Fic - Downton Abbey - "The Fox Hunt" - part 3

[rapfic]

Part three!



It was, Isobel thought as she saw Matthew and Mary smiling and snickering at each other at the dinner table, the sort of miracle that she had never dared hope for two months earlier when Dr. Clarkson had conceded that a mistake had been. She had meant it when she had told Matthew that she would have been grateful if he was alive but with no memory of himself. It would have saddened her, she didn’t deny it, but she would have accepted it. That she didn’t have to accept it was the miracle. Clarkson had been right, it hadn’t come all at once, but Matthew was much recovered. There had been some sort of breakthrough a few weeks earlier, the “floodgates” as Matthew called it, had opened. There were still gaps and Philip said the time right before and right after the accident would probably never return to Matthew in any clear way. But... he remembered his childhood clearly and most of his adult life and he and Mary seemed to have turned a corner. They were easily affectionate, the way they had been, and Matthew had lost the cringing, fearful mannerisms that had worried her. A lot of that had been due to cruel treatment coupled with the terrifying knowledge that his story of not knowing his own name meant that no one would help him or take his side. That was something to think about when she resumed her work with the downtrodden, how easily Matthew’s self-confidence had been stripped from him, and how difficult it had been to get it back. It wasn’t fully back, either. She had the unpleasant suspicion that whatever had reduced him to the trembling, frightened man that had turned up on her doorstop, barely able to look her in the eye was probably going to be a part of him forever. Robert thought it was poor treatment, and she agreed, but Robert was, in an oddly charming way, surprisingly naïve at how ugly people could be to one another. It bothered her but as she watched Mary and Matthew at the table, it was something she was willing to let rest. That bit of darkness was Matthew’s to own and share if he wished.

She did plan to address one potential problem as Cora merrily planned the holiday season. “Cora, you do understand that any guest you invite is going to be unable to resist asking Matthew questions?” There had been a few guests to the home, some specifically invited by Robert to establish and reinforce the legal reality that Matthew was alive. That had been an awkward business all on its own but Matthew had been prepared for them to ask questions that were for the most part rather personal.

“Mother, I’m not made of glass,” Matthew said after a moment. He smiled at her. “If someone asks something awkward, all I really have to say is that I don’t remember. It’s not even lying.”

“And perhaps the sordid details of sleeping in fields and digging ditches can be glossed over,” Violet said quickly.

She was amused, and pleased to see Matthew push back against Violet’s often blunt directives.

“Cousin Violet, I won’t lie about where I’ve been or what I was doing,” he said after a moment. “I worked. I got paid terrible wages for very hard, honest work and people with more money routinely did their best to see to it that reasons were found to cheat me. People thought I was… slow, or daft, and they would refuse to pay me and if I went to the police, I would be the one who ended up in trouble, or in the workhouse, because rich people just have to say poor people are lying. I’m not going to lie about it because it has occurred to me that if people had been a little kinder to me, I might have recovered faster and this,” and he gestured around the table, ”our family reunited, might have been happened all the sooner.”

“Well said,” Cora, of all people, said. She stared down Violet and then smiled at Matthew. “Matthew is right. I’ve wondered, more than once since his return if some of the people I see in the village who look down on their luck aren’t just people who have no family to turn to. I think perhaps that’s something we should all think about this holiday, how incredibly fortunate we have been and how that all stemmed from Isobel’s old neighbor being kind to someone. Maybe something we should all do this season is be kind to someone less fortunate.”

Well, aren’t you the clever one, Isobel thought despite her own irritation. Not only did Cora save Matthew from a tongue lashing by Violet for being too liberal, she also deftly reinforced the fact that Matthew was right, all while turning the conversation back to the holiday plans instead of letting the dinner discussion devolve into how cruelly Matthew had been treated. It was irritating because it was probably the most honest comment he had ever made about that time, and as much as she knew the Crawley family loved her son, none of them really wanted to hear the truth. None of them but Robert, and he had already confessed to her that without Matthew’s help, they were probably never going to know who had whipped Matthew.

And she wasn’t ready to admit that she’d rather not know, since she suspected the knowledge was wrapped around that bit of darkness in Matthew’s mind. She wasn’t sure petty legal revenge was worth making Matthew confess it, whatever it was. She was more worried that answering the same questions from multiple guests would lead to Matthew’s temper flaring. The legal niceties were over, and that had been a painful business, and his temper had flashed more than once although he’d been able to control it. She wasn’t a fool about what the holiday season was really about. Robert had to reassert that everything was normal in his household. That meant there would be a lot of parties, with bigger guest lists than normal. It also meant she had to attend more of the parties since she wasn’t moving back to Crawley House until after the holidays. And that meant….

“You really do need someone to partner with, Isobel,” Victoria said, without a hint of her usual tone. “It’s so much better when the numbers are even.”

“Unfortunately, I am far too old to go chasing after a partner,” Isobel said.

“Why don’t we ask Dr. Clarkson, Cousin Violet?” Mary said, a self-satisfied smile crossing her face.

