XX .

Fall 1923

Matthew tried to concentrate on the warbler singing in a nearby tree branch.

In the long stretches of watchful waiting on the lines, when the pressure threatened to drive everyone mad in trying to know when and where the Boche would strike again, the quiet became quite unbearable.

You'd wish for the guns to start just to get going doing something.

And then Matthew would hear a lark sing. And in that moment he made himself take notice of the simple beauty of a bird singing alone in a tree.

In the middle of no man's land, a bird sang.

It had always given him a moment of peace.

This day, while there were no more battles to be fought thank God, unless the so-called peacemakers in Paris had fouled it up for yet another generation of young men, there wouldn't be for a very long time, Matthew listened once again to the simple pleasure of a birdsong.

It was his leg. The pain was at times excruciating and he was using the bird as a distraction.

You're getting old, Matthew grumbled to himself. In a few years he'd turn forty. He worried he'd not be able to keep up with the children.

The utter joys of their life were the children. Matthew realized his leg would constantly hinder playing and running about with them around the estate. George was a robust and rambunctious three and a half. Dorothy, his beloved little girl was two. Dot, as Matthew insisted on calling her to Mary's vexation, was bound and determined to keep up with her elder brother.

Nanny Campbell wanted Matthew to discipline them more.

He absolutely refused to curb his little ones' high spirits. It was not spoiling them, he insisted. They were good children and in this world where they all had experienced so much sadness he'd be damned if he cut the amount of laughter in the house.

Nanny would bustle away muttering under her breath but not about to naysay him.

There were benefits being Earl of Grantham after all.

Of course it helped that Mary was on medically advised bedrest and not to be disturbed.

Mary had given birth to Lilian four months ago. A hard birth, there had been complications that neither had foreseen. She had been on bedrest before and limited mobility after Lilian was born. She was slightly underweight and both mother and child were under close supervision.

Mary understood the need but chafed under the limitations.

Now she ached to get back to her life. To working on the estate. To being with her children and husband. To get back on her new horse, a gift from Matthew to replace Diamond. Rembrandt had been too young for war service and Matthew had bought him for Mary as a Christmas present last year. She had been pregnant at the time and unable to ride.

But now she's got the go ahead. The new doctor helping Dr. Clarkson at the village hospital had said she was ready and after a few weeks to get back in the saddle, she was determined to ride in the Hunt Club's Point to Point. Matthew really didn't want to sound like an old mother hen but he worried about whether that was too much for her to take on. But long days on bed rest had made Mary more than her usual irritable and Matthew had backed off any opposition.

She'd have been disposed to bite his head off and he decided retreat was the better part of a healthy relationship.

In London for some catching up on work at the House of Lords and his regular meetings with the Imperial War Graves Commission, he had made an appointment with his orthopaedic specialist for this afternoon. He hoped Dr. Ridley would be able to suggest some exercise regime to add some strength to his leg. Some days he managed to take a walk without the aid of his cane. Others however it ached something fierce and he'd have to rest and take some of the painkillers prescribed him.

Matthew was early for the appointment and so he idly massaged the left leg while listening to the birds sing and the street noises behind him off Regent Street. He pulled out his vesta match box and silver cigarette case. He never smoked anymore at Downton or in front of Mary. She hated it.

But it still relaxed him in ways he could not explain to his beloved wife.

So, in the city alone, he sat on the bench at Regents Park and opened his case. Both had been gifts from his friends Simon and Margaret Heyton on his 30th birthday in 1916. He tapped the cigarette on the case and reached for a match in the vesta to light it.

"Still using our gift, I see." A voice said from a short distance away. A light, laughing tone. A voice he knew.

Matthew looked up, dumbfounded to greet the eyes of Margaret Heyton. Warm, brown, and vivacious. She looked just the same.

Not Heyton anymore, Matthew realized. What was her husband's name? Hearn that was it!

The only woman ever to occupy a piece of his heart not unreservedly held by Mary.

"Margaret..." He stammered slightly. He had not seen her in over six years.

She stepped forward. Matthew got up with some effort, leaning heavily on his cane, and took her extended hand with his other.

Their eyes met. He softly kissed her cheek. "Hello." She said.

"What are you doing in London?"

"Frederick is a member of the Reparations Commission. He's an old colleague of President Wilson from Princeton and is over here to consult with the British before setting off for Paris to talk to the French representatives."

