a quiet voice to Simmons, the chauffer, a tiny smirk forming on her lips.

Carson though found her far too loud and her words too clear. Eyes narrowed he leaned forward, it only his proper manners that kept him from leaping up and moving around the table to throttle the loose-lipped maid. Instead he took several calming breaths though he knew that, in his tired and agitated state, they were coming out to the rest of the staff not as slow steady breaths but the violent snorts of an enraged bull.

He realized that the longer he waited to speak the more the staff shifted in their seats. Mrs. Hughes had been the first to notice his intense stare in the direction of Ethel, followed by much of the kitchen staff and the hall boys. Even Daisy had quickly picked up that now was the time to remain silent and had dropped her eyes respectfully to her plate. Sophie for once wasn't taking pleasure in her rival getting in trouble, having sensed that now wasn't the time to draw attention to herself. Ethel, of course, had been the last and when she did realize that all eyes were on her she turned and stared him right in the eye. The bold little fool didn't even have the decency to cast her eyes downward.

"I assure you that her ladyship and William did not, Ethel," he said, measuring out each word like Mrs. Patmore would measure out flour. "I will address the least egregious of your beliefs first. William did not flee this house like a cad in the night after making off with plunder. He left to… enlist in the army." He forced himself to say those last few words, still feeling the twinges of regret as he remembered the hastily written letter William had written him and left in his room upon the nightstand. It had spoken of cowardice and shame and how he wouldn't befoul Downton a second more. Carson had yet to show his Lordship the letter and he didn't know if he would, for it had done something nothing else had ever managed to accomplish.

It had made him feel anger towards his employer.

Carson lived for the family. Had made their honor his own. Done all he could to ensure that their home and their name were held in the highest regard. While there had been times he disagreed with their actions he had understood that it wasn't his place to question them. And many times he'd been willing to examine their rational and adjust his own thoughts to fit them. Or, at the very least, find a way to argue in favor of something he personally wasn't pleased about.

And yet to know that his lordship's words had caused William such pain, to make him believe that he, Charles Carson, was ashamed of William…

It was a VERY good thing that his Lordship had allowed him to return downstairs while he handled the investigation of her ladyship's disappearance.

"What he has done was very brave and I will not have you soil his name with tawdry gossip that makes you feel better about your lot in life." Jaw clenching even more Carson bit out, "as for her ladyship I will not allow a single false word to be said against her again at this table or anywhere within this home. No, I do not know where she has gone but I assure you she would not engage in the vile and filthy actions your sinful mind is concocting."

That should have been the end of it. Any other member of the staff... no, any member of ANY staff... would have known that that particular line of thought was truly dead. They would have let it go and moved on, chastised but wiser for their mistake.

It was a sign of how far Downton had fallen that Ethel continued on.

"It is a legitimate line of thought, Mr. Carson." He stared at her, utterly gobsmacked, but before he could speak she pounced like a cat chasing a field mouse. "The footman and the lady of the house disappear on the same night, with only the kitchen maid spotting one of them? People are going to talk."

"Not. In. This. House."

"Nothing wrong with having an opinion, Mr. Carson. We are still free to have one, are we not?" The vile, odious little thing actually had the gull to reach for her tea cup and take a condescending sip. "And taking Lady Lillian, the child born after it seemed quite clear that his lordship was quite past making babies with his wife-"

Carson stood up, his chair clattering to the floor but before he could cast Ethel out Mrs. Hughes held up a hand and stopped him. He turned, thunderous that she would dare stop him from dealing with the gossiping guttersnip, but the flash in her eyes made him pause. The staff always assumed he was the harder of the two of them, the one to fear. But in truth Mrs. Hughes was the one that should have filled them with terror… for while he was stern she could be deviously cruel.

"Well Ethel, you are correct that it is your right to think such things. Just as it is our right, as the head Housekeeper and Butler of Downton, to inform you that servants who have such thoughts aren't welcomed at this table." Ethel merely stared at her and Mrs. Hughes raised an eyebrow. "Are you now deaf as well as vulgar? Get up."

"Oh, so now I'm to eat with the kitchen maids? Banished from a proper table for... for having an opinion?"