“Why would you ask Dr. Clarkson,” Isobel asked, feeling completely mystified. “I know he’s been around quite a bit but I didn’t think any of you had been socializing with him…” She had wondered if the man was a bit lonely, truth be told. There weren’t any men in the village with a comparable education. She was surprised that everyone, even Rose, seemed amused. “What is so amusing?”

Everyone tittered. Finally, Matthew said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Mother, Dr. Clarkson fancies you. Why do you think he comes out here every day?”

“Because… you’re his patient and he worries about you because of the whole terrible misdiagnosis and the months you spent digging ditches and eating out of soup kitchens.” Clarkson had certainly apologized to her enough about it.

“Are we back on that?” Violet said tiredly. “The ditch digging? Isobel, your son is right. Clarkson clearly fancies you.”

“He does not,” Isobel shot back, her face reddening with embarrassment.

“Mother,” Matthew said carefully,” I haven’t needed to see a doctor for anything in six weeks. My recovery has really had little to do with any medical treatment, Dr. Clarkson was right that it had more to do with being around familiar things, but he comes out almost every day. He says hello to me, I tell him I’m fine, and then he finds you and you two go for a walk, or have lunch, or whatever it is that you two do. I agree with Cousin Violet. Dr. Clarkson fancies you. “

It was strange how awkward and exhilarating it was.

~*~

“So who is coming to this party?” Matthew asked. “Anyone I know?” That meant anyone he needed a reminder on, Mary realized. He was better at covering the gaps than people gave him credit for. Isobel and her father both had a tendency to pick at him, asking him to recall picky details of times and events most normal people would have forgotten anyway. There were things she wished he remembered, that was true. Most of her pregnancy, the trip to the Flinchshire estate… it was all too close to the accident but she wished he could remember it because he’d been so happy. At the same time, she suspected if those memories returned then so would the memories of his time after the accident, that hazy, murky period that seemed so painful.

“Mostly people you’ve seen in the last month,” Mary said. It occurred to her as she spoke, just how sneaky and subtle her father had been in inviting guests. Almost everyone showing up to the shooting party had already seen or spoken with Matthew, at small dinner parties or luncheons. Most of them had seen Matthew after the breakthrough he’d had that early morning six weeks earlier. It was a miracle, really, that he seemed so much better. She had worried, she could admit it now that he remembered most if not all of his life, that he would stay the damaged soul that her father had first brought home, afraid to argue or disagree with her. She still saw shadows of that in him. He was better, but there was still

Her father was still looking for whoever had brutally whipped Matthew, and she wanted them found as well, but she didn’t want it to happen at Matthew’s expense. Matthew shied away from questions about the scars. He didn’t remember it clearly in that he couldn’t put names to people or places. She believed him because she had seen him have the same problem with other memories that were close to the accident. Intellectually, he understood that he had met Rose during that hazy period right before the accident, but only really recalled meeting her his first night back at Downton. So as much as it irritated her, and her father, there was only so much they could expect. She had gleaned a few clues. He had worked in a large house, an estate that wasn’t nearly as large as Downton. Whoever it was entertained quite a bit but in a way that seemed almost exclusively male. She found that odd. It was hard to scare up enough men for a dinner without throwing an out of the ordinary party the way they were doing. He recalled waiting on large groups, card games that went well into the evening, and guests who invariably forgot to bring their own valets. He also recalled being worked like a dog, that there was always someone shouting at him, or cuffing him about something not being done or being done incorrectly. The staff treated him like a useless dimwit. To listen to him talk, and it was rare that she could steer the topic there, he spent most of his time working his fingers to the bone while the other servants mocked him mercilessly for having a bad hand or for doing something wrong. “The few you haven’t seen in the last month are people I don’t think you’ve ever met.”

“Oh please do point them out,” he asked as he took a seat near her vanity. “It would be nice to have a few people who aren’t testing me every other moment on whether or not I recall what they just said. Who is it that I’ve never met? I mean, I do have these memories of dinner parties. Wasn’t I trotted out to meet all the gentry?”

“And quite bored by the whole business, but do try to look interested this weekend.” She waited a moment. “There’s at least one you might like. Charles Blake… he’s been doing estate surveys this last year and has all sorts of clever opinions. He quite liked the pig idea that we implemented while you were… what are we calling your absence?”

“Well, we’re not to refer to my digging ditches or living in the streets like a poor person, but I don’t think Cousin Violet ever designated an appropriate term. “ Matthew smiled slightly. “Why would I like Charles Blake?”

In an instant she realized her error but decided to press on. “Because when I met him, even though he looks nothing like you, he reminded me of you so much, it hurt. He was one of the few people who, I don’t know, broke through my shell of despair.” And it occurred to her that description probably would lead to more questions.

“Were you seeing him?” Matthew asked, his tone curious. He leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, and watched her prepare herself. “It doesn’t offend me if you were. You thought I was dead, you had every reason to think that. And… I certainly hope it doesn’t come up again anytime soon but… I wouldn’t want you alone your entire life.” He frowned suddenly, and she could see his thoughts weren’t entirely on her. “My mother did that, you know… My father died and she locked that part of her life away, never allowing herself to see that it was possible to be happy with another man. Maybe not the same way, but I worry that she’ll never know, and that this last year was probably a nightmare of grief for her. ”

“It was.” She said it simply. “I was… too involved in my own grief to even care, but Grandmama was quite worried about your mother.”

