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It is, believe it or not, the first thing she properly fights with Edith over.
Oh, she’s always resented the strange, crying thing that invaded her life. Even before Edith was born, when Mama’s tummy grew larger and everyone spoke of how marvelous it would be for her to have a brother, she was suspicious. Then suddenly there is this strange creature in the nursery - a sister, who cries loudly and smells strange and looks even stranger. She can’t honestly see what all the fuss has been about. And she can sense that everyone else seems disappointed too.
“Well. She’s a fine, healthy child, at least,” her Granny sighs. “And they never are much to look at at this age.”
Mary looks into the cradle at the pink, wrinkled thing, until Nanny shoos her way with a “Mustn’t wake Baby.”
Mary can’t spend every dry afternoon running about the gardens anymore, because Nanny needs to look after baby Edith. Edith learns to sit and crawl and to do all sorts of things that Mary can already do perfectly well. She resents the attention Edith gets when she does such simple things.
When she gets bored of the nursery and frustrated with Edith, Mary makes her way down to the kitchens. Mr Carson lets her sit in his office with a cup of cocoa and biscuits. She likes Mr Carson. She especially likes making him smile and laugh, and the way he pats her on the head and tells her she’s a clever girl.
When her birthday comes she gets new toys and dresses and Mrs Patmore bakes her a cake. Mrs Patmore tells her she mustn’t eat it now, it is for later when Granny comes for tea. But then she gives Mary biscuits and tells her Mr Carson said she was to see him in his office. Mary feels rather important as she takes the biscuits - plus an extra one for Mr Carson - and makes her way to the office.
His eyes light up when she hands him the biscuit. “Thank you, Lady Mary. And a very happy birthday to you. How does it feel to be three years old?”
Mary smiles, drawing herself up. “I am all grown up,” she declares.
Mr Carson smiles. “I should be very sad if that were true, Lady Mary. Now, I wanted to see you because I have a little something for you.” He pulls out a package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with red ribbon. She beams.
“Oh, what is it?” she asks, tearing the paper away to reveal a small dog. She holds it in her hands, he’s the perfect size to cradle against her chest. She beams. “Oh, thank you, Mr Carson!” she says, and she leaps forward to give him a hug. He pats her back fondly.
“You are most welcome, my dear. Now, off back to the nursery with you. You’ll have to be getting ready for your party.”
Mary nods, and hurries out the door, biscuits long forgotten. She carries him in her basket all day and ties ribbon around his neck and cradles him to her chest when she sleeps at night. He quickly becomes her favourite toy.
One day, several weeks later, she leaves him in the nursery while she goes for a walk in the grounds with Papa and Osiris. She is so proud to be asked she forgets to take him with her. When she returns, she finds Edith’s sticky wet fingers wrapped around his neck. She screams in anger, snatching it roughly from her sister’s hand. Edith wails, loud and horrible, but Mary just glares, cradling her poor little dog to her chest. He’s sodden and squashed and she’s not going to apologise to her sister, no matter how much Nanny tells her to.
“Mine,” she sniffs, clutching the dog carefully to her chest. “He’s mine.”
Edith sobs, her eyes filled with tears, but Mary just juts her chin in the air and glares.
*****
As they grow older, their rivalry only increases. They fight over dolls and games and who gets to show off more to Nanny and Mama. Edith always begs to play with the little dog, but Mary refuses. He’s her dog, Mr Carson gave him to her. Nanny has given up asking her to share this particular toy, she knows it’s a lost cause.
Her cousin Patrick often visits. He hasn’t given up. “She just wants to play with him, you know,” he says.
Mary gives her cousin a withering look. “He is my dog,” she says firmly. She doesn’t understand why Patrick is here, again. He thinks he’s so clever just because he’s a boy and he’s older than her. But he isn’t cleverer than her. Papa and Mr Carson told her so.
They’re walking in the gardens while Nanny sits on a blanket under a tree with Edith. Mary is carrying the little dog in her basket, along with some flowers she has picked for Mama. In the blink of an eye, Patrick reaches out and snatches him from the basket.
