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In the bleak midwinter
Dec. 20th, 2015 11:49 amChristmas passes relatively quietly at Downton. Mary can hardly remember the last time the family celebrated Christmas at home rather than on holiday at Duneagle. It's a shame to miss out on the opportunity to visit their younger cousins, but Mary agrees that it would be inappropriate to make a large party of it when so many of Britain's young men, including Cousin James, are spending Christmas at the front. Annabelle and little Rose send a news-filled missive to their Crawley cousins, and Rose includes a charming little drawing of Duneagle Castle.
The new year brings good news from the Western Front. Though it's not the much desired victory in Flanders, Mary was relieved to read of the unofficial Christmas truce. Along the front lines, guns fell silent on Christmas as soldiers on both sides left the trenches sing carols, exchange gifts, and kick around a football.
It's one more day that Matthew's life has been spared, and one day closer to next Christmas when, with any luck, the world will have returned to normal.
Historical notes: 1)The 1914 Christmas truce really happened, and was not covered in the British press until a week later, following a story by the New York Times. In the following years of the war, there were Christmas truce's between some units, but never on the same scale. 2) "In the Bleak Midwinter" was written by Christina Rossetti. Originally published in 1872, the poem was set to music by Gustav Holst in 1906.
The new year brings good news from the Western Front. Though it's not the much desired victory in Flanders, Mary was relieved to read of the unofficial Christmas truce. Along the front lines, guns fell silent on Christmas as soldiers on both sides left the trenches sing carols, exchange gifts, and kick around a football.
It's one more day that Matthew's life has been spared, and one day closer to next Christmas when, with any luck, the world will have returned to normal.
Historical notes: 1)The 1914 Christmas truce really happened, and was not covered in the British press until a week later, following a story by the New York Times. In the following years of the war, there were Christmas truce's between some units, but never on the same scale. 2) "In the Bleak Midwinter" was written by Christina Rossetti. Originally published in 1872, the poem was set to music by Gustav Holst in 1906.
In Which Life Returns to Normal
Dec. 1st, 2015 03:06 pmAfter so many months bound at Milliways, Mary almost doesn't notice when her door home unexpectedly reappears one day.
(Almost.)
What began as an inconvenience eventually became a relaxing, if strange, holiday from the realities of home, but once she's sees the door, Mary knows it is her duty to return.
Anna welcomes Mary back as if she had only returned from a normal morning walk, judiciously choosing not to comment on Mary's change of outfit and shoddily styled hair.
(Even months at Milliways couldn't give Mary the skills to style her own her hair well. Some days she resorted to braiding it, like a much younger woman, but couldn't quite bring herself to wear it down.)
Mary spends the afternoon not hiding, but reacclimating herself to much more lavish surroundings, until it is time to dress for dinner.
~*~
Mrs. Crawley hasn't visited since Matthew left to take up his commission in the Army. Mary doesn't miss her company, specifically, but she can feel the hole Cousin Isobel's absence leaves in their Downton social circle, not the least because there's no one left to take up Sybil's side of things against Granny and Papa in dinner conversation. That role could fall to Mary, but she usually opts to make digs against Edith rather than taking any political stand.
Matthew writes, but not very often, and only to Papa. He reads the letters aloud to his daughters at breakfast. Those days, Mary's morning ride lasts longer than usual.
~*~
Mary is more conscious of Matthew's absence at Downton than she was at Milliways, but it's becoming an old ache. What she's surprised to realize is that she misses the friendships she had begun to build while she was away.
Anna, as always, is Mary's sounding board at home. She listens patiently, doesn't judge harshly, and gives advice that is both frank and kind. Mary shares stories about the many new people she's met: the foreign queen, the elf woman with the strange tattoos, the foul-mouthed American police woman, the faerie squire—even the unruly mob in unusual matching suits.
Anna begins to teach Mary to dress her own hair, and when Sybil finds out—she catches Mary practicing one day—she insists on learning, too. They hold practice sessions in Mary's room and can't resist the urge to use their meetings to share gossip along with hairdressing instructions. To Mary's surprise she find herself having fun.
~*~
If she were a different person, Mary might throw herself into work, but of course there isn't any work to do. (There are charity functions to attend in support of the war effort, but those are simply social obligations.) Instead, she decides to continue her musical study.
Edith finds Mary in the music room one day, practicing a tricky passage of Chopin.
"Mary?" she asks. "You're the last person I expected to find here."
Mary scowls at her. "I took the same lessons you did."
She doesn't really want to fight about this. It's not worth it. But with Edith, the worst always slips out.
She keeps practicing anyway, ignoring Edith's disbelief at her skill after so many years of neglect. One of these days she'll find herself at the end of the universe again, and she needs to be ready for Ysalwen's first lesson.
(Almost.)
What began as an inconvenience eventually became a relaxing, if strange, holiday from the realities of home, but once she's sees the door, Mary knows it is her duty to return.
Anna welcomes Mary back as if she had only returned from a normal morning walk, judiciously choosing not to comment on Mary's change of outfit and shoddily styled hair.
(Even months at Milliways couldn't give Mary the skills to style her own her hair well. Some days she resorted to braiding it, like a much younger woman, but couldn't quite bring herself to wear it down.)
Mary spends the afternoon not hiding, but reacclimating herself to much more lavish surroundings, until it is time to dress for dinner.
~*~
Mrs. Crawley hasn't visited since Matthew left to take up his commission in the Army. Mary doesn't miss her company, specifically, but she can feel the hole Cousin Isobel's absence leaves in their Downton social circle, not the least because there's no one left to take up Sybil's side of things against Granny and Papa in dinner conversation. That role could fall to Mary, but she usually opts to make digs against Edith rather than taking any political stand.
Matthew writes, but not very often, and only to Papa. He reads the letters aloud to his daughters at breakfast. Those days, Mary's morning ride lasts longer than usual.
~*~
Mary is more conscious of Matthew's absence at Downton than she was at Milliways, but it's becoming an old ache. What she's surprised to realize is that she misses the friendships she had begun to build while she was away.
Anna, as always, is Mary's sounding board at home. She listens patiently, doesn't judge harshly, and gives advice that is both frank and kind. Mary shares stories about the many new people she's met: the foreign queen, the elf woman with the strange tattoos, the foul-mouthed American police woman, the faerie squire—even the unruly mob in unusual matching suits.
Anna begins to teach Mary to dress her own hair, and when Sybil finds out—she catches Mary practicing one day—she insists on learning, too. They hold practice sessions in Mary's room and can't resist the urge to use their meetings to share gossip along with hairdressing instructions. To Mary's surprise she find herself having fun.
~*~
If she were a different person, Mary might throw herself into work, but of course there isn't any work to do. (There are charity functions to attend in support of the war effort, but those are simply social obligations.) Instead, she decides to continue her musical study.
Edith finds Mary in the music room one day, practicing a tricky passage of Chopin.
"Mary?" she asks. "You're the last person I expected to find here."
Mary scowls at her. "I took the same lessons you did."
She doesn't really want to fight about this. It's not worth it. But with Edith, the worst always slips out.
She keeps practicing anyway, ignoring Edith's disbelief at her skill after so many years of neglect. One of these days she'll find herself at the end of the universe again, and she needs to be ready for Ysalwen's first lesson.
In Which Nothing Goes As Planned
Dec. 7th, 2014 01:27 pmTwo years earlier, Mary could never have imagined seeking advice from a pirate. But then, she never imagined seeing her future sink to the bottom of the Atlantic, or die, suddenly, in her bedroom. A more pious woman would see her current predicament as penance for her sins. But Mary, she... holds a tête-à-tête with the Pirate King.
Perhaps she'll need Elizabeth's advice again. Pirate's know something of revenge, don't they?
Her thoughts fly ahead of her, though. First, a decision.
Mama said to to accept Matthew, and stay silent about Mr. Pamuk, but that was before the baby. If Lady Grantham has a son, will she still think so kindly on her eldest daughter marrying an ordinary Manchester solicitor with no title and no fortune? Aunt Rosamund certainly wouldn't. She has been vehement that Mary should wait until the baby is born to accept Matthew. Or to refuse him.
It's too cold. Too calculating. It's too much the woman Mary is reputed to be, while Matthew makes her want to be anything but. Elizabeth did say that her own husband found out her secrets before their nuptials, and he married her still. If Matthew loves Mary as she loves him, she can only hope he will forgive her past. The news that Matthew may not be Papa's heir after all complicates matters, but when Mary thinks of deserting Matthew now, she feels a sense of loss. She truly believes what she told Aunt Rosamund; Matthew may never be a Lord, but he has the wits and the charisma to rise to power on his own, especially with Mary at his side to navigate society. Mary could... she could adapt to having lesser means, given time. Probably.