"Ah yes…" Matthew couldn't help but it, but he found the current proposal of drawing out of these payments by Germany to be the opposite of common sense and only will prolong the lingering feelings of mistreatment and hate.

"Frederick thinks the same." Margaret caught the disgust in Matthew's voice. "But there's only so much one man can do."

"Don't we all know it." Matthew replied ruefully, always feeling helpless in the trenches when the orders came down.

"You're looking well." She said. "Though I see your leg is still plaguing you."

Matthew's hand gripped his cane. "I'm to see the doctor today. That's why I'm in this part of the city."

"I've been each morning visiting all the parks in London. Frederick is squirreled away all day on these meetings so I'm quite on my own."

"I've been here for a few weeks doing committee work. But I'm to take the train at 7pm from Paddington back to Downton Village."

"How's Mary? I guess George must be around three now."

Matthew realized they had not kept in touch over the past years. Both had moved on with their lives and for each the past held far too many painful memories.

"Yes he is. Everyone is very well indeed. Mary's just off bedrest from Lilian's birth. Our second little girl. Our eldest is Dorothy, who's just two."

Margaret put a gloved hand to each of her cheek. "So a boy and two little girls. Isn't that just perfect."

Matthew beamed. He always did when he talked about his family.

He looked at his wristwatch. "I've got my appointment now. But what do you say about lunch later? We could go to the Savoy?"

"That would be quite the treat. I usually spend the afternoon at the British Museum. I've tried to take a room or two each day so it will take me all of my time in London to complete the tour. We leave for Paris in a few days so I expect I'll do the same at the Louvre. Though while in Paris I can catch up with the Association Les Orphelins de la Guerre."

"We can't have you on your own all the time." Matthew declared. "I'm not sure how long my leg will hold out but after lunch we could walk around the House of Lords. Show you around a bit."

"Lovely." Margaret replied.

Matthew tipped his hat and said, "I'll pick you up around 1:00 at your hotel."

With that Margaret continued her walk while Matthew struck out his cane in front of him and stepped down the street and around the corner to find his specialists office.

After a physical exam and a series of exercises Dr. Ridley sat Matthew down in his private office.

"Your leg is completely healed but you are continuing to favour your good one so that the left is not as strong as it should be. It will be never bee 100% and you do have a slight shortening of the left due to the leg being broken twice. But you can do some exercises to increase some muscle mass."

"I really liked that rowing device." Matthew pointed into the other room. "I could put one of those in an unused space at Downton and have a go once a day on it."

"Start out slow at first, build up your endurance," Ridley answered. "I can get in touch with the manufacturer and have one delivered upon purchase."

"Excellent." Matthew was pleased. He's spent the past five years with this cane. He'd love to get rid of it completely but at minimum being able to walk or run around with the children for a few hours a day would be wonderful. Have a few innings on the cricket field with George. Or Dot as she was just as keen it seemed on sports as her big brother. She was forever skinning her knee or ripping the hem of her dress as she chased Lottie the Labrador puppy all around the library.

Mary despaired in public that Dorothy was so misbehaving, but Matthew believed secretly she loved that her daughter had a mind of her own and determined not to be pushed around by anyone at such a young age. She was already scouting about for a pony for George.

The blue Salmson AL3 was in the garage for a tuning up so Matthew hailed a cab back to his club after the doctor's appointment. Mason informed him that the car had been returned so after freshening up he walked down to the kerb and drove over to Claridge's to fetch Margaret for their lunch at the Savoy Grille.

He had a bit of difficulty with the clutch on the two-seater but he had fallen in love with the car and managed to drive it around when he was in London. Mary preferred the Rolls when they were at Downton especially when driving with the children, but she was known to get the AL3 in gear when they traveled alone to the capitol.

The Savoy wasn't too crowded and they easily found a table. He ordered roast lamb and potatoes.

Margaret used the time of Matthew ordering to assess the man before her. He was more confident, more at ease with himself than she had ever seen him. Her husband had considered Matthew a brother. Their own history was more complicated. So entwined with the horrors of war and death and the need to escape what they had seen, what they had experienced. They were friends, lovers, and survivors. It bound them in ways no one else would understand.