"No," Mrs. Hughes snapped off, the words clipped and sharp. "You are "banished" for being a gossiping busybody who doesn't have a lick of sense in her empty little skull and believes that she is destined for grander things when, in fact, she isn't even worthy of her current station. And furthermore you aren't going to be eating with the kitchen maids. I won't have you infecting them." She rose and moved over to Ethel, grabbing her plate with one hand and her arm with the other and hauling her up.

"You're hurting me!" Ethel cried out but if she thought she'd get a champion to rise to her defense she was sourly mistaken.

"No, I'm not. If I were hurting you you'd know." Refusing to release her Mrs. Hughes dragged the maid towards the hall. "Since you wish to bark and screech like a beast you can eat like them: outside."

"Outside!?" Ethel exclaimed as Carson moved to follow them; he didn't even bother to wave off the rest of the staff who'd risen to follow and watch with greedy eyes.

"I'll have Daisy make you up a small table. And when winter comes we'll brush the snow off it."

"You... you can't do this!" Ethel exclaimed.

"Oh I most certainly can. You are allowed to eat at our table out of our good graces." By then she'd reached the door and with a quick thrust forced Ethel's plate into her hand before opening the door and letting the cool fall air rush inside. "You seem to believe that you are able to do as you wish and say what you thhink without consequence. That you, of all creatures in creation, have been blessed to be able to do anything you desire without punishment. I am afraid I must prove that notion false. There are debts that must be paid for having a tongue that can't stop wagging." With a forceful yank she half toss/half led Ethel outside, the maid nearly falling into the dirt. "When you have shown that you can behave like a proper member of the staff you can eat with the staff."

"You... you do this and I'll be gone!" Ethel screamed.

"Will you now? And who will take you on with a reference so horrid it would make a gravedigger blush? Especially when all hear that you left because you weren't allowed to gossip about your employer and then disrespected the butler? Even the most desperate of homes won't let you in even if you started at the very bottom again. No, my dear, I'm afraid you have no choice but to stay and take your lumps." She shrugged. "Or don't. We'll manage." With that she began to shut the door. "Five more minutes till you must get back to work."

And with that she shut the door firmly on Ethel's poleaxed face.

Carson turned and, seeing the servants gawking, raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to join her?"

They scurried back like the hounds of hell were on their heels.

She turned and gave him a dry look. "I suppose you are going to scold me for that?"

"Only because I wish I had been the one to toss her out on her ear," he said with a slight smile, the Head Housekeeper raising an eyebrow before giving him a mirthful look. "Quite ingenious, I'll admit. I'd have never thought of it."

"No offense, Mr. Carson, but you are rather old fashion. New ideas aren't your standard method."

"Why would I be offended by that?" he asked, playing up his role. He might have been a dedicated butler but that didn't mean that he didn't know how to play the game and slip into the role so many expected of him. Sometimes it was rather fun to push his normal actions a step further, just to see how those around him acted. He couldn't dance to music in the servants hall like the young ones did but he could find his own ways of entertaining himself. "I happen to take quite a bit of pride in being old fashioned."

"Quite."

He motioned for her to follow him and the two made their way towards his office, both of them no longer hungry. "How long should we make her stay out there?"

"Oh, no too long. I'm not heartless, Mr. Carson. We'll let her in before the first snowfall. I'd like to wait for at least one rainstorm… that will dampen the fires within her good enough." She paused, pursing her lips in thought. "Though if that bloody girl doesn't learn her lesson she made find herself permanently living out there."

"I'd like to sack her if she made that mistake again. I wanted to sack her back at the table." He motioned for her to sit and he shut the door, to keep any prying ears from listening in. He pushed aside the rejected letters to Lady Mary, not wanting to focus on them for a moment. "Unfortunately she is quite right in one aspect… we do need her right now. We'll be struggling with no footmen, what with William… leaving." He settled into his chair with a weary sigh, suddenly feeling 30 years older. "And I fear with our other loses we'll be in a world of trouble, especially when her ladyship returns."

"Whatever do you mean?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"Did you notice that Nanny Walter wasn't with us?"

"Yes but I assumed she was still being questioned by his lordship and the constable." Carson had tried to keep word from reaching the downstairs but it had been impossible to keep matters under tight wraps when Sophie had seen the officer arrive and instantly began talking with everyone and anyone.