And better to have Matthew no than no one ever! God, the humiliation of hearing from Evelyn Napier, a man she considers a friend, that Edith is the source of the rumors about Mary and Mr. Pamuk. It's bad enough the Evelyn knows her shame, and now he knows that Mary's own sister is against her. Edith will ensure that Matthew finds out, sooner or later, so Mary would rather tell him the truth herself.
Yes, when she returns to Downton, it will be time to stop putting Matthew off. He's waited long enough for a response to his proposal. Mary will tell him the truth, and if Matthew will still have her, they'll be married.
~*~
It's late when Mary sends Sybil away. Sybil noticed Matthew's absence at dinner--an urgent matter at his office in Ripon said Mrs. Crawley, looking pointedly at Mary--and Mary's stoic silence, and recognized that something was wrong. Mary confessed the truth to her sister, or most of it at least. She told Matthew a secret about her past, and it irrevocably changed the way he sees her. She feels so foolish and ashamed. She doesn't deserve to be happy, and she said as much, sobbing into Sybil's shoulder.
Sybil embraced her, petted her hair, ensured Mary that she is beautiful inside and out and if Cousin Matthew can't see that, he doesn't deserve her. Mary doesn't believe Sybil, but her voice is comforting.
Alone, Mary awkwardly pulls at the fastenings of her dress. She hears a stitch rip and several beads fall to the floor as she struggles out of the dress, but eventually she frees herself. Her jewelry is carelessly discarded on the dressing table, and her hair cascades around her face inelegantly, mostly free from its pins.
The sad woman in the mirror has become too familiar.
~*~
The Crawley family is now to be unlucky in all things. Mama is still recovering, physically and emotionally, from losing the baby. Papa is haunted by the news that the baby would have been a son. (His sadness that he would finally had a real heir doesn't make Mary feel any better about her own position in the family.) Edith is disappointed in love, rejected by Sir Anthony Strallan. Edith can glare daggers at Mary all she likes; she deserved it. And England is at war again. Papa is already talking of taking up his post in the army again and of the sacrifices they shall have to make at home.
Mary feels like she's sacrificed enough of her happiness without having to forego luxuries. Let it be someone else's turn.
And Matthew has volunteered to serve his country, of course. He would insist on doing the right thing, even if it places his life in danger. Matthew and Mary may not be on speaking terms, but she doesn't want him to die. While he's alive, at least she knows her home will be taken care of, not by her, but by someone fundamentally decent, not by a stranger. And she just doesn't want him to die.
There is at least a small silver lining to the dark clouds gathering about Downton. The imminent war effort is all anyone can talk about. No one has time to gossip about an Earl's daughter's rumored indiscretions.
For now, it will have to be enough.
Perhaps she'll need Elizabeth's advice again. Pirate's know something of revenge, don't they?
Her thoughts fly ahead of her, though. First, a decision.
Mama said to to accept Matthew, and stay silent about Mr. Pamuk, but that was before the baby. If Lady Grantham has a son, will she still think so kindly on her eldest daughter marrying an ordinary Manchester solicitor with no title and no fortune? Aunt Rosamund certainly wouldn't. She has been vehement that Mary should wait until the baby is born to accept Matthew. Or to refuse him.
It's too cold. Too calculating. It's too much the woman Mary is reputed to be, while Matthew makes her want to be anything but. Elizabeth did say that her own husband found out her secrets before their nuptials, and he married her still. If Matthew loves Mary as she loves him, she can only hope he will forgive her past. The news that Matthew may not be Papa's heir after all complicates matters, but when Mary thinks of deserting Matthew now, she feels a sense of loss. She truly believes what she told Aunt Rosamund; Matthew may never be a Lord, but he has the wits and the charisma to rise to power on his own, especially with Mary at his side to navigate society. Mary could... she could adapt to having lesser means, given time. Probably.
And better to have Matthew no than no one ever! God, the humiliation of hearing from Evelyn Napier, a man she considers a friend, that Edith is the source of the rumors about Mary and Mr. Pamuk. It's bad enough the Evelyn knows her shame, and now he knows that Mary's own sister is against her. Edith will ensure that Matthew finds out, sooner or later, so Mary would rather tell him the truth herself.
Yes, when she returns to Downton, it will be time to stop putting Matthew off. He's waited long enough for a response to his proposal. Mary will tell him the truth, and if Matthew will still have her, they'll be married.
~*~
It's late when Mary sends Sybil away. Sybil noticed Matthew's absence at dinner--an urgent matter at his office in Ripon said Mrs. Crawley, looking pointedly at Mary--and Mary's stoic silence, and recognized that something was wrong. Mary confessed the truth to her sister, or most of it at least. She told Matthew a secret about her past, and it irrevocably changed the way he sees her. She feels so foolish and ashamed. She doesn't deserve to be happy, and she said as much, sobbing into Sybil's shoulder.
Sybil embraced her, petted her hair, ensured Mary that she is beautiful inside and out and if Cousin Matthew can't see that, he doesn't deserve her. Mary doesn't believe Sybil, but her voice is comforting.
Alone, Mary awkwardly pulls at the fastenings of her dress. She hears a stitch rip and several beads fall to the floor as she struggles out of the dress, but eventually she frees herself. Her jewelry is carelessly discarded on the dressing table, and her hair cascades around her face inelegantly, mostly free from its pins.
The sad woman in the mirror has become too familiar.
~*~
The Crawley family is now to be unlucky in all things. Mama is still recovering, physically and emotionally, from losing the baby. Papa is haunted by the news that the baby would have been a son. (His sadness that he would finally had a real heir doesn't make Mary feel any better about her own position in the family.) Edith is disappointed in love, rejected by Sir Anthony Strallan. Edith can glare daggers at Mary all she likes; she deserved it. And England is at war again. Papa is already talking of taking up his post in the army again and of the sacrifices they shall have to make at home.
Mary feels like she's sacrificed enough of her happiness without having to forego luxuries. Let it be someone else's turn.
And Matthew has volunteered to serve his country, of course. He would insist on doing the right thing, even if it places his life in danger. Matthew and Mary may not be on speaking terms, but she doesn't want him to die. While he's alive, at least she knows her home will be taken care of, not by her, but by someone fundamentally decent, not by a stranger. And she just doesn't want him to die.
There is at least a small silver lining to the dark clouds gathering about Downton. The imminent war effort is all anyone can talk about. No one has time to gossip about an Earl's daughter's rumored indiscretions.
For now, it will have to be enough.
Mary returns to her hostesses home in Lincolnshire clutching a small case. Thankfully, it had been sitting in her rented room when she returned upstairs from the bar, because their was no way she could put her own garments back on by herself, and she was most certainly not asking any of the other patrons for help.
She rings for Anna, who arrives quickly, and to her credit, does a very good job not letting Mary's strange attire throw her.
"Good evening, m'lady."
"Good evening, Anna. Please, could you help me out of these ridiculous clothes."
"Will you be going back down to the drawing room, m'lady."
"Oh, no. I've had about all I can take of them for one day. I'd rather retire early." Though is it truly early if she's been gone for hours, first riding, then socializing with strange women.
Anna helps her out of her jacket and gently folds it on a chair. "You haven't asked where I've been or why I've been dressed this way."
"I wouldn't want to pry," says Anna. "You'll tell me if you need to."
"You'd hardly believe me."
"I've never known you to be a liar, m'lady."
"Well it began right after Patrick died…" Anna listens attentively as Mary recounts her first and subsequent visits to Milliways, freely admitting that the place she's describing seems impossible. She herself would find it impossible had she not seen it first hand.
Anna doesn't excuse Mary of trying to deceive her, nor does she seem to think that Mary is hysterical. However, she does ask, "Are you sure it's safe, m'lady?"
"I hadn't really thought," Mary answers. "People there are strange, but no one has threatened me harm."
Anna agrees that it's best not to tell Countess, or anyone else in Mary's family. Their reactions would probably be less measured than Anna's. And as for the clothes…
"I'll just pack these riding clothes, m'lady. I'm sure I can find a quiet time to launder them once we're back home."
Mary's not quite sure when her life became full of quite so many secrets, but if she continues as she has been, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight anytime soon. More and more, the woman she seems to be on the surface may not truly be who she is at all.
She rings for Anna, who arrives quickly, and to her credit, does a very good job not letting Mary's strange attire throw her.
"Good evening, m'lady."
"Good evening, Anna. Please, could you help me out of these ridiculous clothes."
"Will you be going back down to the drawing room, m'lady."
"Oh, no. I've had about all I can take of them for one day. I'd rather retire early." Though is it truly early if she's been gone for hours, first riding, then socializing with strange women.
Anna helps her out of her jacket and gently folds it on a chair. "You haven't asked where I've been or why I've been dressed this way."
