other - untitled
A/N: "'The time has come,' the walrus said, 'to talk of many things," and though it wasn't on his list of topics, I'd like to mention that I'll be taking a hiatus from contributing after this week in an attempt to actually make some progress on my WIP (Yet the World Spins Gently On, in case anyone is curious). I know that's a bit lame, but I'm such a slow writer and I really need to make some progress on the plot before series 2 arrives to shoot holes into my plans. This community has been tons of fun and I've been honored to participate alongside the other fabulously talented writers and I certainly hope to recommit once I'm a little further along with my main story. Many thanks to everyone who has read and commented along the way.
Since this is my last offering for a while, I was determined to end on a fluffy note, which was rather difficult as I'm still entirely incapable of fluffy one-shots. This is my latest (boring?) attempt around the problem... (Thanks to clunkhall for kindly reading this over for me!)
***
September 20, 1919
Dear Sybil,
Greetings from Crawley House! Matthew and I arrived back from our wedding tour last evening and I am sitting down to fulfill the promise you extracted for a complete report as soon as we returned. I do hope you are sufficiently appreciative of the honor I am bestowing upon you as the recipient of the first letter I have penned as a married woman for Mama is sure to be jealous. (I rather think I won’t tell her if you won’t!)
Manchester is an odd city, much as one would expect, and certainly incomparable to London, yet with an inexplicable charm. How much of that charm derives from the city itself and how much from the company I was in, I will leave for you to determine. I confess I was rather curious about the place that my husband remains so fond of, but the weather and our inclination meant we saw very little of the city despite our two week long stay. Matthew has already informed me that we must return to partake of the various activities we skipped after he went to such effort to arrange them in the first place. You can imagine my lack of enthusiasm at the thought as, one of these trips, we will actually have to venture out into the city.
You needn’t worry marriage has changed me completely for I do still enjoy society, little as there may be in Manchester. We honored engagements with several of Matthew’s friends, including a few who were unable to travel to our wedding and yet felt compelled to inspect his bride. As you would expect, they were all terribly middle-class and frightfully opinionated, but also very friendly. I suspect you would like them excessively were you to ever meet and though I would never tell him this, they did rather win my heart with their genuine fondness for Matthew.
Our return trip to Downton was uneventful. Matthew showed great foresight and secured a private compartment so we could enjoy the last moments of our wedding tour uninterrupted. Your favorite chauffeur met us at the station (he is quite well and asked me to pass along his regards; only for you would I convey messages for a servant) and when we arrived at my new home, Matthew insisted on carrying me over the threshold, a rather quaint tradition, but one I generously chose to humor.
I know you well enough to expect your curiosity will compel you to ask about our wedding night, so I shall forestall you and say only this: Before, I entrusted him with my heart; now he is keeper of my whole soul.
Look at me, married but two weeks and already a sentimental fool! If you insist on embarrassing me further, you may do so in person, though not in front of Granny or Papa please.
Wedded bliss really has addled my mind, I think, because I will even go so far as to concede that you can continue to maintain your romantic notions. Married life has not yet proven a disappointment, though the increased intimacy has led to some interesting revelations about my husband that I could do without. The most alarming is his tendency to hum as he prepares for bed. I can see you roll your eyes and hear you exclaim that humming is hardly an alarming offense, but that is because you have never heard Matthew’s attempts (and believe me, you will want to keep it that way). Words fail me in describing it except to say that I didn’t know anyone could be less musically inclined than Edith; from that, I’m sure you have sufficient imagination to conceive the assault upon my ears. (Our children will never be allowed near a piano until I’ve made sure they inherited my abilities rather than Matthew’s.) Unfortunately, I am afraid that I’ve mistakenly led my husband into thinking I rather enjoy his musical performances for I go to him and kiss him whenever he starts, but this is simply because it's the most expeditious means of preventing him from continuing. Still, I find myself oddly hesitant to rectify this error.
Matthew will be returning soon and I still must change into a more appropriate dress so I will conclude here for the moment. Do come and visit sometime, darling, for happy as I am, I really miss you. The house many be tiny, but I’m sure we can find some place to squeeze you in, if you don’t mind sharing your room with the potatoes and onions.