When it had become clear that her ladyship was not in the house it had fallen to Carson to alert his lordship. At first Lord Grantham had grumpily brushed aside his concern, assuming that Ms. O'Brien had simply missed her ladyship, their paths not crossing, and had told Carson to leave him be. Carson had been rather startled by that but the disaster that had been the concert had left his lordship unable to focus and thus he'd pushed aside his worry. But when morning had come and Carson, himself half asleep with worry, had delivered the news that Lady Grantham and Lillian were still gone his Lordship had gone from moody dismissal to dark rage, demanding to know where they had gone. A search had again been organized but by mid morning all had agreed that the staff's original conclusion was correct: her ladyship wasn't in Downton.

Storming through the estate his Lordship had then sent Simmons down to the village to get the constable, so that they might investigate the matter. Focus had first turned to the last two people to see her Ladyship and Lady Lillian: Ms. O'Brien and Nanny Walter. The two had been summoned to the library and that was when his lordship had demanded Carson leave, that he and the officer would handle things on their own.

"She isn't," Carson said, bringing himself back to the present. "I ran into her just before we ate. She was most upset, stating that his Lordship… well, I won't repeat the words she said, only hope that her emotions were causing her to embellish the cruel things she said were stated by her. But she informed me that since the constable had cleared her of any wrongdoing she was putting in her notice."

"Oh my!" Mrs. Hughes stated. "There was nothing-"

"Nothing I could do," he said, finishing her question. "As I stated, she was very upset. She said that she had served his lordship faithful these last few years and did not deserve the treatment she had received. She then informed me that she didn't blame her ladyship in the slightest for leaving-" 'That miserable bastard who believes himself holier than Christ himself!' had been her words. "-well, leaving Downton."

Mrs. Hughes slumped in her chair. "And if she felt that way… Ms. O'Brien will be far worse."

"It will all depend on her ladyship. I dare say she might stay, though I suppose that will depend on what can be offered as compensation for the interrogation she is undergoing."

There was no 'if' inserted in his sentence. There was no need for one. He knew that her ladyship was all right, that she would return home. To believe otherwise would be to believe that the Lord above was cruel and unjust.

"And they've had no leads?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

He sighed, confirming her question. "None what so ever. Word has been put out throughout the village now for any news of her to be brought to the house but with each passing hour it becomes clear that there will be no information from that front." He leaned forward and sighed. "It just doesn't make any sense. How could she just… disappear? Someone must have seen her and if they did why didn't they come to us? And who could she seek help from? No one from the house, we know that. And no one in the village would dare keep that information from us! It's like she… faded into moonbeams!" He wasn't one for getting fanciful but he couldn't help it; the whole matter utterly puzzled him. It made no sense… she had left Dwonton, with a young child no less, and no one had seen even a glimpse of her? Was it some grand conspiracy? Or a plot far more detailed than he could have ever expected?

"There… is one place she might go," Mrs. Hughes stated hesitantly. "In the village too. Where she might receive help."

"And not tell us?"

"You and I?" she asked. "Oh, they would tell us, if we asked and made it clear our concerns were merely for her safety. But his lordship?"

Carson blinked before he realized what she was hinting at. "They wouldn't. His lordship-"

"-has treated them both poorly and you know it. So their loyalty lies with the family… not with him." She rose up. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Patmore we'll be heading out. His Lordship will be busy for a while, I think, and she can tell him, should he ask, that we went to look again for any sign of her ladyship. But it has to be us… and only us."

He shifted before nodding his head. "I'll go change."

~90 Minutes Later~

"Hello, what can I-oh! Mr. Carson! Mrs. Hughes!"

Mrs. Hughes smiled as she removed her coat. "How many times have I told you, Mr. Bates, you can call me Elsie?"

"And yet you refer to me as "Mr. Bates" instead of John," Mr. Bates said, hobbling from behind the counter of the Grantham Arms and taking Mrs. Hughes' coat. Carson removed his as well, a touch troubled by having the former valet wait on him but seeing Mr. Bates motion for him to relieve himself of the garment he finally did so. "Besides, I doubt very much any of us will ever be able to change what we call each other. There are times Anna slips and calls me "Mr. Bates", after all." He smiled and moved to hang up their coats before motioning for them to sit down near the fireplace, which had a small blaze going. Nothing too large but just enough to chase away the fall chill. "It is ingrained in us… I dare say it would be like changing the color of my eyes to suddenly not address you as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"I suppose you are right," Mrs. Hughes said, settling in the chair.