She screams and chases after him, scattering the flowers everywhere. But he runs faster than her, and reaches Edith. He hands her the dog with a flourish. Edith’s joy is short lived, however. Mary snatches the dog back as soon as she catches up with him. As soon as she’s sure that the dog is unharmed, she throws all of her strength into pushing Patrick over.
“How many times, Master Patrick!” Nanny sighs. “Don’t take Lady Mary’s dog. It isn’t very nice. Lady Mary, you’re not to push your cousin, that isn’t nice either.”
Mary pouts, stomping back over the grass to gather up her basket.
*****
She’s old enough to understand what’s happening when Sybil is born. She is to have a new brother - or sister, but no one seems excited about that prospect. Having lived three years with Edith, Mary doesn’t blame them. It is a sister, in the end. But despite a general sense of disappointment, everyone seems to take to baby Sybil very well. She isn’t as loud or annoying as Edith was (is) and Mary is happy to help Nurse care for the new arrival. She has huge, blue eyes and soon she’s smiling at everyone who speaks to her. She has utterly charmed them all.
When she learns to toddle around the nursery, she approaches Mary’s bed. “Dog!” she says proudly, pointing at the head that pokes out from under Mary’s pillow.
Mary pauses.“Yes. Mary’s dog,” she says, firmly and carefully.
Sybil reaches out and Mary has a moment of panic. But Sybil just pets the dog, smiling happily. “Nice dog,” she declares, and then toddles off in search of some other distraction.
Mary breathes a sigh of relief.
*****
She’s walking past the drawing room when she hears voices from inside. “…James will be here tomorrow,” her Mama says.
“Again?” her Granny replied. “Really. He is growing quite fond of Downton, isn’t he?”
Her Mama sighs. “What can we do? They are family. And he is heir.”
“It is not his house yet, he would do well to remember that. Of course, that would be his mother’s influence. Ghastly woman. Well, I suppose there is nothing to be done, without a boy. Mary will marry Patrick, and all will be well,” her Granny said.
Mary’s eyes widen, and she steps closer to the door. Surely her Mama will tell Granny she isn’t going to marry Patrick.
“Yes,” her Mama sighs.
Patrick? She doesn’t want to marry Patrick! It was bad enough when Nanny told her he would be visiting again tomorrow. Her eyes widen even further. Perhaps that is why he is coming tomorrow - to marry her! What if she must go away with Patrick and Cousin James? She doesn’t like Cousin James. And she definitely doesn’t like Patrick.
No, she won’t do it. If she must leave Downton, she will do it alone. She hurries to the nursery, throwing things into her basket. A hairbrush, some ribbon, and of course her dog. She gathers it all up and goes in search of Carson. She must have something to survive on when she leaves, after all. She will ask him for some silver.
*****
The years pass. Mary has many toys, and outgrows most of them. Her dolls fall in and out of her affections, but that little dog never leaves them. She sleeps with him still, though she leaves him under her pillow for most of the day.
Fraulein Kelder arrives and teaches them to and play and sing and speak French and all the other things accomplished young ladies should know. Mary experiences an occasional moment of sisterly harmony with Edith over their shared dislike of the governess. She learns to ride, racing across the fields with Papa. It gives her such a thrill. She learns to dance, too - days spent in the drawing room, all the furniture moved back and Mama guiding her and Edith around. Granny watches from the sidelines, talking of the balls and parties she attended when she was a debutante. Mama begins to talk of Mary’s coming out, of her first season. At thirteen, it seems impossibly far away to Mary.
She moves out of the nursery. Edith is terribly jealous, and Mary is smug as she waits in her brand new room. She stares at the red walls proudly as the housemaid brushes out her hair and helps her prepare for bed. It is almost like having a proper lady’s maid. Mary has never felt so grown up. So grown up that though she has brought the little dog with her, he is safely tucked in a drawer. She does not need to sleep with him any longer.
But when the lights are all extinguished, and she’s lying in the large, cold bed, she suddenly feels a shiver run down her spine. The room seems darker than the nursery, the rich red walls looming over her, dark and ominous. And it’s quiet - so quiet. She misses the sound of Sybil’s soft breaths from the corner, and even the noise of Edith tossing and turning as she settles in to sleep.