“I don’t want that for you, you do understand that?” Matthew sighed. “Anything can happen, Mary. I could die tomorrow. I could be hit by a car, again. Or I could be shot, or just keel over from a heart attack. You should remarry if I die.”

“This is a nicely morbid discussion to have just before we welcome guests to the house for the weekend.” She wondered what had gotten into him. “You’re not going to die, Matthew. And if you did manage to wreck another car and kill yourself, after I personally check the casket, I will consider myself free to marry if only because I would have earned it after burying you twice. And while I think it’s extremely unlikely that I would die before you, I do agree with you. I wouldn’t want you to be alone and I wouldn’t expect it. And if you are planning on keeling over, would you at least write a will this time?”

“I already have,” he said with a grin, “and you didn’t answer me. Were you seeing him?”

“I was… thinking of seeing him. He was so offhand with his interest. Not like Tony at all.” Oh damn it, she thought.

“Tony?” Matthew’s eyes twinkled. “Who is Tony? I don’t ever recall meeting someone named Tony. Is he coming to the shooting party?”

“Oh good lord, he is coming.” Mary felt a moment of panic and fought it down. It was just awkward, Tony had been nothing but gracious and glad about Matthew’s reappearance in her life. She hadn’t seen him since that luncheon in London, months ago. They had spoken, he had even charmingly asked after Matthew in his letters to her, but she suspected he was quite hurt. Why had Mother invited him, she wondered. Charles was bad enough. “Tony is Anthony Gillingham, and I know you haven’t met him. And he was quite smitten with me and was one of the first to congratulate me on finding out that you were alive. So please be kind.”

“I promise I will be very nice to your boyfriends.” Matthew said, grinning. “Are there any others or just the two? Did you invite Sir Richard Carlisle to make things extra awkward? And anyone else that I haven’t met?”

“They weren’t boyfriends, Sir Richard politely declined and wished you well recovering, and there’s only Philip, the Duke of Crowborough. Mother said he managed to invite himself and she couldn’t really say no without being rude. He actually hasn’t been to Downton since just after Cousin Patrick and Cousin James died. Right before you moved here, and he hasn’t been back since.” She laughed suddenly. “Goodness, that was over eight years ago.”

“You didn’t like him?” Matthew asked. He seemed oddly puzzled. “The name sounds familiar…”

“You might have heard Papa grousing about him.” She checked her jewelry in the mirror. “I didn’t dislike him… I just suspect I made a lucky escape. Papa and Mama were flattered by his title, and he was perfectly charming to me but when he found out Papa planned to let some silly lawyer from Manchester inherit the money, the land, and the title, the Duke found me far less interesting.”

“He was a fortune hunter, then.” Matthew said. “Did he ever marry?”

“Yes, now that I think about it. Some rich American woman who let him use her money to reestablish an estate. Then she died in childbirth, along with the baby, and he’s been quite hidden from view since.” She hesitated. Matthew looked surprisingly nervous. “You will do just fine tonight.”

“I just…” He looked away. “Sometimes it’s not as easy as it seems.”

It made her suddenly fearful. “Matthew, no one is going to make fun of you if you don’t remember something about them.” As much as it offended her and her father that someone was running a household where servants were routinely beaten, it hadn’t escaped either of them that Matthew rarely mentioned anyone being pleasant or even fair to him at any of the jobs he’d done. There was the Mrs. Evelyn Morris that they owed so much to, and who had no idea what she had done when she had sent Matthew to them, the poor dotty thing. There was a road team leader that Matthew had worked for who he had recalled being kind, who had made a point of making sure the road boss paid Matthew fairly and that Matthew wasn’t taunted for his injuries. Her father had seen to it that the man was rewarded for his kindness but stories like that, where someone had been kind, were rare. Otherwise the stories, when they came, were depressingly similar, people refusing to hire him for anything but backbreaking labor, calling him stupid and worse if his thoughts didn’t connect, routinely being tricked out of wages and beaten if he protested. It made sense, how fearful he had been, when they had poked him with questions that he couldn’t yet answer.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

“You know you can ask me anything, Matthew.” She took his hand.

“On Christmas day,1915, in the salon, what conversation did we have?” He waited a moment. “Well?”

“What?” It was so out of the blue, she couldn’t even think. “I don’t know.”

“Well, why do people think I would know?” He sighed. “I feel like I am letting everyone down when I can’t just instantly recall every moment of every day, but I don’t think I was ever capable of that to begin with. It’s… intensely frustrated.” A note of anger edged into his voice. “And people might not make fun of me, the way they did when I couldn’t even recall my name, but they are judging me as some sort of mental cripple every time I can’t recite exactly what I was doing on May 15, 1920.”