But one thing that ever remained constant with Matthew. His love for Lady Mary Crawley. It sustained him through all the dark times. The confusion of war blurred the lines between what was right and what was wrong. They had gotten caught up in it and it had almost destroyed Matthew's military service. But he had helped her when she needed him most. And in turn, she had helped to bring him back to the woman he loved.

It pleased her to see how content he was. She had found someone new and now her life was untroubled as well.

Simon would have been happy.

"What was it you were saying earlier?" Matthew had finished ordering and sat back against the chairback. "About your work with French orphans?"

"I've tried to keep up with some of the work of the committee as they did such important work in the war. The children, now referred to as les pupilles de la nation, are given subsidies to maintain basic needs as well as medical and educational expenses. In future there will be employment subsidies as well. It's quite the undertaking given the number of children left without anyone to care for them."

Matthew gave a heavy sigh. "I have tried to request select committees in the Lords on issues on displaced people, children, or extended unemployment insurance with so many demobilized soldiers left without permanent employment but you may as well talk to the wind to get those old stick in the muds to listen to anything past their own interests. I wish I was in the Commons for at the very least I'd know I was there elected by the people rather than some outdated hereditary right of the aristocracy."

"Chafes does it? I can understand. But I'm sure you're doing your best." Margaret replied. "It's all we can do."

He waved a hand idly in the air. "It's not enough. Simon was always the practical one. Do what you can old man he'd say to me. Don't think we can talk the generals out of trying to kill us all. Just do what we can to save the lives of those under our command for to think we can do otherwise will drive us all mad."

Margaret gave a wan smile. "You sound just like him."

"I'm sorry." Matthew reached out to take her hand. "I didn't mean to resurrect distressing memories."

"Good memories cannot bring pain." Margaret wiped away a tear at the corner of her eye. "Only happiness."

Matthew's mouth twitched at the corner. He too blinked back some tears. "I think of him a lot you know. I used to imagine him in the corner of a room, cynically assessing the mess I'd made of my life. But these days he's more a voice in the back of my head reminding me of what's important and what's not."

"You seem so very happy Matthew. I'm glad."

"Me too. I wish I could meet Frederick. He's doing a difficult job and I don't envy him."

"He works too hard." Margaret said. "And is very passionate about fairness but again, no one is listening. It can be very frustrating work. We leave for Paris in a week and he'll be at work all hours up until our departure."

"I see." Matthew replied. "Let's finish our meal so I can give you that tour before my own departure this evening."

XX

"Mama I'll be out at the Downton market all morning. Can we meet later? For tea?" Mary talked into the telephone. "George is down with a chill and I want to check in on him before I go."

She paused and then said, "No no he's fine. Dr. Clarkson was here yesterday. It's just a mild cold. Nanny has Dorothy in the playroom and the nurse is tending Lilian in the upstairs nursery. It's all under control. Aunt Rosamund is expected today for tea. She'll be staying the night on her way to Scotland to spend time with Lord and Lady Flintshire."

Mary listened for her mother's response.

Cora was spending a fortnight at the Dower House tending to Violet who herself was under the weather. The dowager was eighty four and ever since losing Robert in 1919 to the flu she had never quite been herself. Sometimes Cora would spend longer amounts of time away either with Violet or visiting friends, giving Mary and Matthew time to themselves. Even though they had insisted she take a suite of rooms at Downton for her own use she sometimes felt, Mary believed, as an interloper in the lives of the new Earl and Countess of Grantham.

"Good-bye Mama. Talk with you soon."

Mary put the telephone down. Rosamund had arrived back from a long sojourn in New York City just a few weeks ago. Everyone believed the root cause of the trip had been to snag a rich American entrepreneur as a second husband. If so it had been in vain for she arrived back in England alone.

Cora had declined visiting for tea, Mary sighed as she walked away. She really didn't blame her mama. Mary girded herself for a long afternoon of gossipy and caustic anecdotes about those less interesting than herself. Rosamund could be very trying at times. She returned to the library and got on with her letter writing. She was writing Lady Beaton that Matthew agreed to speak at the ceremony dedicating the monument to the honoured dead erected in Downton Village just this month.

The dedication was to be at 11am on November 11. The fifth anniversary of the Armistice.

"Indeed," she concluded to Lady Beaton, "he was looking forward to the occasion."

Only a slight deviation of the truth.