"I wouldn't want to pry," says Anna. "You'll tell me if you need to."
"You'd hardly believe me."
"I've never known you to be a liar, m'lady."
"Well it began right after Patrick died…" Anna listens attentively as Mary recounts her first and subsequent visits to Milliways, freely admitting that the place she's describing seems impossible. She herself would find it impossible had she not seen it first hand.
Anna doesn't excuse Mary of trying to deceive her, nor does she seem to think that Mary is hysterical. However, she does ask, "Are you sure it's safe, m'lady?"
"I hadn't really thought," Mary answers. "People there are strange, but no one has threatened me harm."
Anna agrees that it's best not to tell Countess, or anyone else in Mary's family. Their reactions would probably be less measured than Anna's. And as for the clothes…
"I'll just pack these riding clothes, m'lady. I'm sure I can find a quiet time to launder them once we're back home."
Mary's not quite sure when her life became full of quite so many secrets, but if she continues as she has been, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight anytime soon. More and more, the woman she seems to be on the surface may not truly be who she is at all.
Mary is not opposed on principle to a weekend of country sports, but she can't be expected to be happy stranded in Lincolnshire in such dull company, under the watchful eye of an elderly Marchioness who won't permit any of the ladies to ride out with the hunt. To make matters worse, the Marchioness invited Edith, so the weekend isn't even an escape from her vile sister. An unexpected door to Milliways has never been more welcome.
She desperately wants a ride, but there's no way the beading on her evening dress would survive. It's unavoidable. She'll have to ask the Lady Bar for assistance. Mary is surprised when I request for appropriate attire for riding is met with a small iron key and note reading "You'll find everything you need in your room upstairs." She is even more surprised when she sees the clothes laid out for her on the bed. The shirt and jacket are fine, if strangely cut, the boots and gloves are of good quality leather, but the… breeches. There's nothing else in the wardrobe--of course she checked--so is apparently Mary's only option, setting aside admitting defeat and returning to Lincolnshire.
It's only with great difficulty that she fights her way free of her evening dress, camisole, and petticoat, and somehow she manages to loosen the laces on her corset enough to pull it off. (She'll worry later about how in God's name she'll get any of that back on.) At least Bar's generosity in providing the clothing also extended to including a short note explaining their wear. The undergarments are ridiculously scant, in Mary's opinion, and the less said about them the better. This entire ordeal of dressing herself is embarrassingly difficult--it's enough to make Mary reconsider hiding Milliways' existence from Anna. In a rare concession, Mary and Edith were allowed to bring Anna with them for the weekend, even if she isn't a real lady's maid, Lady Grantham didn't want to send two grown daughters without servants. But Anna's in Lincolnshire, which is no help to her here.
Ensemble complete, Mary stands before the full length mirror. She'd be much more comfortable with the usual full skirt to cover the breeches, but it's no worse than the strange things she's seen women from other times wear. There's nothing to be done for her hair, aside from yanking a red feather out of it. Mary eyes the black helmet still sitting on the bed, but… no. Considering the breeches, leaving her head uncovered is a small faux pas. It will have to do. She's spent long enough getting dressed, and for her it's already the end of a long day, so it's past time to find a horse to ride.
31 July 1913
Papa received a letter from Aunt Rosamund this morning. Hopefully she scolded him about removing us to the country before the end of the Season. It's very wrong-headed of Papa to keep us from Wimbeldon and the regattas, all for the sake of a village flower show.
Papa and Sybil were quite shocked when I said a envy Aunt Rosamund. Yes, her husband is dead, but that was years ago and she barely knew him. And now she has the means to be free to do as she pleases. It's not so naïve as to believe my marriage will be a great romance. If that were the case, it would have happened years ago. I will be lucky, at this rate, to find someone tolerable.
~~
1 August 1913
A chance encounter with Cousin Matthew yielded intelligence that will not be pleasing to Edith. (Edith, I know you're always trying to read my journals, and if you continue, then it serves you right that you won't like what you read.) Despite Edith's declaration that if I wouldn't have Matthew, she would, and her pursuant attempts to throw herself at him, he is decidedly not interested.
I'm surprised sometimes at how unobjectionable Cousin Matthew has turned out to be, for a man destined to steal my fortune from under my nose. Though he does still insist on riding that horrible bicycle around town. Why?
~~
7 August 1913
Edith was especially tedious today. Thanks to the rain I was unable to ride, and was instead stuck inside with her insidious prattling.
Mama has invited Sir Anthony Strallan to dinner tomorrow, I expect with the intention of throwing him at me. I may not be a débutante, but I'm not desperate. Has it really come to this?
Had Papa let us remain in London there would be far better prospects.
~~
8 August 1913
Why must I ruin positively everything?
I don't know how it happened, but rumours of my lost virtue have reached London, thus Mama's latest attempt at matchmaking. She's only trying to help, but the idea of it is unfathomable. Except to Edith, apparently.
Why did I have to challenge her? What does it prove? That I am more attractive and appealing? Everyone knows that. Let her throw herself at that boring old fossil.
Cousin Matthew was the only tolerable company at dinner. I might've gone so far as to say he was quite good company, but I've ruined that now too. He was offended that I ignored him after dinner, and he was right to be. It was all a game. Under other circumstances I would know better, but Edith's smug grin is simply infuriating.
If what she wants is to anger me, she has done it.
~~
9 August 1913
Mr. Molesley's roses were the finest in the village, as ever, but in an unexpected turn of events, Granny allowed him to win the cup. Perhaps even the most stubborn of the Crawleys can change.
Granny and Cousin Isobel may have settled their differences, but I fear Matthew has not forgiven me yet. I apologized, but he remained cold for the rest of the day. Thank goodness we return to London in two days. I cannot take any more of his disappointed looks.
Papa received a letter from Aunt Rosamund this morning. Hopefully she scolded him about removing us to the country before the end of the Season. It's very wrong-headed of Papa to keep us from Wimbeldon and the regattas, all for the sake of a village flower show.
Papa and Sybil were quite shocked when I said a envy Aunt Rosamund. Yes, her husband is dead, but that was years ago and she barely knew him. And now she has the means to be free to do as she pleases. It's not so naïve as to believe my marriage will be a great romance. If that were the case, it would have happened years ago. I will be lucky, at this rate, to find someone tolerable.
~~
1 August 1913
A chance encounter with Cousin Matthew yielded intelligence that will not be pleasing to Edith. (Edith, I know you're always trying to read my journals, and if you continue, then it serves you right that you won't like what you read.) Despite Edith's declaration that if I wouldn't have Matthew, she would, and her pursuant attempts to throw herself at him, he is decidedly not interested.
I'm surprised sometimes at how unobjectionable Cousin Matthew has turned out to be, for a man destined to steal my fortune from under my nose. Though he does still insist on riding that horrible bicycle around town. Why?
~~
7 August 1913
Edith was especially tedious today. Thanks to the rain I was unable to ride, and was instead stuck inside with her insidious prattling.
Mama has invited Sir Anthony Strallan to dinner tomorrow, I expect with the intention of throwing him at me. I may not be a débutante, but I'm not desperate. Has it really come to this?
Had Papa let us remain in London there would be far better prospects.
~~
8 August 1913
Why must I ruin positively everything?
I don't know how it happened, but rumours of my lost virtue have reached London, thus Mama's latest attempt at matchmaking. She's only trying to help, but the idea of it is unfathomable. Except to Edith, apparently.
Why did I have to challenge her? What does it prove? That I am more attractive and appealing? Everyone knows that. Let her throw herself at that boring old fossil.
Cousin Matthew was the only tolerable company at dinner. I might've gone so far as to say he was quite good company, but I've ruined that now too. He was offended that I ignored him after dinner, and he was right to be. It was all a game. Under other circumstances I would know better, but Edith's smug grin is simply infuriating.
If what she wants is to anger me, she has done it.
~~
9 August 1913
Mr. Molesley's roses were the finest in the village, as ever, but in an unexpected turn of events, Granny allowed him to win the cup. Perhaps even the most stubborn of the Crawleys can change.
Granny and Cousin Isobel may have settled their differences, but I fear Matthew has not forgiven me yet. I apologized, but he remained cold for the rest of the day. Thank goodness we return to London in two days. I cannot take any more of his disappointed looks.
Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart.
Mar. 2nd, 2013 10:24 am"Sometimes I rather envy you, having somewhere to go every morning."
"I thought that made me very middle class?"
"You should learn to forget what I say. I know I do."
"How about you? Is your life proving satisfactory, apart from the Great Matter, of course?"
"Women like me don’t have a life. We choose clothes and pay calls and work for charity and do the season, but really, we’re stuck in a waiting room until we marry."
"I’ve made you angry."
"My life makes me angry, not you."