"Can I get you anything? We don't have much tea, shipments have been light, but I do have a bit I could spare."

"No, thank you," Carson said politely. He felt terribly awkward about sitting in the Grantham Arms, chatting with Mr. Bates as he was. It just didn't feel right. When a servant left a house usually that was the end of it. They were never seen again and life continued on. Oh, there would be some that would promise to write, to send cards at Christmas, but that always tapered off as both parties continued on with their separate lives. Only twice had he ever seen members of the staff who had left and that had only been a hallboy, Franklin, who had gone to work for a market and delivered groceries to Mrs. Patmore a few times, and a footman, Richard, who'd gotten a job as a valet for Lord Underwood's grandson and come to Downton when Henry Underwood had come to try and win Lady Mary's hand. Otherwise people left and that was that.

To be sitting down then with Mr. Bates was a strange experience for the butler. He wasn't sure if he liked it all that much.

He'd been more than willing to wish the man well as he left service. While he thought service was the pinnacle of dignity and honor one could strive for in the working world he wasn't so blind as not to see that others were needed to make the country continue on. Bread needed to be made, papers printed, and hotels run. So he'd wished Mr. Bates and Anna well and that had been that. Even though they lived in the village he hadn't gone to visit them. Not like Mrs. Hughes, who made a weekly trip to have tea with them. Or Mrs. Patmore who at times went down to give advice to their cook when she wanted to try a new dish. No, the Grantham Arms could have been a walk away or across the world and it wouldn't have mattered to him.

'And it has nothing to do with Anna still being close to Lady Mary?' a traitorous little voice asked him, one that he forced down deep within him.

Mr. Bates settled himself into a chair, shifting so his bad leg was stretched out before him. "Anna will be here in a moment. She's just putting Noah down for a nap. Now then, what brings you both down here?"

"The truth of the matter is," Mrs. Hughes said, shifting so she might better look at the former valet, "we've come to you in a matter of need."

Mr. Bates leaned back at that. "That sounds rather serious."

"It is very serious," Mr. Carson stated. "I don't know if word has traveled down yet about the... unpleasantness that occurred during the concert last night-"

"It has and from a direct source," Mr. Bates stated.

"Then you know of the scene that General Lothrop caused."

The other man's eyes narrowed and he sent Carson's way a glower so dark and formidable that it made the butler actually start a little in its intensity. "Mr. Carson, I respect you greatly. You were kind to me even when you had your doubts about my ability to perform my duties. But Allen... General Lothrop... is a friend of mine. And I will not have him insulted under my roof." Something must have flashed across his face for Mr. Bates held up a hand. "I understand that you have your loyalty to Downton and I have it still as well. But if I must choose between the estate and a dear friend I am afraid to disappoint you but my friend will win out each time."

"Understandable," Mrs. Hughes said before Carson could utter a word. "Forgive us."

"Nothing to forgive," Mr. Bates said in a more cheerful tone. "So long as we understand each other. Now, you were saying?"

"Quite," Carson said, getting back on solid footing. "You see, after that... after the concert Mrs. O'Brien came to us and... well... it is the oddest thing and I suppose it is rather silly of me to come to you as I doubt very much you have any knowledge of it but-"

"Mr. Carson," Anna said, making her presence known. He moved to stand beside Mr. Bates' chair, placing a hand on the top of it. It was so startling to see her not in a maid's uniform but a plain but lovely dress. It was like seeing a purple sun. "You have come here to ask if we saw her ladyship after she and Lady Lillian fled."

The old man stared at the maid, finding himself yet again utterly flummoxed by what he had heard.

"I dare say we have our answer if you know that much," Mrs. Hughes stated.

Anna moved to sit in the chair next to her husband's, holding herself with all the grace and strength the Dowager herself possessed. "You do. Her ladyship did come here."

"What... whatever for?" Carson managed to get out.

"She sought out the General," Anna replied.

"And why would she ever do that?"

"Because the General is the key to seeing her daughters again," Anna retorted.

Mr. Bates continued. "She came to him seeking sanctuary. She knew that he offered hospitality to the girls and wanted the same for herself and Lady Lillian. I do not know what role the concert and its unpleasantness played in her decision but she clearly decided, quite suddenly, to ask for passage to London and welcome into his home so she might see her children again. And she understood that doing so meant that she was casting herself from Downton with little to her name. Thus sanctuary."