Matthew did want to speak at the dedication. As the Earl of Grantham he was obligated to do so. As a major in the British army during the Great War he was a veteran speaking for those who could no longer speak for themselves. It was his duty and he intended to fulfill it.

But as a soldier in the hellish cauldron of the wasteland that was the battlefields of France he was a casualty of war.

He did not come back to her the same man he left.

Matthew tried to ignore it, saying she had saved his sanity and he was fine. Her love. The children. The home they had created together was enough.

She wished it were so. It would make a lovely ending to a novel. The hero returned and through the love of a good woman he was healed.

If only.

It was all true of course. They had a very happy life. Matthew loved and was loved in return. Deeply loved.

After all of their pain and suffering they had a happy life. Mary missed her father's voice. Their long walks around the estate. She had mourned him. And the child she and Matthew had lost in the miscarriage that ended in her disastrous marriage to Carlisle.

She had survived that. And the snubs and sneers that followed.

They had won. Their love shone so hard, so openly that those neighbours who wanted to break them from society's favour had instead accepted invitations to garden parties and dinners served at the Abbey. It had taken its toll on Mary but she had emerged stronger than ever.

Strong enough for the two of them. When the darkness fell upon Matthew. Usually in the middle of the night when he screamed and cursed so loud as to shake the foundations of the house. "Get down! Get down!" He'd yell. The sweat pouring from his brow. His eyes flew open yet blind to reality. He thought he was in France. His mouth would pull down into a deep frown and he'd smell the stench of death in his nostrils.

His lips would curl into a sneer.

She did not recognize this Matthew. This stranger. This soldier who wouldn't let her touch him. Comfort him. He flinched when she reached out and turned away. The covers scattered as he yanked them off and then over his head and then on the floor. His eyes would turn wild and he'd thrash around. Muttering names under his breath.

And then he'd curl up into a ball and fall into a deep but troubled sleep and remember nothing in the morning.

Or so he'd say to Mary to make her feel better.

She doubted he forgot any part of those dreams. For in the daytime as well she'd hear him mutter names under his breath. He'd sidestep walking certain places on the estate to avoid loud noises like the tractors or lorries backfiring. He'd glance around as if to see if enemy soldiers were approaching.

And then he'd go on as usual.

Matthew would say it was because of his leg and ask she'd go instead to consult with the farm manager about the oat crop yield and how much they might expect to sell to other estates. They had started growing and processing oats for sale in bulk to stables and horse training facilities. It had started to make the estate a profit and both were keen to expand to other types and grades of oats.

She knew it was not his leg, but they each played the role of humouring the other. She knew he didn't want to bring the war into lives anymore.

It was the past, he'd say. You and the children our future.

But it worried her. His leg a constant reminder of it.

Maybe this new contraption he bought and had installed upstairs in a spare room would help. The cedar wood Spalding rowing machine with chain mechanism and cast-iron arms and oak handles had arrived the other day. He had been given instructions by a physiotherapist on it's use and to remember it's not about speed but building strength over time. Don't fling his body back and forth but keep a steady stroke and work up to pulling and pushing with more power for several minutes.

Matthew had eagerly gotten started as soon as the rowing machine was assembled. Every morning he would wake up, kissed Mary soundly and deeply, and get into his exercise kit as he called the loose shirt and trousers and walked over to the spare room to do his regimen before the day's duties called him away from it.

Today he was at the office going over the books with the new estate manager. He had fired Jarvis soon after doing an initial examination of the accounting and discovered more than several discrepancies. Robert had been a good man in many ways, but finances were not his forte.

He said he'd be there all day and not to expect him for tea. With a sly wink and a slow smile he kissed her cheek and was out the door before she could protest. Matthew and Rosamund had never gotten along entirely. She had always considered him less than their kind of people.

Mary was truly alone for tea with her aunt. Edith was in London scribbling her articles for various newspapers. Sybil far away in America, though expected back for Christmas with Tom and their two little girls.

She finished and sealed her letter, putting it to one side on the desk in the library. She rang for Carson and inquired as whether the car had been sent to fetch her aunt at the station.

"Hardy left ten minutes ago. If the train is on time, Lady Rosamund will arrive within the hour."

"I see." Mary moved to sit on the settee but changed her mind. "I will go check on George in that case and return in time for Aunt Rosamund's arrival."