“I don’t think that, and that’s what’s important,” she said after a moment. It was far too late to call off the party, people were likely arriving at the train station already. “You are far harder on yourself than anyone else. And you’re right, people need to stop pestering you about every little thing. You can say you don’t know and if anyone fusses just ignore them. Or tell me or Robert.”

He shrugged and she immediately felt guilty. The truth was that they were all probably rushing things a bit and while Matthew was better, he was still struggling. On the plus side, it was probably the first time he’d actually complained about anything to do with his memory loss. The negative was that there was nothing she could do to help. The weekend party was going to happen. She would need to see to it that she was at his side most of the time if not all of it.
~*~
At least he’s as handsome as everyone said, Tony Gillingham thought darkly as he shook Matthew Crawley’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Crawley pumped his hand firmly. “The pleasure is all mine. Lady Mary has told me how kind a friend you were to her during my… unfortunate lengthy absence.” The man smirked at Mary, who was clearly found what he said to be delightfully funny.

“Grandmama will applaud, Matthew,” Mary said, almost giggling. “Don’t mind us, Tony. Violet has been at Matthew to come up with the best possible euphemism that doesn’t involve references to ditchdigging.” She looked over his shoulder. “Oh drat, Mama wants me to be pleasant to Lady Mercer. I’ll be right back, Matthew. Why don’t you two get to know each other?”

Interesting, Tony thought. It hadn’t escaped him at all that Mary had kept herself firmly at her husband’s side during the informal gathering. Let’s see if I’m right, he thought. Sure enough, the butler that was so fond of Mary almost immediately took up position nearby. So they aren’t too certain that he’s completely recovered, Tony thought “Having met the Lady Mercer, I can see why being pleasant is difficult. Have you met Lady Mercer?”

“I don’t recall,” Matthew said easily. He smiled. “I suspect I will be saying that quite a lot during this get together.”

“At least you have a sense of humor about it,” a new voice chimed. Why of course, Tony thought darkly as Charles Blake joined them, how best to make this awkward event even more awkward. He was genuinely surprised Mary’s old beau, Sir Richard Carlisle wasn’t wandering about. God knew the Duke of Crowborough was rumored to be coming, and he knew directly from Mary that the man had once courted her as well.

Charles held out his hand to Matthew. “I’m Charles Blake. Don’t worry, you’ve never met me before. Lady Mary often spoke of you.”

Tony found himself watching with interest. Something was wrong. Matthew Crawley was looking at Charles Blake like he had seen a ghost. The man covered after a moment and shook Blake’s hand, hesitantly. “Lady Mary speaks highly of both of you….”

“She spoke highly of you,” Charles said brightly. “She said you were a lawyer. Are you going to be returning to that? Once the dust settles, so to speak?”

Matthew was taken back, Tony could see that. Mary had always described her dead husband as clever, but he was beginning to have his doubts. He certainly wasn’t thinking fast on his feet. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he said finally. “No one even suggested it…I suppose I should consider it.” Off by the fireplace, Mary was suddenly waving at him, no doubt to have him say hello to Lady Mercer. He nodded to both of them. “I should see to Lady Mary, if you will both excuse me?”

Blake watched Matthew retreat, his expression pensive. “That poor fellow is not as well as the Crawleys want everyone to believe.”

“Hard to believe we’ve both been thrown over for a shell of a man, a ghost that just happens to be alive,” Tony muttered. “You realize she has the servants watching him, don’t you? Who would of thought what she really wanted was a dimwitted puppet to follow her around. Admittedly he’s a pretty puppet. The photos didn’t do him justice.” That irked him as well.

Blake gave him a harsh look. “Try not to be too much of a jealous ass, Gillingham. We both knew that she loved her husband. If she’s happy then we should be happy. And I suggest you watch what you say. He’s not dimwitted at all, and neither is she, and neither are the servants she has keeping an eye on him. If his memory loss was even half as bad as people have made it out to be, the very fact that she can have a conversation with him is probably something she rejoices over. We both know war veterans who have come back far more damaged than poor Crawley. And he doesn’t seem dim at all, he seems nervous that there’s a lot of people around, all of whom are going to pester him with questions about what he does and doesn’t recall. I don’t pretend that Lady Mary and I ever spent a great deal of time on the subject of her dead husband because it seemed far too painful for her, but when she did talk of him, she made it clear that in some ways they were a mismatch. This sort of thing,” and Blake waved his hand at the slowly milling party attendants, “wasn’t the sort of thing he liked at all, and worse, this particular party is Lord Grantham and Lady Mary both making the point that he is alive and well…. And while you’re calling him dimwitted, he’s obviously aware that he’s on display. Accept the reality, Gillingham. It’s over. She has her husband back. She’s not going to choose you, or I. God has played a trump card against us both.” Blake gave him a long look. “She won’t like you better for taking against her husband, you do realize that?”

“I just can’t believe she’s happy with… someone who managed to forget her for a year. While digging ditches.” Tony found himself almost shaking with rage. “Bad enough when he was a lawyer, now he’s a ditch digger and odd jobs fellow. I heard he was even in workhouses… and yet that’s what makes Lady Mary happy. A ditch digger.”