~*~
The truth is, Matthew Crawley is not a bad man, not in any of the ways she expected. Mary had been unfair to him, both before he arrived at Downton and after. It's true that he wasn't raised to this life, but he can't be faulted for that, and all things told, he's adapting very well.
Running into him at the village fair had been, dare she admit it, a pleasure. Unlike many of the men she meets, Matthew never seems overawed or fearful in her presence. They're not friends, but perhaps they could be. Time will help her accept that Matthew will have the future that should be hers. Time, and securing a good future for herself, of course.
Matthew says that to break the entail, they would need a private bill in Parliament, and with Papa determined not to fight the entail, that option is firmly off the table. The estate, the title, all of it, will be Matthew's when the day comes. At least he's a good enough man not to gloat about it. He almost seems like he would give it all to Mary, if he could. But the lawyer knows the law.
Sadly, Papa said is true as well. Mary's future would be so much simpler if she would just marry Matthew, like everyone in the family seems to want. She'd agreed, albeit reluctantly, to get married for the family once, why not do it again?
For one, she was younger when everything was settled with Patrick. Young enough that she didn't struggle against the arrangement until years later. She wants the position and the life she's been raised to, but she want it on her own terms. She wasn't lying when she told Sybil that she had no unrealistic expectations of romance in marriage, but that doesn't mean she wants no choice. She doesn't want Matthew to inherit her, just another part of the estate. She knows she's being stubborn, but knowing doesn't change the way she feels.
Oh, why couldn't Matthew have been an ogre? Did he have to sweep in, becoming the son Papa had always wanted? This would be so much easier if they could all hate him and move on with their lives. But now it is Matthew that is the golden child, the future of Downton, and Mary has fallen, much farther than even Papa knows. She'd ruined herself with Mr. Pamuk, and if word ever gets out she'll lose her place in society and all her prospects, possibly forever. Six months seems safe, but scandal has a way of following one around forever.
Mama always says that everything will look better in the morning, but Mary somehow doubts that. Each day is as empty of purpose as the next. Each day draws her farther and farther away from the life she thought she should have.
Soon she'll be back in London for the most important events of the Season. Then the rounds of weekend house parties will begin. She'll put on her best face, even though her heart's not in it. She wants a choice in how she'll live her life, and right now, continuing on as if nothing is wrong is the best choice there is.
~*~
[Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.04 by Julian Fellowes and Shelagh Stephenson]
"I thought that made me very middle class?"
"You should learn to forget what I say. I know I do."
"How about you? Is your life proving satisfactory, apart from the Great Matter, of course?"
"Women like me don’t have a life. We choose clothes and pay calls and work for charity and do the season, but really, we’re stuck in a waiting room until we marry."
"I’ve made you angry."
"My life makes me angry, not you."
~*~
The truth is, Matthew Crawley is not a bad man, not in any of the ways she expected. Mary had been unfair to him, both before he arrived at Downton and after. It's true that he wasn't raised to this life, but he can't be faulted for that, and all things told, he's adapting very well.
Running into him at the village fair had been, dare she admit it, a pleasure. Unlike many of the men she meets, Matthew never seems overawed or fearful in her presence. They're not friends, but perhaps they could be. Time will help her accept that Matthew will have the future that should be hers. Time, and securing a good future for herself, of course.
Matthew says that to break the entail, they would need a private bill in Parliament, and with Papa determined not to fight the entail, that option is firmly off the table. The estate, the title, all of it, will be Matthew's when the day comes. At least he's a good enough man not to gloat about it. He almost seems like he would give it all to Mary, if he could. But the lawyer knows the law.
Sadly, Papa said is true as well. Mary's future would be so much simpler if she would just marry Matthew, like everyone in the family seems to want. She'd agreed, albeit reluctantly, to get married for the family once, why not do it again?
For one, she was younger when everything was settled with Patrick. Young enough that she didn't struggle against the arrangement until years later. She wants the position and the life she's been raised to, but she want it on her own terms. She wasn't lying when she told Sybil that she had no unrealistic expectations of romance in marriage, but that doesn't mean she wants no choice. She doesn't want Matthew to inherit her, just another part of the estate. She knows she's being stubborn, but knowing doesn't change the way she feels.
Oh, why couldn't Matthew have been an ogre? Did he have to sweep in, becoming the son Papa had always wanted? This would be so much easier if they could all hate him and move on with their lives. But now it is Matthew that is the golden child, the future of Downton, and Mary has fallen, much farther than even Papa knows. She'd ruined herself with Mr. Pamuk, and if word ever gets out she'll lose her place in society and all her prospects, possibly forever. Six months seems safe, but scandal has a way of following one around forever.
Mama always says that everything will look better in the morning, but Mary somehow doubts that. Each day is as empty of purpose as the next. Each day draws her farther and farther away from the life she thought she should have.
Soon she'll be back in London for the most important events of the Season. Then the rounds of weekend house parties will begin. She'll put on her best face, even though her heart's not in it. She wants a choice in how she'll live her life, and right now, continuing on as if nothing is wrong is the best choice there is.
~*~
[Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.04 by Julian Fellowes and Shelagh Stephenson]
Doing the Season
Jan. 27th, 2013 12:02 pmChristmas comes to Downton over a month after the party Mary attended at Aphrodite's loft in New York, by which time the party seems like a distant memory. She feels like the woman who went to the party was a completely different person. It's difficult to enjoy the festive atmosphere when her guilt over the death of Mr. Pamuk is still tearing her up inside and Mama will hardly look at her, let alone speak to her more than is absolutely necessary to keep up appearances.
It is a relief then, when the holidays are finally over and the family begins preparing to decamp to Grantham House. They arrive in London afte the first month of the new year closes, and are immediately swept up in society dinners and entertainments. For Mary, the parade of engagements is an all too welcome distraction. She doesn't have friends, as such, but it is refreshing to interact with people outside her family. People who won't judge her for her behavior last November—not that they wouldn't consider it, just that they have no information by which to judge her. Evelyn may have no interest in marrying her, but he has clearly chosen to be discreet.
One of her only regrets is that Anna has, as always, been left at Downton. Jane, the head housemaid at Grantham House is efficient, and admittedly can work wonders with Mary's hair, but that doesn't stop Mary from missing her easy camaraderie with Anna.
Papa persuades Cousin Matthew to join them in town for a weekend, but thankfully Mary doesn't have to see much of him. He's always trying to be kind, and Mary can't stand so much earnestness from the man who's arrived to steal her birthright. Papa keeps him occupied for most of the weekend meeting friends around town and, of course, at his club. Mama hosts a dinner on Saturday, and though Matthew is not exactly in his element, there's nothing objectionable in his behavior. Still, it's a relief to see him flee back to Yorkshire on a Monday morning train.
By Easter, life has seemingly returned to normal. Mary and Sybil ride or walk in Hyde Park most mornings, occasionally accompanied by Edith, who is her usual less than delightful self. Mary re-accustoms herself to casually flirting in drawing rooms, albeit somewhat less casually than before—it wouldn't do to let things go too far, again. Perhaps potential suitors can sense the artifice, or perhaps it's the lack of fortune that no one speaks of but everyone knows about that is the obstacle.
It's all rather boring, in a very familiar way. In April, Mr. Travis prays for the eternal repose of those souls lost on the Titanic one year before. Prayer seems empty to Mary, but she wishes for Patrick the peace that she lacks.
[For the curious, takes place between Downton Abbey episode 1.03 and 1.04]
It is a relief then, when the holidays are finally over and the family begins preparing to decamp to Grantham House. They arrive in London afte the first month of the new year closes, and are immediately swept up in society dinners and entertainments. For Mary, the parade of engagements is an all too welcome distraction. She doesn't have friends, as such, but it is refreshing to interact with people outside her family. People who won't judge her for her behavior last November—not that they wouldn't consider it, just that they have no information by which to judge her. Evelyn may have no interest in marrying her, but he has clearly chosen to be discreet.
One of her only regrets is that Anna has, as always, been left at Downton. Jane, the head housemaid at Grantham House is efficient, and admittedly can work wonders with Mary's hair, but that doesn't stop Mary from missing her easy camaraderie with Anna.
Papa persuades Cousin Matthew to join them in town for a weekend, but thankfully Mary doesn't have to see much of him. He's always trying to be kind, and Mary can't stand so much earnestness from the man who's arrived to steal her birthright. Papa keeps him occupied for most of the weekend meeting friends around town and, of course, at his club. Mama hosts a dinner on Saturday, and though Matthew is not exactly in his element, there's nothing objectionable in his behavior. Still, it's a relief to see him flee back to Yorkshire on a Monday morning train.