She walked upstairs and down the left corridor to George's bedroom. Her little boy was still fast asleep. His breathing a bit easier than it was yesterday. She felt his forehead and was relieved to feel it a bit cooler to her touch.

George was the apple of his father's eye. Matthew couldn't wait to teach him cricket. He'd read long bedtime adventure stories to him each night and do all the voices in different tones and pitches. He'd have George in stitches of laughter. When Dorothy was old enough to walk she'd toddle out of the nursery and end up in her father's arms as he finished reading. Mary would lay down on the bed beside George, cuddling him as Matthew's voice transported them to far away lands like Camelot or a castle in the hidden heart of France where a girl named Belle fell in love with a beast.

"'Eat then'…said the monster. 'and endeavor to amuse yourself in your palace, for everything here is yours, and I should be very uneasy if you were not happy.'" Somehow Matthew managed to stretch his larynx so that the Beast's voice came out of the bottom of his mouth, deep and resonant and yet not scary. The children were enthralled.

Matthew would then tell Nanny Campbell that they would put the children to bed. They'd each get a kiss on the head before their parents retired to their own bedroom. Matthew would sometimes stay at the door and watch them fall asleep.

He'd turn to Mary and whisper, "We're becoming rich." A tear in his eye. She never loved her husband more than in those moments.

Rich in love.

He never wanted to be too far away from the children. He had a different kind of upbringing than Mary. She barely saw her parents as a child except for a couple hours a day, a lunch with mama had been a treat. Matthew would have none of that. He wanted to be able to see the children at any time of the day. They would all go on picnics near the lake. He'd drive them on a Saturday morning and Mary would spread out the sandwiches and biscuits that Mrs. Patmore had packed in a hamper. George and Dorothy would chase each other and Matthew would sneak a kiss when they weren't looking.

It was as close to perfect as Mary ever hoped to attain.

Unlike today where she would have to stop this lovely reverie and return to the library and her aunt who seemed to be growing more bitter and caustic with every passing year.

A quick glance into the nursery to see Dorothy playing with her dollhouse with the temporary day nurse hired to help Mary through her post-partum pain of Lilian's birth keeping an eye on the little one while giving the five month old her midday bottle. Nanny had stepped out, Nurse Turner informed Lady Mary but would return shortly.

Mary nodded and made her way back down the stairs. She had heard Rosamund's voice upon entering the salon and knew she had already been led to the library.

She couldn't delay any more.

"Aunt Rosamund," Mary's voice was plummy and pleasant upon opening the door to the library. "How lovely to see you after the trip to America. How did you find London upon your return?"

"Just the same. Full of spongers and hangers on. Only now with laborers threatening to strike as if we're in some kind of socialist revolution. And here it was I thought we won the war." Rosamund's clipped tone was just the same. Brittle. Dismissive. She sat down on the settee and began to pour a cup of tea.

Mary didn't want to be drawn into her aunt's prejudices nor her politics. Matthew had told her about the tension in the capitol when he himself returned a fortnight ago. A general strike of some kind seemed inevitable in the near future given the government's refusal to budge and the workers, many returning soldiers, unfazed by the idea of fighting for what they believed they deserved.

"Well there must some good news surely?"

Rosamund glanced up over her cup of tea.

Mary braced herself for some gossip.

"I did see Matthew." Her cutting tone was unmistakable.

"Really?" She idly shook her head. "He didn't tell me."

"He didn't see me."

She was enjoying this Mary realized. "Oh," she replied simply, refusing to be caught in this web Rosamund was enjoying spinning. She didn't like her aunt's conspiratorial tone. She shrugged her shoulder. "So what? He was in London on various business."

Rosamund leaned forward.

"I was lunching with Marjorie and Phoebe at the Savoy Grille. Over at a discrete table in a darkened corner I caught a glimpse of Matthew with a woman. I don't know who she was but it was..." She almost seemed to pause for effect. "…quite intimate."

"I don't see how you can determine that based upon a lunch…"

"At first I thought I was mistaken. But then he moved into the light and stroked her arm at one point. The look they exchanged after. I don't mean to raise your hackles, but it was a quite astonishing display."

Of course you do, Mary thought crossly. You intend just that. "I'm sure Matthew …"

At that moment the man himself arrived to come to the aid of his wife with her aunt's visit. He knew Rosamund could be trying and was only joking that he'd be away all day.

"Sure Matthew what?" He asked cheerfully, not knowing any of what was previously said.