Blake rolled his eyes at him. “Gillingham, if you genuinely believe that, then accept that she never would have been happy with you. And before you look down on the fellow for heaven forbid, getting his hands dirty working, tell me what work you’re qualified to do, if you were stripped of your name, your position, and your education. I mean really Tony, do you even know what your valet does?” With that, Blake walked away.

She’s making a mistake, Tony thought as she let her husband take her by the arm. I will have to convince her of that.

~*~
John Bates thought the lengthy party wasn’t a good idea at all. In theory, of course, it was a wonderful idea. Lord Grantham and the Crawley family certainly had more reason than most to celebrate the holidays, that was true, but it had also been a very long time since they’d had such a large houseful of guests. There was a certain worried atmosphere to the place, as if the week had to be successful or else something terrible would happen. Add in the fact that he definitely sensed that Matthew Crawley was much more stressed about the event than he was willing to let on, and he had a bad feeling

He had a bad feeling about Matthew anyway. The man was much more himself in many ways, and Bates doubted that Lord Grantham realized that Matthew was much better at being secretive when he was more himself. He rather doubted Matthew would have shared much with a valet even before the accident, Mosely had always found the man closed off and in some respects Bates found him the same way. Robert assumed that everyone was like himself, and since he had a warm relationship with his valet where he shared secrets and asked for advice, that everyone else did as well. Matthew hadn’t been built the same way, even before the accident, and as much as something was eating at the man, he wasn’t likely to share it with his valet. He did think Matthew trusted him, he just wasn’t sure if that was enough to prevent a problem if it arose.

It was possible it was just nerves. He wouldn’t want to run the gauntlet Matthew needed to run that night at the dinner table that was the truth. Carson, with his way of glaring down opposition, had shut down a lot of the visiting servants’ questions but it was clear that the main topic of gossip was one Matthew Crawley and his missing year and the whole tragedy of it all. That meant they would all be watching him, and Matthew, unlike a lot of the family, had an intimate understanding of how much the servants talked and judged. He wasn’t likely to get a reprieve from it from the guests either.

And some of the servants were simply annoying. Gillingham’s valet, Mr. Greene, was openly flirting with Anna and he didn’t much care for that. The Duke of Crowborough’s man was exactly what he expected, a well controlled ponce who knew how to play the part. But for the lighter hair and eyes, it was like having another Thomas Barrow in the house, and while the glares between Barrow and Hightower were amusing, it was also potential trouble. A part of him genuinely felt sorry for Barrow. He suspected there had been a time when Thomas would have wanted nothing more than to be the Duke of Crowborough’s valet, since it obviously provided more personal fringe benefits. Hightower in turn seemed pleased to flaunt his position in Barrow’s face.

“Bates, you’re young Mr. Crawley’s valet,” Greene asked suddenly, during a lull around the servants dining table. “But wasn’t that different? Before, Mosely here was Crawley’s valet and you were Lord Grantham’s.”

“Quite the come down,” Hightower agreed. “Didn’t I hear he was actually waiting tables for his living, or was it digging ditches and building roads?”

Before Bates could even speak, Mosely sat straight up and looked ready to come to blows. “You will be respectful of Mr. Crawley at this table, and to Mr. Bates. Mr. Crawley is a fine gentleman and treated me kindly and with respect and I would gladly be his valet still if Mr. Bates had not asked me to change position with him. Lord Grantham is master of this estate, and Mr. Crawley will be master of this estate. There’s no come down in that. ”

“Thank you, Mr. Mosely,” Bates said evenly, surprised that the mousey fellow had such fire in his belly. “My *wife* Anna is Lady Mary’s ladies maid, and by changing position with Mr. Mosely, my wife and I see more of each other. And Mr. Mosely is correct. Mr. Crawley is a fine gentleman who treats the staff like he understands how difficult the work is.”

“And Mr. Crawley was kind before his accident,” a new voice piped up. Daisy, of all people, holding a serving bowl. “He was always please and thank you and may I help you, and he didn’t insist poor Alfred be fired even after Alfred ruined his suit. Lots of people would have. You shouldn’t say unkind things about him.”

Hightower smirked at her and then at Barrow. “So he’s not just a pretty little fox, is he? Good to know.”

And that was something to ask Barrow about. But the dressing gong sounded and that meant he had to check on his charge. Matthew was mostly dressed, Mosely had never really broken him to the habit of letting the valet do everything, but it was still his job to fine tune everything. “Are you ready for tonight, sir?”

Matthew smiled slightly. “To be honest, I think I’d rather be anywhere but here. But it has to done.” He carefully did his own cufflinks. Bates knew better than to ask if he wanted help. He had those moments himself, where he didn’t want help. For someone with a hand that didn’t work well, Matthew managed. “Bates, is everyone quite certain I haven’t met the Duke of Crowborough?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. He was never here when you were, and he wasn’t in the war. Why do you think you’ve met him?” It coupled with his own odd feelings about Crowborough and his valet.

Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know… I just get the impression he finds something very amusing about the whole business. He and his valet both. And….” He hesitated. “I need to ask you something in confidence, Mr. Bates.”