By Easter, life has seemingly returned to normal. Mary and Sybil ride or walk in Hyde Park most mornings, occasionally accompanied by Edith, who is her usual less than delightful self. Mary re-accustoms herself to casually flirting in drawing rooms, albeit somewhat less casually than before—it wouldn't do to let things go too far, again. Perhaps potential suitors can sense the artifice, or perhaps it's the lack of fortune that no one speaks of but everyone knows about that is the obstacle.
It's all rather boring, in a very familiar way. In April, Mr. Travis prays for the eternal repose of those souls lost on the Titanic one year before. Prayer seems empty to Mary, but she wishes for Patrick the peace that she lacks.
[For the curious, takes place between Downton Abbey episode 1.03 and 1.04]
Lady Mary's Secret
Dec. 29th, 2012 12:33 pmLady Mary Crawley wants nothing more than a chance to go back to two days ago. If she could, she would do anything in her power to make sure that things turned out differently.
Instead, she walks through the gardens, alone with her thoughts.
"Everything seems so golden one minute, then turns to ashes the next."
Mary had resented her mother's machinations, both marital and political. The Hon. Evelyn Napier was an eligible bachelor—wealthy, reasonably attractive, well-mannered, and respected in society—but Mary was quite happy to carry on a courtship without meddling. As for the Albanian negotiations and the Turkish attaché, she honestly didn't care.
That all changed when the gentlemen arrived. Evelyn was everything proper, as usual, but Mr. Pamuk... He was charming and gorgeous and unfamiliar. To think she had tried to avoid going on the hunt! It was exhilarating riding for the first time in weeks, and with such delightful company. Dinner to had been enjoyable. Seated next to Mr. Pamuk, Mary revelled in the opportunity to laugh at the clashing personalities of her family.
It was after dinner, she determines, that it began to go wrong.
"Let me come to you tonight, please."
She should never have followed him out of the drawing room. Maybe if she hadn't, he would still be alive today, back in London at the Turkish Embassy, where he belonged.
His kiss had been shocking, but easily rebuffed. His next request went beyond shocking. The suggestion itself was insulting to her.
"Please leave at once or I'll..."
"Or you'll what?"
"I'll scream."
Why couldn't he have just left when she asked? She had made it perfectly clear that his advances were unwanted. Hadn't she? Maybe there was something she could have done, something she could have said, that would have convinced him. Even now she can't think what that might have been.
"You and my parents have something in common. You believe I'm much more of a rebel than I am. Now please go. I'm not what you think I am. If it's my mistake, if I've led you on, I'm sorry, but I'm not."
He was so insistent, though, in spite of all her protestations. In the end, even though she knew it was wrong, it was so much easier to just give in. After all, he was right. If she cried out for help, she would surely become the object of scandal. The suggestion of impropriety was all it would take.
"He's dead. I think he's dead. No, I'm sure he's dead."
One minute he was alive... and the next he was not. It was so sudden, and utterly terrifying.
This would be her punishment. A dead man in her bedroom.
Dead.
Kemal Pamuk may have been a rake, but he did not deserve to die, and it's Mary's fault he's gone. She's destroyed a man's life, destroyed her relationship with her mother, and possibly destroyed her reputation in society.
"Have you ever felt your life was somehow... slipping away? And there was nothing you could do to stop it?"
She can't undo Mr. Pamuk's death, and she doesn't know how to atone for it. The guilt, she feels, will follow her forever.
If only she were a better person. If only it had been a wonderful hunt with a charming man, and nothing more. She is a fallen woman now, and a man is dead because of it, and she's still not sure what she could have done to prevent it. Be a better person perhaps.
In the end, it's all too late. It seems she may not be destined for a happy life.
[Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.03 by Julian Fellowes]
Instead, she walks through the gardens, alone with her thoughts.
"Everything seems so golden one minute, then turns to ashes the next."
Mary had resented her mother's machinations, both marital and political. The Hon. Evelyn Napier was an eligible bachelor—wealthy, reasonably attractive, well-mannered, and respected in society—but Mary was quite happy to carry on a courtship without meddling. As for the Albanian negotiations and the Turkish attaché, she honestly didn't care.
That all changed when the gentlemen arrived. Evelyn was everything proper, as usual, but Mr. Pamuk... He was charming and gorgeous and unfamiliar. To think she had tried to avoid going on the hunt! It was exhilarating riding for the first time in weeks, and with such delightful company. Dinner to had been enjoyable. Seated next to Mr. Pamuk, Mary revelled in the opportunity to laugh at the clashing personalities of her family.
It was after dinner, she determines, that it began to go wrong.
"Let me come to you tonight, please."
She should never have followed him out of the drawing room. Maybe if she hadn't, he would still be alive today, back in London at the Turkish Embassy, where he belonged.
His kiss had been shocking, but easily rebuffed. His next request went beyond shocking. The suggestion itself was insulting to her.
"Please leave at once or I'll..."
"Or you'll what?"
"I'll scream."
Why couldn't he have just left when she asked? She had made it perfectly clear that his advances were unwanted. Hadn't she? Maybe there was something she could have done, something she could have said, that would have convinced him. Even now she can't think what that might have been.
"You and my parents have something in common. You believe I'm much more of a rebel than I am. Now please go. I'm not what you think I am. If it's my mistake, if I've led you on, I'm sorry, but I'm not."
He was so insistent, though, in spite of all her protestations. In the end, even though she knew it was wrong, it was so much easier to just give in. After all, he was right. If she cried out for help, she would surely become the object of scandal. The suggestion of impropriety was all it would take.
"He's dead. I think he's dead. No, I'm sure he's dead."
One minute he was alive... and the next he was not. It was so sudden, and utterly terrifying.
This would be her punishment. A dead man in her bedroom.
Dead.
Kemal Pamuk may have been a rake, but he did not deserve to die, and it's Mary's fault he's gone. She's destroyed a man's life, destroyed her relationship with her mother, and possibly destroyed her reputation in society.
"Have you ever felt your life was somehow... slipping away? And there was nothing you could do to stop it?"
She can't undo Mr. Pamuk's death, and she doesn't know how to atone for it. The guilt, she feels, will follow her forever.
If only she were a better person. If only it had been a wonderful hunt with a charming man, and nothing more. She is a fallen woman now, and a man is dead because of it, and she's still not sure what she could have done to prevent it. Be a better person perhaps.
In the end, it's all too late. It seems she may not be destined for a happy life.
[Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.03 by Julian Fellowes]
Sea Monsters of Yorkshire
Dec. 17th, 2012 08:34 pm"There's nothing wrong with doctors. We all need doctors."
"We all need crossing sweepers and drainmen too, it doesn't mean we have to dine with them."
In only a month, the arrival of Matthew and Isobel Crawley has completely disrupted the order of life at Downton. Sybil may protest that there's nothing wrong with a lawyer son of a doctor, but the fact remains that the two Crawley families are different.
There can be no bridge between them.
And yet her own mother and grandmother would attempt to build one.
"Did you mention this to Granny? Did she laugh?"
"Why would she? It was her idea."
Mary had her entire life to ready herself to marry Patrick, and she was prepared to do it, for the good of the family. It was right, it was practical, and besides, Patrick was a gentleman.
She was nothing short of horrified that Mama and Granny could betray her like this. How easily they gave up on her and her inheritance once the usurper arrived.
"Perseus, son of a god. Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?"
"That depends. I'd have to know more about the princess and the sea monster in question."
Mary was forced to grant that Matthew Crawley was not unintelligent, though he might have found a better way to prove it than by insulting her.
And although her strange conversation with Sybil those weeks ago had proved to be rather prescient,
Mary can't think what, other than Sybil's inherent kindness, would provoke her to claim that Cousin Matthew is "really not that bad."
"You won't marry him though, will you?"
"What, marry a sea monster?"
She most certainly will not marry him. How could she stand herself if she did? That smug face staring back her from across the table, day after day, self-satisfied in the knowledge that he had secured not only a fortune and a title, but a bride far out of his league.
The idea is beyond ridiculous. Especially when she has other prospects, like Evelyn Napier, who had written so kindly. A Viscount is not an Earl, but Matthew Crawley would always be an Earl in name only, because he certainly woud not be one in breeding.
And gentle-natured Sybil was also naive, so it would only be best to forget her words.
"We shouldn't laugh, that's so unkind."
[Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.02]
"We all need crossing sweepers and drainmen too, it doesn't mean we have to dine with them."
In only a month, the arrival of Matthew and Isobel Crawley has completely disrupted the order of life at Downton. Sybil may protest that there's nothing wrong with a lawyer son of a doctor, but the fact remains that the two Crawley families are different.
There can be no bridge between them.
And yet her own mother and grandmother would attempt to build one.
"Did you mention this to Granny? Did she laugh?"
"Why would she? It was her idea."
Mary had her entire life to ready herself to marry Patrick, and she was prepared to do it, for the good of the family. It was right, it was practical, and besides, Patrick was a gentleman.