Rosamund directed the conversation towards Matthew. "Explain why you were lunching in an intimate fashion with a woman in London. My friends found it very odd and it was all I could do to stop them spreading it all over London. Given your own past indiscretions I would have thought you'd learned some harsh lessons and comport yourself more accordingly."

Matthew's brow furrowed. He was at first confused, and then his lips pursed tight and his eyes narrowed. Who does she think she is waltzing in here virtually accusing him of bringing shame upon his family with an affair.

"I had lunch with a friend." Each word spoke with as tersely diplomatic a tone as he could muster.

"You didn't even inform your wife of this date?" Rosamund indicted. "Look at her. She had no idea."

Matthew licked his lips nervously and glanced over at his wife. Mary did not turn to look at Matthew. He could tell she didn't want to give her aunt the satisfaction of catching her off guard. Instead she calmly continued to drink her cup of tea, her face blank. The kind of look she had learned from years of not showing her true feelings in public.

He hated seeing her like that. They were supposed to be able to tell each other everything. No matter what. But he'd be damned if he was to confess an indiscretion when there wasn't one. He had a perfectly good explanation as to why he did not tell Mary about his lunch with Margaret. One she'd understand.

Matthew hoped she would anyway.

He rounded on Rosamund instead, "What I do in my private affairs is no concern of yours!"

"It is if it brings shame on the family." She paused for effect. "Once again."

Matthew's furious intake of breath was all Mary needed. He was about to go apoplectic on her aunt. Someone needed to diffuse the situation.

"Your role as guardian of Crawley behaviour is acknowledged Aunt Rosamund. Now can we change the subject and enjoy our tea." Mary's intent was clear. "I hear that Elgar is on the program for the Queen's Hall. Did you have time to go? I know how much you enjoy it."

Rosamund knew she had gone too far in her accusations and withdrew her knives. The two women began a conversation about various musical concerts they had attended in London.

Matthew walked over to pour himself some tea. His hand shook as he placed the cup on the saucer. He was rattled by Rosamund's charges. And despondent that he had caused any pain to his wife with his failure to disclose everything about his trip to London. He should have thought of the possibility of idle gossip among silly and bored women.

Stupid, stupid man… He'd have to make it all up to Mary that very night.

XX

"I expect you want an explanation." Matthew took off his robe and flung it on the nearby chair. He placed his cane next to the night table and got into the bed next to his wife.

Mary calmly put down her book. "Only if you want to. I won't demand it. We're allowed some measure of privacy even within a marriage."

Matthew looked sheepishly at his wife. "It really was perfectly innocent. I happened to see Margaret Hearn at Regent's Park while I was waiting for my appointment with Dr. Ridley. She was on her own as her husband is with the Reparations Commission and in meetings all day. I suggested we eat lunch and then I'd give her a tour of the House of Lords. I really didn't think anything of it. I'm sorry."

"Margaret…" Mary nodded slowly. It all made sense now. Matthew's history with her was complicated. He never brought it up these days for fear of hurting her feelings. And it dredged up the war which both avoided.

His eyes were always a mirror into his soul. She saw they were troubled and she reached out to stroke his cheek. They flamed red.

"It's fine Matthew. I understand now."

Matthew heaved a sigh. "I know how you hate being caught unawares. I… I didn't know how to bring it all up without…" His shoulders slumped. He still found it very difficult to talk to Mary about Margaret.

"Without reminding me of the history between you." Mary softly finished for him. "You don't have to do that you know. I'm not angry about it. I know it's a difficult subject."

Matthew's heart was beating out its chest. He didn't deserve Mary. He really didn't. "It hurts just the same, I know."

"I don't think you do actually." Mary sat up against her pillow, resting her arm upon her husband's.

Matthew turned, his eyes dilated wide. "What do you mean. My disgrace due to my thoughtless behaviour hurt you. Hurt the family. Made your own unbearable situation with …with" he spat out the vile name "… Carlisle even worse."

"I would be as guilty as he or Aunt Rosamund if I held those things against you. You have already more than explained how you and Margaret came to be together. It makes a kind of sense only if one is fully aware of the senseless of the war."

"I hate talking about it. I know you do too." His mouth started to spasm and he bit his lip to stop it.

"Perhaps we must though." She gripped his hand tight.