That was new. “Of course, Mr. Crawley.”

“I mean it.” Matthew stiffened. “I’m not so foolish as to think Lord Grantham doesn’t ask you about me. What I am about to ask you will certainly offend him. I know the answer, because I am certain Robert is a just and decent man but I admit that my… time away sometimes makes me overly suspicious. I just want to be certain I’m right. I know, because I remember that you’ve kept my secrets before, that I can trust you. I am not asking something dishonorable.” For someone certain he was right, Matthew looked surprisingly pale

“Then ask.” Bates said it gently.

“After the dinner and the after dinner drinks and talk…. The servants aren’t expected to be available for guests for… entertainment?” He turned red and looked away. “I was concerned about the younger staff…”

“Did….” Bates stopped himself. It wasn’t the time to ask such a question. “No, Mr. Crawley, your instincts about Lord Grantham do you credit. This is not a household where such a thing is required.” And the sudden relief in Matthew’s eyes told him just how uncertain the man had been. He’s not as better as they like to think, Bates thought, not if he’s that uncertain about what happens at parties in this house. That could be a problem.

“Please don’t tell Robert I had such a concern. It would offend him greatly.” Matthew’s tone was hesitant.

“Of course I won’t.” Bates reassured. Robert would be incensed at what that sort of question implied about where Matthew had been. At the very least he had no intention of raising the topic until after the party and the holiday was well over.
~*~

Thomas normally would have chaffed vocally at having to wait tables like a footman especially for his grace the Duke of Bloody Crowborough but his senses had been tingling that something was up the moment Hightower the valet snickered at him. He wasn’t an idiot, of course. Hightower was the Duke’s current lover, and had been for some time. Thomas wondered if the wife had ever figured it out before she died. He rather doubted it. Philip was slick at covering his tracks, he always had been and that made it odd that he had pried himself out of his personal empire of an estate to attend a jolly holiday party held by a man who didn’t particularly like him. The wife had given the Duke the money he needed to ignore the rest of society. Thomas used to have regrets, regretting that he pushed too hard and lost an opportunity. Then he started to hear the rumors. What intrigued him was that he just couldn’t see what the end game was for His Grace. It wasn’t like he needed a lucrative marriage any more, and he hardly counted among the attendees that were purely friends and well wishers. And the one thing that he did suspect, he couldn’t see happening on several levels. For starters, he couldn’t believe the Duke would be so indiscreet. He also had no doubt that as pretty a man as he was, Matthew Crawley didn’t lean that way. At least not consciously.

And yet as he made his way around the dinner table, it seemed obvious to him, if to no one else except Hightower, who seemed increasingly miffed, that the Duke was flirting with Crawley. Of course it was subtle, even a duke couldn’t proposition a man at a formal dinner party but it was there.

“I am looking forward to the hunt tomorrow,” the Duke said as he lifted his glass of wine and sipped it. “Are you quite well enough to attend the shooting, Crawley? I had wondered, what with your hand being a bit dodgy.”

That question irritated Lord Grantham, while it seemed like most of the guests were genuinely interested. There were a few of the war vets that Thomas was certain would need to be driven out to the shoot and propped up against a tree in order to shoot, with a man to hold their cane and gun and another to fetch the dead bird. Matthew in contrast had no issues. Thomas knew Robert had taken him out ahead of time, with Tom, to make sure there would be no problems. “I shoot with my right,” Matthew said easily, “and I do have some use of my left.” He made a point of lifting his wine glass with his left, not something he normally made a show of. “I count myself luckier than most. Plenty of men don’t even have left hands at all these days, due to the war.”

“You were luckier than most in the war as well, weren’t you? Didn’t I hear that you were paralyzed, in a wheelchair, for close to a year?” The Duke smiled pleasantly. “You’re like the clever fox that always just manages to elude the hounds, aren’t you? But then forgive me, it occurs to me that you may never have been on a fox hunt, considering your background. Or have you, Crawley? Have you been fox hunting?” He smirked at the man.

Matthew Crawley paled as if he’d suddenly seen a ghost and Thomas realized instantly how a piece of ugly gossip he’d heard in London connected to the Duke of Crowborough had some truth. You bloody bastard, he thought darkly. Philip had finagled an invite for the same reason he had come to visit eight years earlier. To protect himself from scandal. Thomas picked his side in an instant. Matthew needed a distraction to recover himself and unlike the Duke he had always been kind, and Thomas made a show of stumbling and dumping his full tray of salad onto Tom Branson. “I’m so sorry, sir!”

He could see Carson immediately turn red. “Barrow!”

“It was an accident, Mr. Carson,” Thomas fibbed. Of course it wasn’t, but it surely ended all the talk of fox hunting. Now, he thought as he made a show of cleaning up, I have to figure out what to do next. If I’m right then this is a bloody mess.
~*~

Bates wasn’t surprised by the knock on his door in the servants quarters. It had been a busy and late night, one of the reasons he was sleeping in the house and so was Anna was that with so many guests, it was just better to be on call. He was surprised to find Thomas Barrow at his door looking pale but determined. “Mr. Bates, I need to speak with you privately.”