And it is quite improper, but you know I am less fastidious than I try to appear so allow me to sign myself this once,
Your loving sister,
Mrs. Matthew Crawley
***
Concrit is appreciated as I've struggled with Mary's voice a great deal in writing this. And thanks again for the including me in this wonderfully fun project; I'll still be looking forward to everyone else's offerings on Mondays! :)
Since this is my last offering for a while, I was determined to end on a fluffy note, which was rather difficult as I'm still entirely incapable of fluffy one-shots. This is my latest (boring?) attempt around the problem... (Thanks to clunkhall for kindly reading this over for me!)
***
September 20, 1919
Dear Sybil,
Greetings from Crawley House! Matthew and I arrived back from our wedding tour last evening and I am sitting down to fulfill the promise you extracted for a complete report as soon as we returned. I do hope you are sufficiently appreciative of the honor I am bestowing upon you as the recipient of the first letter I have penned as a married woman for Mama is sure to be jealous. (I rather think I won’t tell her if you won’t!)
Manchester is an odd city, much as one would expect, and certainly incomparable to London, yet with an inexplicable charm. How much of that charm derives from the city itself and how much from the company I was in, I will leave for you to determine. I confess I was rather curious about the place that my husband remains so fond of, but the weather and our inclination meant we saw very little of the city despite our two week long stay. Matthew has already informed me that we must return to partake of the various activities we skipped after he went to such effort to arrange them in the first place. You can imagine my lack of enthusiasm at the thought as, one of these trips, we will actually have to venture out into the city.
You needn’t worry marriage has changed me completely for I do still enjoy society, little as there may be in Manchester. We honored engagements with several of Matthew’s friends, including a few who were unable to travel to our wedding and yet felt compelled to inspect his bride. As you would expect, they were all terribly middle-class and frightfully opinionated, but also very friendly. I suspect you would like them excessively were you to ever meet and though I would never tell him this, they did rather win my heart with their genuine fondness for Matthew.
Our return trip to Downton was uneventful. Matthew showed great foresight and secured a private compartment so we could enjoy the last moments of our wedding tour uninterrupted. Your favorite chauffeur met us at the station (he is quite well and asked me to pass along his regards; only for you would I convey messages for a servant) and when we arrived at my new home, Matthew insisted on carrying me over the threshold, a rather quaint tradition, but one I generously chose to humor.
I know you well enough to expect your curiosity will compel you to ask about our wedding night, so I shall forestall you and say only this: Before, I entrusted him with my heart; now he is keeper of my whole soul.
Look at me, married but two weeks and already a sentimental fool! If you insist on embarrassing me further, you may do so in person, though not in front of Granny or Papa please.
Wedded bliss really has addled my mind, I think, because I will even go so far as to concede that you can continue to maintain your romantic notions. Married life has not yet proven a disappointment, though the increased intimacy has led to some interesting revelations about my husband that I could do without. The most alarming is his tendency to hum as he prepares for bed. I can see you roll your eyes and hear you exclaim that humming is hardly an alarming offense, but that is because you have never heard Matthew’s attempts (and believe me, you will want to keep it that way). Words fail me in describing it except to say that I didn’t know anyone could be less musically inclined than Edith; from that, I’m sure you have sufficient imagination to conceive the assault upon my ears. (Our children will never be allowed near a piano until I’ve made sure they inherited my abilities rather than Matthew’s.) Unfortunately, I am afraid that I’ve mistakenly led my husband into thinking I rather enjoy his musical performances for I go to him and kiss him whenever he starts, but this is simply because it's the most expeditious means of preventing him from continuing. Still, I find myself oddly hesitant to rectify this error.
Matthew will be returning soon and I still must change into a more appropriate dress so I will conclude here for the moment. Do come and visit sometime, darling, for happy as I am, I really miss you. The house many be tiny, but I’m sure we can find some place to squeeze you in, if you don’t mind sharing your room with the potatoes and onions.
And it is quite improper, but you know I am less fastidious than I try to appear so allow me to sign myself this once,
Your loving sister,
Mrs. Matthew Crawley
***
Concrit is appreciated as I've struggled with Mary's voice a great deal in writing this. And thanks again for the including me in this wonderfully fun project; I'll still be looking forward to everyone else's offerings on Mondays! :)