She was nothing short of horrified that Mama and Granny could betray her like this. How easily they gave up on her and her inheritance once the usurper arrived.
"Perseus, son of a god. Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?"
"That depends. I'd have to know more about the princess and the sea monster in question."
Mary was forced to grant that Matthew Crawley was not unintelligent, though he might have found a better way to prove it than by insulting her.
And although her strange conversation with Sybil those weeks ago had proved to be rather prescient,
Mary can't think what, other than Sybil's inherent kindness, would provoke her to claim that Cousin Matthew is "really not that bad."
"You won't marry him though, will you?"
"What, marry a sea monster?"
She most certainly will not marry him. How could she stand herself if she did? That smug face staring back her from across the table, day after day, self-satisfied in the knowledge that he had secured not only a fortune and a title, but a bride far out of his league.
The idea is beyond ridiculous. Especially when she has other prospects, like Evelyn Napier, who had written so kindly. A Viscount is not an Earl, but Matthew Crawley would always be an Earl in name only, because he certainly woud not be one in breeding.
And gentle-natured Sybil was also naive, so it would only be best to forget her words.
"We shouldn't laugh, that's so unkind."
[Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.02]
Conversations with Dead People
Nov. 1st, 2012 04:47 pm[Mid-afternoon in the Milliways library]
She finds Mary sitting in the library, though not the one at Downton. This is Mary's escape. But even in her haven, Mary is as formal as ever, sitting ramrod straight in what looks like it could be a rather cozy chair if cozy were a concept Mary knew the first thing about.
Sybil is struck by how young Mary looks. She recognizes that blue morning dress—it had been one of Mary's favourites, and later looked quite fine on Anna. For the moment, Mary is absorbed in a book, so for once her expression is unguarded. She looks... surprisingly unhappy. All those years ago, Sybil had never realized just how much her elder sister kept hidden beneath a confident public facade, but in retrospect it's painfully obvious.
"Mary," she says, breaking the silence of the library as she steps forward.
Mary startles, but in an instant a blank mask settles over her features.
"Sybil? What are you doing here? And what have you done to your hair?"
"I arrived." A vague answer, but quite suitable for Milliways. "And I cut it. Don't you like it?"
"It's terribly unfashionable, darling."
Sybil laughs gently. Mary did always speak her mind. "That's where you're wrong," she says as she sits in the cozy chair nearest to Mary. "It's the latest thing."
After a moment of confusion, Mary suddenly realizes what's going on. This place is so strange.
"Sybil, how old are you?" she asks.
"Twenty-four," Sybil answers. It's a close approximation of the truth.
Sybil can't stop the pained look that appears on her face when Mary says, "This morning you were only sixteen. You're practically an old woman now!" If Mary notes Sybil's expression, she lets it pass, too busy wondering at the absurdity of the situation.
For really, how often does one come across one's baby sister, suddenly five years older than oneself? There are so many things she would ask, but knows she should not. Chief among them, does Granny succeed in breaking the entail? So much rides upon it.
"Mary, I..."
"Sybil, don't," Mary interrupts. "Whatever it is, I'm dying to know, but I know you can't tell me."
"Yes, well." Exactly what topics of conversation are left on the table, then? Sybil glances at Mary's book, now resting in her lap and settles on, "What's that you're reading?"
"Perseus and Andromeda," says Mary. "From a book that hasn't been published yet."
"Oh! Cousin Matthew!" exclaims Sybil, remembering the dinner party at which Mary accused poor Cousin Matthew of being a sea monster.
"What about Cousin Matthew?" Mary says with a scowl.
"You've just met him, of course!"
Sybil is smiling bemusedly, the wholly irritating expression of someone who has skipped ahead to the end of the story.
"Don't tell me he's still around! Sybil!"
Of course Sybil can't tell her, as they've already established, so she does her best to hide her laughter. Her best is not very good.
"He's really not that bad, Mary, you'll see." She knows Mary won't listen to her now, but as the temporarily elder sister she must impart some advice, however vague. Her sister is travelling a bumpy road, but Sybil at least knows that the destination will make the journey worthwhile.
A quiet moment passes before Sybil rises, and Mary right after her.
"It's lovely to see you, but I should go." This Mary, so young and so angry at the world, is not the woman she needs to speak to, but she'll have to do. She grasps her sister's hands and looks her straight in the eye. "Love her for me, Mary, please."
It's clear that Mary has no idea what she's talking about, but she nods anyway.
Sybil leans in to kiss Mary on the cheek then turns to leave. This is Mary's sanctuary, not hers. "Goodbye, Mary."
She finds Mary sitting in the library, though not the one at Downton. This is Mary's escape. But even in her haven, Mary is as formal as ever, sitting ramrod straight in what looks like it could be a rather cozy chair if cozy were a concept Mary knew the first thing about.
Sybil is struck by how young Mary looks. She recognizes that blue morning dress—it had been one of Mary's favourites, and later looked quite fine on Anna. For the moment, Mary is absorbed in a book, so for once her expression is unguarded. She looks... surprisingly unhappy. All those years ago, Sybil had never realized just how much her elder sister kept hidden beneath a confident public facade, but in retrospect it's painfully obvious.
"Mary," she says, breaking the silence of the library as she steps forward.
Mary startles, but in an instant a blank mask settles over her features.
"Sybil? What are you doing here? And what have you done to your hair?"
"I arrived." A vague answer, but quite suitable for Milliways. "And I cut it. Don't you like it?"
"It's terribly unfashionable, darling."
Sybil laughs gently. Mary did always speak her mind. "That's where you're wrong," she says as she sits in the cozy chair nearest to Mary. "It's the latest thing."
After a moment of confusion, Mary suddenly realizes what's going on. This place is so strange.
"Sybil, how old are you?" she asks.
"Twenty-four," Sybil answers. It's a close approximation of the truth.
Sybil can't stop the pained look that appears on her face when Mary says, "This morning you were only sixteen. You're practically an old woman now!" If Mary notes Sybil's expression, she lets it pass, too busy wondering at the absurdity of the situation.
For really, how often does one come across one's baby sister, suddenly five years older than oneself? There are so many things she would ask, but knows she should not. Chief among them, does Granny succeed in breaking the entail? So much rides upon it.
"Mary, I..."
"Sybil, don't," Mary interrupts. "Whatever it is, I'm dying to know, but I know you can't tell me."
"Yes, well." Exactly what topics of conversation are left on the table, then? Sybil glances at Mary's book, now resting in her lap and settles on, "What's that you're reading?"
"Perseus and Andromeda," says Mary. "From a book that hasn't been published yet."
"Oh! Cousin Matthew!" exclaims Sybil, remembering the dinner party at which Mary accused poor Cousin Matthew of being a sea monster.
"What about Cousin Matthew?" Mary says with a scowl.
"You've just met him, of course!"
Sybil is smiling bemusedly, the wholly irritating expression of someone who has skipped ahead to the end of the story.
"Don't tell me he's still around! Sybil!"
Of course Sybil can't tell her, as they've already established, so she does her best to hide her laughter. Her best is not very good.
"He's really not that bad, Mary, you'll see." She knows Mary won't listen to her now, but as the temporarily elder sister she must impart some advice, however vague. Her sister is travelling a bumpy road, but Sybil at least knows that the destination will make the journey worthwhile.
A quiet moment passes before Sybil rises, and Mary right after her.
"It's lovely to see you, but I should go." This Mary, so young and so angry at the world, is not the woman she needs to speak to, but she'll have to do. She grasps her sister's hands and looks her straight in the eye. "Love her for me, Mary, please."
It's clear that Mary has no idea what she's talking about, but she nods anyway.
Sybil leans in to kiss Mary on the cheek then turns to leave. This is Mary's sanctuary, not hers. "Goodbye, Mary."
An Infelicitous Meeting
Oct. 13th, 2012 12:44 pmPapa has invited Mr. Matthew Crawley, the new heir, and his mother to live at Crawley House in the village. It makes no sense to the rest of the family, but Papa has insisted. Mama seems no more pleased about this development than Mary, but says that it is nevertheless their duty to welcome the Crawleys as their neighbors.
A duty which she has conveniently transferred to her eldest daughter, suggesting that Mary could visit at Crawley House to invite mother and son to dine at Downton. The errand was unavoidable, as Mama had doubtless known it would be, since Mary was already on her way out.
When she arrives, Molesley informs her that, yes, Mr. Crawley and Mrs. Crawley has just arrived, and takes her through to them. A man's voice carries down the hallway: "And before they, or you, get any ideas, I will choose my own wife."
"What on earth do you mean?" answers another voice, this time a woman.
"Well they're clearly going to push one of the daughters at me. They'll have fixed on that when they heard I was a bachelor." Mr. Crawley finished his speech, completely unaware that one of the very daughters is now poised behind him in the doorway.