“Is this room private enough?” He didn’t fancy a midnight stroll outside with Thomas.

“As long as we both agree to not raise our voices,” Thomas said. He stepped into the room and carefully closed the door. “I know you dislike me, and the feeling is mutual, but I will grant you that I have always appreciated your willingness to be discreet about certain matters.”

Oh lord, Bates thought tiredly. “Have you… had an incident with a guest?” He didn’t know what Thomas thought he could accomplish if the man had made a pass at a guest and been dramatically wrong about his assumptions.

Thomas smiled thinly. “How quick you are to think the worst of me. As it happens, this is a case where I have done nothing wrong. I need to ask you a question, several actually, about Mr. Crawley.”

“What’s your interest in Mr. Crawley?” It had to be something serious. “I didn’t think you had a problem with him.”

“I don’t. I rather like Mr. Crawley.” He held up his gloved hand. “We were in the war together, and he was one of the ones upstairs who didn’t let this or the business with James bother him.” He paused. “There are several rumors about that I need to confirm with you.”

“What makes you think I can confirm them?” Bates asked pleasantly.

“Because you’re his valet and you’d know, and because you’re obviously watching him for Lord Grantham.” Thomas waited a moment, until Bates nodded for him to continue. “During the time he was missing and we thought he was dead, did he work in service? At an estate?”

After a moment Bates nodded. “He doesn’t know where. I know he seems quite recovered now, but there are many gaps in his memories. Things that happened soon after his accident are… indistinct at best, but yes, we’re quite certain he worked as a footman on an estate.”

“And someone flogged him with a whip, hard enough to leave scars, on that estate?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” Bates said tiredly. Of course that particular thing was being discussed. “Are you going somewhere with this? Who has been spreading that around?”

“No one told me about the scars. In fact, I doubt very much that anyone aside from you knows that Mr. Crawley was beaten with a whip. Beaten, yes, we all figured that out, but flogged? No one suspects… I just know more about the players in this particular game.” He hesitated for just a moment. “It was the Duke of Crowborough’s estate, and his grace is here to see to it that Mr. Crawley keeps his mouth shut.” Thomas said that confidently.

Crowborough’s estate was one of the ones that Lord Grantham had suspected. And under his own theory, Crowborough had plenty of petty reasons to despise Matthew Crawley. The man was going to inherit the earldom and had married the woman that the Duke had pursued, however briefly. Crowborough seemed the petty, high handed sort that would mistreat a servant simply because he could, and his valet seemed to go the same way, if not worse. But…. “Isn’t this a huge risk on his part? If anyone has any reason to keep their mouth shut, it’s the Duke. Mr. Crawley doesn’t remember who it was that treated him so cruelly, and to be blunt, it seems unlikely that the Duke of Crowborough had no idea who he was. Coming here just makes it more likely that Mr. Crawley will remember him and make an accusation. The Duke could plead ignorance about Mr. Crawley’s identity, although I think that’s unlikely, but he’d still be ostracized for savagely whipping a servant.”

“Which leads me to another question, although it’s more of an opinion type of thing.” Thomas took a seat at his desk and Bates sat down on his bed. “When Mr. Crawley was first brought here by Lord Grantham, before his memory began to return, I would describe him as quite fearful and very…. Very quick to do what he was told. Very aware that people had little patience for him or any questions he might have… Someone who understood that it was better for him if he just kept his mouth shut and went along with whatever was being handed to him. You know that sort of servant… if you tell them they’re expected to muck out the stable after they’ve got the table set, they run out and do it without even thinking because they’re so afraid of what happens if they don’t do as they’re told. Suggestible. ”

“The beaten down sort, yes,” Bates said after a moment. Anna had said that Lady Mary was quite conscious of it, that she worried about doing things with Matthew because she worried that he would simply let her be affectionate because he’d been told he was her husband and it was required of him to comply. “I think that’s fair. Even now, I wouldn’t say he is as confident as he was before.”

“And it was probably much worse right after the accident when he was still recovering physically and didn’t know what he was doing, or who he was….”

“Or what day it was,” Bates added. “Where are you going with this, Thomas?” He thought he knew and he hated the very idea, but he needed to be certain.

“You’re going to make me spell this out.” Thomas smiled and lit up a cigarette. “You know what I am. The Duke of Crowborough and I were lovers once. Long before the war. His valet is his current lover. When the Duke first rejected me… I was quite angry. Then I began to hear rumors that the Duke’s tastes had… grown more sadistic. I know Hightower, the valet, and I know the sort of things he enjoys.”

“Do I really need to know this?” Bates asked.

“Yes, because you have to understand, I am trying to establish that Mr. Crawley was a victim here. And might be in danger.” Thomas took a long puff on his cigarette. “In the society I run with, there’s a game we play. It will seem silly and offensive to you but as long as everyone is a willing participant, it’s quite fun. It’s called the fox hunt, Mr. Bates. Some of the men are hunters and some are foxes and everyone goes running into the woods. If a hunter catches a fox, he gets to blood the fox. Do I have to explain what that means?”