Matthew clasped it like a lifeline and brought her hand to his lips.

"I am not angry about you meeting Margaret. I found her clear headed and sensible when we met those few years ago. The time she encouraged me to write to you. She always will have your best interests at heart."

"I still have your letter you know." Matthew said. "I carry it in my wallet everywhere. Along with the picture you gave me when I first left for France. Mason always called it my talisman and so it is. My good luck charm."

"The gulf between us was very large then. We spent so much time apart. I don't want to dredge it all up but I am jealous of one thing."

Matthew startled at that. "What? Really?"

"The time she and Simon got to be with you. To know you as you were in the war. I know we say neither of us are to blame, but I will always feel an emptiness that I wasn't there to comfort you when you most needed it. That you…" Mary paused but pushed herself to say it "…you had to find it elsewhere because I wasn't strong enough to brave the storm of scandal and leave Richard earlier."

Matthew's calm facade shattered into a thousand pieces to hear Mary speak so. "Oh Mary …Mary. Never say that. You're a storm braver if ever I saw one. You are so strong. I wasn't the person I should have been for you. I could use the excuse of the war. It does make one mad and I believed I was going to die every day. That nothing mattered. But we've survived all of it. And come out the other side bit battered and worse for wear," Matthew massaged the leg that was once again spasming under the covers. "I intend to spend the rest of my life making yours the happiest possible. That's my sole reason for living. I want nothing to come between us ever again."

Mary folded herself into his arms. He was shaking with a cold sweat.

She would be there for him as long as he needed her. Through the night and into the next morning. And for all the rest of the days of her life.

It was all as it should be.

XX

"We are gathered here today for a most solemn occasion. The dedication of the Downton Village monument to the honoured dead. The fallen in the Great War of 1914-1918." Matthew paused to collect himself before continuing.

"I had a great friend during the war who was fond of rather cynically quoting the Victorian politician and historian Thomas Babington Macauley. In particular the call to emulate Horatius and his companions in ancient Rome who were willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater cause of duty and patriotism. …And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods?'"

He looked out to the gathered crowd. To the families of the Village who had lost their husbands, their fathers, or brothers. To his own family. Mary holding Lilian tightly while Cora had George under control. Dorothy leaned against Edith's shoulder. His mother looking directly ahead, giving him the love and support she would always give. To his fellow veterans. Some without limbs. Others like William Mason blinded by gas. He saw Margaret and Frederick, her husband holding his wife's hand as Matthew spoke about his old friend, her first husband Simon Heyton. Mary had suggested he invite the Hearns for the week end and the dedication of the memorial. He had told Margaret he wanted to speak about Simon briefly during the speech and would it be too much for her if he did so? She had said to go ahead as he was just the person to understand him best.

"And Simon would scoff and say 'good enough for him anyway he didn't actually have to die whereas we do.' I understand that sentiment. The so-called war to end all wars had bitterly proven the falsity of those old Victorian sentiments. We are all at sea in it's aftermath. We can't go back and we are afraid to move forward. But I know we must." He looked out to his fellow survivors. "We must cling to what we do know. To love. To family. To each other. One thing for sure we will not forget the sacrifices made on the battlefields of France. Of Gallipoli. At sea and in the far-off corners of the empire. I've visited many of the newly commissioned cemeteries and they are remarkably peaceful and places of healing if you let them. In the shadow of death we will remember. In the words of John McCrae

To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

He concluded, "we shall not break faith. We shall remember." And he walked over unaided by his cane to remove the sheet covering the monument to the dead soldiers.

He stood back for a moment of silence and a prayer from the rector of St. Michael and All Angels church.

Matthew sought out Mary's eyes as he ever did when he was away from her. And when their gaze fell upon each other, love shining in her eyes, he knew he felt truly at peace.

XX

This story is very important to me. It's my favorite of all I've written as I was able to put in a lot of my interests in the Great War into the plot. It's my favorite Mary and Matthew as I would have hoped their real canon story could have been—complicated and yet loving. So for me I needed to write this epilogue and conclude this story the way I wanted. Thanks for reading. It's my new years resolution to write epilogues for all my 'incomplete' stories so look forward to having more of Three Strikes, Hearts and Bones, and Pushing In as well as new chapters for The Gift. I love writing MM fic and as long as I have readers or reviewers or both I will keep writing. Thanks again.!