Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.”