"Did she not leave a letter or anything?" Anna asked.

"None whatsoever!" Mrs. Hughes said, sounding as shocked as he himself was.

The former maid shook her head. "I knew I should have asked about that. I assumed she at least would have let you all know she had gone, even if in a note." She sighed. "I imagine this has caused a great disturbance at the House?"

"That, Anna, is putting it lightly," Mrs. Hughes stated.

"Why did you not say a word?" Carson asked. "The moment she arrived why was a message not sent to the house? So that chase could be given?"

"We thought she left a letter or note," Anna reminded him. "And even then... our loyalty it to Downton, even after we left its services. But that doesn't mean that we are loyal only to a single resident of the house. We are loyal to Downton... and her ladyship came to us in her moment of need. We would not betray her trust."

"I... suppose," Carson said, mulling over what she had said. "Though now we might see to putting this entire matter to rest." It was troubling news, to be sure, but to actually know the truth was far better than having no knowledge at all. With facts they could set about setting things right and get their lives back to the way they should be.

"Mr. Carson," Mr. Bates said cautiously, "what do you think is going to happen when you inform his lordship of this?"

"Why he'll go to London and retrieve her ladyship and Lady Lillian, of course!"

The couple shared a look before turning back to stare at him. "And when she doesn't wish to go with his lordship?" Mr. Bates asked.

"Why ever would she not wish to go with him?"

"She left him to go to London... she didn't ask his permission." Mr. Bates leaned forward. "Mr. Carson... she wanted to go. Alone. Without his knowledge."

He quickly pushed aside that line of thought. No good would come from thinking of it. "Well, when his lordship arrives in London her ladyship will have no choice but return with him."

"Will she?" Anna asked skeptically.

"Of course! A wife's place is at her husband's side!"

"Even when she so whole-heartedly disagrees with him?" Anna pressed.

"And do not think that she won't have allies," Mr. Bates stated.

"General Lothrop," Mrs. Hughes stated.

Mr. Bates nodded. "He is a powerful figure in the war effort and is quite beloved in London from what we've heard. All know that it is his office that is keeping their sons fed and warm as best he can. And after what happened after the concert I dare say her ladyship will have a powerful champion should his lordship attempt to force her or Lady Lillian to return before they are ready to do so."

Mr. Carson though shook his head. "We shall see about that." He rose and nodded sharply too them both. "Thank you."

Mr. Bates and Anna once more shared a look and said their goodbyes, Mrs. Hughes hurrying to catch up with him as he made his way out of the Grantham Arms.

"So I suppose we have no choice but to tell his lordship," Mrs. Hughes stated.

"Why wouldn't we?" Carson asked. "He needs to know."

"Yes... but I fear Mr. Bates and Anna are quite right. Things will not turn out as you hope."

"Then let us hope it is you wrong in this matter and not I," Mr. Carson said as they made their way back towards the Abbey, the butler already thinking about how he would break the news to his lordship.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: A chapter designed to get everyone caught up on what is going on, especially with our shifting sands. Cora has taken after her children and exiled herself from Downton. William has gone off to war. And we are brewing for some confrontations.

But before that we'll have quite a different chapter… because while everyone is now focused on Cora she wasn't the only one to leave. But again, with everyone focused on Cora… it falls to the Dowager herself to go to Mr. Mason and explain where his son has gone.

Onto our plotbunny and it is a rather simple one but also an interesting one: Patrick and his father die and leave a need for an heir and that is Matthew Crawley and Lady mary isn't happy with this. Simple enough, right? Except for one small detail…

…they die when Matthew and Mary are young children.

In other words what would happen if we had Downton Abbey occur when much of the cast was MUCH younger. Robert only a few years into being Lord Grantham, just coming to love Cora and dealing with being a father. Mary has a little girl, strong willed yes but still a child. Carson having just become butler maybe a week or so ago. The Dowager still trying to find her new role now that her husband is dead. Isobel freshly widowed with only her son and now these rich people want Matthew to move into Downton so Robert can raise him? And how would little Mary and little Matthew get on when they are both too young to truly understand what is going on and just see each other as new children that they are suddenly bumping into.

Oh, and baby Sybil learning how to say 'why' and 'no'. A lot.