"Lady Mary Crawley," Molesley announces.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting," Mary says with a polite smile. Based on Mr. Crawley's shocked expression, he's aware of what Mary has just overheard.
"Lady Mary," says Mrs. Crawley. Her son still stands in shocked silence.
"Cousin Mary, please," she demurs. "Mama has sent me down to welcome you and to ask you to dine with us tonight. Unless you're too tired."
Of course the Crawleys cannot refuse the invitation. Not that Mary, or Lady Grantham, actually wants them there.
"We would be delighted," says Mrs. Crawley, all propriety.
"Good. Come at eight."
Mary quickly turns to leave, when Mrs. Crawley interrupts her.
"Won't you stay and have some tea?"
"Oh no, you're far too busy," she says, then turns to Mr. Crawley, who still hasn't said a word, "and I wouldn't want to push in."
Mary makes her exit and find Lynch waiting by the gate with the horses. She mounts quickly, eagerly to get away. She probably should have stayed to tea, but she has better things to do than waste her time on a middle class lawyer who fancies himself her superior. At least this way she does still have time for a proper ride.
"Lynch, I think we'll go back by the south lodge."
"Very good, M'lady."
Gathering her skirts, she turns and sees that Mr. Crawley has followed her out.
"Lady Mary, I hope you didn't misunderstand me," he says. "I was only joking."
So he speaks!
"Of course. And I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke."
Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.02
A duty which she has conveniently transferred to her eldest daughter, suggesting that Mary could visit at Crawley House to invite mother and son to dine at Downton. The errand was unavoidable, as Mama had doubtless known it would be, since Mary was already on her way out.
When she arrives, Molesley informs her that, yes, Mr. Crawley and Mrs. Crawley has just arrived, and takes her through to them. A man's voice carries down the hallway: "And before they, or you, get any ideas, I will choose my own wife."
"What on earth do you mean?" answers another voice, this time a woman.
"Well they're clearly going to push one of the daughters at me. They'll have fixed on that when they heard I was a bachelor." Mr. Crawley finished his speech, completely unaware that one of the very daughters is now poised behind him in the doorway.
"Lady Mary Crawley," Molesley announces.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting," Mary says with a polite smile. Based on Mr. Crawley's shocked expression, he's aware of what Mary has just overheard.
"Lady Mary," says Mrs. Crawley. Her son still stands in shocked silence.
"Cousin Mary, please," she demurs. "Mama has sent me down to welcome you and to ask you to dine with us tonight. Unless you're too tired."
Of course the Crawleys cannot refuse the invitation. Not that Mary, or Lady Grantham, actually wants them there.
"We would be delighted," says Mrs. Crawley, all propriety.
"Good. Come at eight."
Mary quickly turns to leave, when Mrs. Crawley interrupts her.
"Won't you stay and have some tea?"
"Oh no, you're far too busy," she says, then turns to Mr. Crawley, who still hasn't said a word, "and I wouldn't want to push in."
Mary makes her exit and find Lynch waiting by the gate with the horses. She mounts quickly, eagerly to get away. She probably should have stayed to tea, but she has better things to do than waste her time on a middle class lawyer who fancies himself her superior. At least this way she does still have time for a proper ride.
"Lynch, I think we'll go back by the south lodge."
"Very good, M'lady."
Gathering her skirts, she turns and sees that Mr. Crawley has followed her out.
"Lady Mary, I hope you didn't misunderstand me," he says. "I was only joking."
So he speaks!
"Of course. And I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke."
Dialogue from Downton Abbey 1.02
"But Lady Catherine is right," says Mary. "Elizabeth is beneath his station."
"And you'd have her marry Mr. Collins instead?" asks Sybil, making a face that conveys her utter contempt of the parson in question. Clearly her sister has all the wrong ideas about Jane Austen's novel.
"You must admit that it would be practical. It's the best offer she has."
"You can't really believe that!"
"And why not?"
"Where's your sense of romance?"
"Do you think romance bought that dress you're wearing?"
Mary catches Anna's eye in the dressing table mirror. She's trying to suppress a smile as she pins Mary's hair in place, but Mary spots it anyway.
"I can practically hear you pouting, Sybil, darling, but it's true. I'm sure romance is lovely, for people who can afford it. Some of us must look to our futures."
Sybil, as ever, is not easily put off.
"Mary, please don't suggest that you're going after the new heir."
"Of course not!" As if she would. "Anyway, if Mama and Granny have their way, he won't be the heir for long."
"What? But I thought the entail was fixed!"
"The title, yes. But the house and Mama's money... it's just about the only thing Mama and Granny can agree upon."
"Mary, that's wonderful!"
"Well it's not final yet. But I can't imagine those two would allow themselves to fail. Isn't that right, Anna?"
"I should certainly hate to stand in the Countesses' way, M'lady."
"Quite right, Anna."
"Then you can marry for love," Sybil insists.
"I'll marry someone who'll help carry on Downton's legacy. No. Don't protest. You'll see things differently when you come out next year. The decision to marry is your whole life, and you can't throw your life away for a handsome face and pretty compliments. Trust me."
"And you'd have her marry Mr. Collins instead?" asks Sybil, making a face that conveys her utter contempt of the parson in question. Clearly her sister has all the wrong ideas about Jane Austen's novel.
"You must admit that it would be practical. It's the best offer she has."
"You can't really believe that!"
"And why not?"
"Where's your sense of romance?"
"Do you think romance bought that dress you're wearing?"
Mary catches Anna's eye in the dressing table mirror. She's trying to suppress a smile as she pins Mary's hair in place, but Mary spots it anyway.
"I can practically hear you pouting, Sybil, darling, but it's true. I'm sure romance is lovely, for people who can afford it. Some of us must look to our futures."
Sybil, as ever, is not easily put off.
"Mary, please don't suggest that you're going after the new heir."
"Of course not!" As if she would. "Anyway, if Mama and Granny have their way, he won't be the heir for long."
"What? But I thought the entail was fixed!"
"The title, yes. But the house and Mama's money... it's just about the only thing Mama and Granny can agree upon."
"Mary, that's wonderful!"
"Well it's not final yet. But I can't imagine those two would allow themselves to fail. Isn't that right, Anna?"
"I should certainly hate to stand in the Countesses' way, M'lady."
"Quite right, Anna."
"Then you can marry for love," Sybil insists.
"I'll marry someone who'll help carry on Downton's legacy. No. Don't protest. You'll see things differently when you come out next year. The decision to marry is your whole life, and you can't throw your life away for a handsome face and pretty compliments. Trust me."
"So he slipped the hook."
Aug. 10th, 2012 04:54 pm"At least I'm not fishing with no bait."
It had been easy enough to shut Edith down, but Mary can't hide her disappointment from herself. Just this morning the Duke had seemed just as pleased to see her as she was him. She's not sure exactly where she went wrong. Things had been going so well, and then when dinner ended suddenly they weren't.
If she's honest with herself, this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Over the course of three seasons she's had suitors and had hopes... all which have come to nothing. But before the stakes were not as high as they are now, and this is the first time a suitor has actively fled her presence.
If only Edith had held her tongue about Mary and the Duke's tour of the servants' quarters. Certainly it was unusual—and spying in footmen's room didn't sit well with Mary—but he is a Duke. Mary had agreed to the unorthodox tour because what choice did she really have? Say no, and she'd look like a foolish girl, powerless in her own home to do anything without permission from Mama. What right does Edith have to question her?
If Mary is to be jilted and humiliated, must she have so many witnesses?
It had been easy enough to shut Edith down, but Mary can't hide her disappointment from herself. Just this morning the Duke had seemed just as pleased to see her as she was him. She's not sure exactly where she went wrong. Things had been going so well, and then when dinner ended suddenly they weren't.
If she's honest with herself, this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Over the course of three seasons she's had suitors and had hopes... all which have come to nothing. But before the stakes were not as high as they are now, and this is the first time a suitor has actively fled her presence.
If only Edith had held her tongue about Mary and the Duke's tour of the servants' quarters. Certainly it was unusual—and spying in footmen's room didn't sit well with Mary—but he is a Duke. Mary had agreed to the unorthodox tour because what choice did she really have? Say no, and she'd look like a foolish girl, powerless in her own home to do anything without permission from Mama. What right does Edith have to question her?
If Mary is to be jilted and humiliated, must she have so many witnesses?
Breakfast at Downton
Jul. 9th, 2012 07:41 pm"The color looks very fine on you, m'lady," says Anna as she places the final pin in Lady Mary's hair.
"Right now I think anything would suit me better than that dreadful black." Mary's measured tone hides the fact that she's actually very excited to finally be allowed a colored frock.