She hops out of bed after ten minutes, hurrying over to rummage in the drawer for the dog. She climbs back into bed, her fingers curled around his narrow body, and manages to close her eyes.
*****
Years later, she’s reminded of that night as she lies in bed, once again scared and unable to sleep. But this is so much worse than that night. What are strange shapes in the darkness compared to this? Her stomach is positively churning at the thought of Matthew returning to the front.
It’s strange how suddenly seeing him again has made her so worried for him. They’re friends again, she supposes that may have something to do with it. Perhaps seeing him has brought back feelings she has been ignoring for two years. She must ignore them, she knows this. He seems happy with Lavinia, who seems a perfectly lovely girl. But Mary can’t bear the thought of anything happening to him.
She lies on her back, staring up at the canopy of her bed. If only there was something she could do to make sure he would be safe. She’d even tried praying for him, but it didn’t feel like enough. She feels so terribly powerless
She rolls on her side with a sigh, her hand moving automatically under her pillow. There’s nothing there, of course - she doesn’t sleep with the dog anymore. At twenty six, she’s far too old for that sort of thing. And yet her hand seems to move of it’s own accord, seeking out the comfort it knew as a child.
And then it hits her. She sits up, hurriedly climbing out of bed and over to the drawer she keeps it in. She turns it over in her hands, examining it as best she can in the darkened room. It’s slightly worn, but not as much as one would expect given it’s age. It will be strange, being without it. She slept with it for almost as long as she can remember, and even when she gave that up during her first season she had it with her in her room in London. Everywhere she’s ever gone, it has been with her. It has always been her talisman, her lucky charm.
But Matthew needs it now. She knows in reality it isn’t likely to make much difference one way or the other. It’s probably a very silly idea, but she must do it.
She doesn’t sleep that night, and the sun is not long in the sky when she makes her way to the station, the dog tucked safely in her bag.
*****
He’s sleeping still. She helped Sybil clean him and make him comfortable. Sybil expected her to flinch, to have to stop or leave because it was too much for her. Really, she’s annoyed her sister thinks her so feeble. It was horrible, yes, but she hadn’t once wanted to turn away. How could she, when he needs her?
He’s clean now, dressed in fresh pyjamas and lying on crisp, clean sheets. His cuts have been cleaned, but along with his bruises they stand out starkly against his pale skin. He looks so young, almost like a child. Her eyes fall on the dog. It’s lying on the bedside table. She reaches for it, her fingers curling around the thin body in a familiar way even though it’s been almost two years since she last saw it. It’s dirty and dingy and smells awful - but it’s intact. Barely a scratch on it.
Just like he promised.
She feels her eyes sting, her fingers clench even tighter around it and she swallows thickly.
She takes a deep breath, then rises to move to the end of the bed where the basin lies. She takes a cloth and the warm, mostly clean water, and starts slowly scrubbing the dirt away from the toy. When it’s finished, she sets it in the windowsill behind Matthew’s head to dry.
He isn’t finished with it yet.
*****
It sits in their bedroom after they marry, on the bedside table. She thinks Matthew may be even more fond of it than she is. If Molesley thinks it odd, he doesn’t say. Mary is glad of it. It sits there for some time, but it isn’t long before it is taken from her again.
But Mary can’t bring herself to be jealous this time.
“I haven’t seen that dog in years,” her mother remarks. “Where on Earth did you find it?”
Mary sips her tea. She looks down fondly at the floor, where little WIlliam is chewing on the dog’s ear. “Oh, I had it lying around,” she says.
Her mother smiles fondly. “You always used to be so fond of it. I never understood why you were so attached to it, out of all your toys.”
Mary just smiles. On the floor, William bangs the stuffed toy against the ground, babbling away loudly to it.
“Careful, darling,” Matthew says. Mary turns to see him enter the room. She smiles warmly at him, and he returns it, dropping a kiss to her cheek before he kneels beside his son. “You don’t want to hurt him.”
William looks up at his father with wide eyes. They’ve darkened like her own, which Mary finds slightly disappointing. She’d hoped their son would have Matthew’s eyes. “He will take care of it,” she says gently.
“It will take care of him,” Matthew corrects, looking up at her.
She meets his eyes, her smile softening. “I certainly hope so.”