"Will that be all, m'lady?"
"Yes, thank you, Anna."
As Anna takes her leave, Mary turns to admire her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Yes, the pale blue really is quite fetching. After all these weeks in mourning, it's also a great relief.
Black was an all too uncomfortable reminder of how she'd failed Patrick. Not by her inability to love him—in more than a sisterly way, at least—but in her inability to mourn him properly. Their engagement had never been anything more than the sensible thing to do, both to ensure her own future and that of the Grantham line. Still, she had many fond childhood memories of Patrick, and he deserved better from her than the relief she still felt at being free from the engagement.
Time, though, to put guilt and regret behind her. Mama had delivered excellent news at luncheon yesterday. The Duke of Crowborough would be coming to stay at Downton in a week's time. Maybe Mary would never be Countess of Grantham, but no one could argue that Duchess of Crowborough was a poor substitute.
In the end, forgetting this nasty business with Patrick was all for the best.
Satisfied with her appearance, and her ability to ensnare a young, handsome Duke, Mary descended the stairs to the dining room to join her sisters for breakfast.
"Good morning, Sybil, darling," she said, heading straight to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Edith, good God! Why on earth are you wearing that gloomy gray? We're out of mourning now, or hadn't you heard?"
"I..." Edith started to respond, but Mary swept on, cutting her off.
"Now, Sybil, what do you say to an afternoon ride?"
"Right now I think anything would suit me better than that dreadful black." Mary's measured tone hides the fact that she's actually very excited to finally be allowed a colored frock.
"Will that be all, m'lady?"
"Yes, thank you, Anna."
As Anna takes her leave, Mary turns to admire her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Yes, the pale blue really is quite fetching. After all these weeks in mourning, it's also a great relief.
Black was an all too uncomfortable reminder of how she'd failed Patrick. Not by her inability to love him—in more than a sisterly way, at least—but in her inability to mourn him properly. Their engagement had never been anything more than the sensible thing to do, both to ensure her own future and that of the Grantham line. Still, she had many fond childhood memories of Patrick, and he deserved better from her than the relief she still felt at being free from the engagement.
Time, though, to put guilt and regret behind her. Mama had delivered excellent news at luncheon yesterday. The Duke of Crowborough would be coming to stay at Downton in a week's time. Maybe Mary would never be Countess of Grantham, but no one could argue that Duchess of Crowborough was a poor substitute.
In the end, forgetting this nasty business with Patrick was all for the best.
Satisfied with her appearance, and her ability to ensnare a young, handsome Duke, Mary descended the stairs to the dining room to join her sisters for breakfast.
"Good morning, Sybil, darling," she said, heading straight to the sideboard to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Edith, good God! Why on earth are you wearing that gloomy gray? We're out of mourning now, or hadn't you heard?"
"I..." Edith started to respond, but Mary swept on, cutting her off.
"Now, Sybil, what do you say to an afternoon ride?"
Lost in Austen
Jun. 13th, 2012 08:21 pmAs it turns out, Milliways is real, which means Mary isn't crazy. Of course, after nearly two months of mourning, she'd probably be completely stir crazy without the occasional escapes to the Bar. As it is, the door seems to come and go as it pleases, and unfortunately this is not a problem she can simply ask a servant to fix.
It has been raining for days, which has only added to Mary's restless mood. This afternoon she's holed up in the library with the door firmly shut after she tired of listening to Edith practice Mozart on the piano. Mary signs and seals her finished letter to Aunt Rosamunde and decides the rest of her correspondence can wait until tomorrow. She's had quite enough of the dreadful black-lined stationary—really, must she be constantly reminded that she didn't love Patrick enough?
Remembering her recent conversation with Jane Austen, she decides that one of the author's books would be just the thing to entertain her. Sure enough, she finds a copy of Pride and Prejudice on one of the shelves. The story of a family with too many daughters and no sons is all too familiar. But unlike Elizabeth Bennet, Mary doesn't have to rely on beauty and wit's alone. Those virtues accompanied by a noble lineage and respectable dowry should make finding a good match much easier. If this period of mourning ever ends.
It has been raining for days, which has only added to Mary's restless mood. This afternoon she's holed up in the library with the door firmly shut after she tired of listening to Edith practice Mozart on the piano. Mary signs and seals her finished letter to Aunt Rosamunde and decides the rest of her correspondence can wait until tomorrow. She's had quite enough of the dreadful black-lined stationary—really, must she be constantly reminded that she didn't love Patrick enough?
Remembering her recent conversation with Jane Austen, she decides that one of the author's books would be just the thing to entertain her. Sure enough, she finds a copy of Pride and Prejudice on one of the shelves. The story of a family with too many daughters and no sons is all too familiar. But unlike Elizabeth Bennet, Mary doesn't have to rely on beauty and wit's alone. Those virtues accompanied by a noble lineage and respectable dowry should make finding a good match much easier. If this period of mourning ever ends.
Upon Returning From Milliways
Apr. 29th, 2012 09:05 amWhen Mary steps through the door from Milliways and arrives back at Downton Abbey, she breathes a sigh of relief. She had been told several times over that getting home would be a simple endeavour, but nothing tops the reassurance of actually standing in her own room again.
Over the next few days she finds herself pausing in doorways, just in case one leads unexpectedly to Milliways. It turns out none of them do. Mary eventually admits to herself that perhaps she wants to go back. Most of the people she met their had been friendly, if not all exactly her type of people, and even the strange, rude young woman had provided an interesting diversion. And the Lady Thayet (for although she had not given a title, she certainly must be a lady of some standing) had proven to be delightful company.
One afternoon O'Brien catches Mary examining a door before entering and gives Mary a questioning look. Mary glares sharply at O'Brien, but after that she stops searching for the bar at the end of the universe.
After the memorials for James and Patrick, the days settle into a dreary sameness. Mary and Edith are not returning to London for the rest of the season, though Edith seems too busy blubbering to care. Mama and Granny occupy themselves by scheming to unseat Papa's new heir—who turns out to be, of all things, a solicitor from Manchester—but they do not require Mary's input. Sybil is still convinced that Mary is hiding wells of grief just below the surface, and so gives her elder sister the time alone that she doesn't actually require. The truth is Mary is both bored and irritable most of the time, so perhaps Sybil is wise to give her a wide berth.
A few weeks go by like this, and Mary wonders if Milliways was real. And if it is real, what's the use a refuge she can't return to?
Over the next few days she finds herself pausing in doorways, just in case one leads unexpectedly to Milliways. It turns out none of them do. Mary eventually admits to herself that perhaps she wants to go back. Most of the people she met their had been friendly, if not all exactly her type of people, and even the strange, rude young woman had provided an interesting diversion. And the Lady Thayet (for although she had not given a title, she certainly must be a lady of some standing) had proven to be delightful company.
One afternoon O'Brien catches Mary examining a door before entering and gives Mary a questioning look. Mary glares sharply at O'Brien, but after that she stops searching for the bar at the end of the universe.
After the memorials for James and Patrick, the days settle into a dreary sameness. Mary and Edith are not returning to London for the rest of the season, though Edith seems too busy blubbering to care. Mama and Granny occupy themselves by scheming to unseat Papa's new heir—who turns out to be, of all things, a solicitor from Manchester—but they do not require Mary's input. Sybil is still convinced that Mary is hiding wells of grief just below the surface, and so gives her elder sister the time alone that she doesn't actually require. The truth is Mary is both bored and irritable most of the time, so perhaps Sybil is wise to give her a wide berth.
A few weeks go by like this, and Mary wonders if Milliways was real. And if it is real, what's the use a refuge she can't return to?
I read the news today
Apr. 7th, 2012 12:42 pm
THE TITANIC SUNK.
LOSS FEARED OF OVER 1,500 LIVES.A WIRELESS CALL FOR AID.
LINERS TO THE RESCUE.
SHIP GOES DOWN IN FOURS HOURS.
PASSENGERS AND CREW TAKE TO BOATS.
The maiden voyage of the White Star liner Titanic, the largest ship ever launched, has ended in disaster.
The Titianic started her trip from Southampton for New York on Wednesday. Late on Sunday night she struck an iceburg off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. By wireless telegraphy she sent out signals of distress, and several liners were nears enough to catch and respond to the call.
Conflicting new, alarming and reassuring, was current yesterday. Even after midnight it was said all the passengers were safe. All reports, of course, depended on wireless telegrams over great distances.
Late last night the White Star officials in New York announced that a message had been received stating that the Titanic sand at 2.20 yesterday morning after all her passengers and crew had been transferred to another vessel. Later they admitted that many lives had been lost.
An unofficial message from Cape Race, Newfoundland, stated that only 675 have been saved out of 2,200 to 2,400 person on board...
The Manchester Guardian. April 16, 1912. Page 9