“No. Please don’t.” It made his skin crawl.

“The Duke and Hightower both always preferred the hunter role. In a friendly setting, someone who is a fox generally wants to be caught, it’s just a matter of by who. After the wife died, the Duke became quite reclusive on his estate and rumors began to spread that he…was starting to play the game in an unpleasant way. He would hire a pretty but simple servant and let his servants run the poor bastard ragged and then once everyone had their fun inside, they take the fellow out at night, they whip him bloody, and then… and then they let the fox go running. When they catch the fox, they all blood the fox and send him on his way. With a fairly stern warning, of course, that telling the authorities will just make it worse.” He looked intently at Bates. “I want you to understand, that is not something I approve of in any way. That night here that I was caught… I thought James was willing and I stopped as soon as I knew he wasn’t. What I just told you… it circulates because it’s a warning in our circles, to stay away.”

“That’s… sick.” Bates said after a moment. “And Hightower called Mr. Crawley a clever little fox at the servants dinner…”

“And His Grace bluntly asked Mr. Crawley if he enjoyed fox hunting at dinner. And Mr. Crawley didn’t react well, all things considered.” Thomas looked down at his feet. “Please understand I am not leveling any accusation at Mr. Crawley. I think he was not in any sort of mental state to understand that he was allowed to say no to certain things. I don’t know if the Duke knew who Mr. Crawley was… frankly I don’t know that he would have cared beyond amusing himself at the expense of someone with a high born accent and a probable war injury. But he knows now, and he’s here to warn Mr. Crawley to keep his mouth shut. Because if Mr. Crawley ever decides to press the point about being mistreated and whipped…. Then the Duke will take Mr. Crawley down with him. And might not get taken down himself at all. He is a duke while Mr. Crawley is just the heir to an earldom and a bit….questionable.”

“I hate this,” Bates said simply. “I hate this because you’re right. Mr. Crawley would end up the victim here, Mr. Crawley has been the victim here. If you’re right….”

“If I am right, Mr. Crawley was savagely whipped and then raped. And considering his mental state, he probably thought he somehow deserved it for dropping too many dishes, and it certainly explains why he’s so quick to do what he’s told. He probably thought he was being punished for something.” Thomas stubbed out his cigarette.

“It also explains why he avoided estates. And if he’d shown up at any other place, he would have been recognized and spared. Why do you think he’s in danger?” That was his slight disconnect.

Thomas shrugged. “The stories are from just a few men. Servants who ran away. You do understand that the Duke’s staff is almost exclusively male, don’t you? It’s part of why he’s so private. People don’t question much when he’s so rarely about. The problem with the stories is that…. There should be a lot of servants with stripes on their backs and there really isn’t. My thought is that most of the poor fellows who run this particular gauntlet don’t survive it. Tomorrow is a shooting party. Accidents happen, Mr. Bates.”

Bates understood that point all too well. “To make sure Mr. Crawley isn’t left alone, I would have to speak with Lord Grantham and tell him something. He’s not always quick to see connections.”

“Right, not always the sharpest tool in the shed.” Thomas stood up. “I’ll repeat what I’ve said to him, if it’s necessary. I just have a very bad feeling that the Duke has realized what a problem he has in Mr. Crawley remembering who he is and what he did. No matter how badly embarrassed and humiliated Mr. Crawley might be, he’s still the poor bastard who had no idea which end was up for the last year, while the Duke damn well knew better than to sodomize and beat his servants. Mr. Crawley might be ruined, but let’s be honest, being dead for a year has pretty much done that already. I just…” Thomas hesitated. “Do you think he does remember it?”

“Yes.” Bates said it simply. “I don’t think he remembers who it was, at least not yet but he said something to me earlier tonight… about what his lordship required of the servants with guests in the late evening. Between that and what you’ve said, I am sure he was used.”

He was surprised to see Thomas shudder. Then Thomas eyed his sharply. “What? You think if one does it, we must all like it that way? Tricking someone little better than a dullard into sex? Do I have to say it was wrong? I will. It was wrong. And it wasn’t wrong just because it was Mr. Crawley. It was wrong because it’s wrong to force someone to have sex. It’s wrong when it happens to a woman, and at least we call it rape when it’s a woman, even though we’ll still blame a woman for it, even if she was beaten bloody. When it’s a man… well…. Between you and I, we both know Mr. Crawley isn’t…. isn’t homosexual, and if you believe me, then you know he didn’t bend over and ask for it. So what do you think of him… now? Now that you know at some point in his life, your employer has had sex with a man?”

“Nothing less,” Bates said immediately. He gave Thomas a knowing look. “I don’t like you because you’re a sneak and a thief and a liar and the truth don’t make much difference to you on any given day, and I don’t like that. But if you like men, then you like men, and as long as everyone involved is making that choice, then it’s not my place to judge. If Mr. Crawley was tricked or forced, that’s different. As it happens, I understand your point, that ultimately if this gets out, no one will really care that Mr. Crawley was whipped and forced.”

“Raped. He was raped. When you talk about forcing… you make it sound too clean.” Thomas stood up and went to the door. “I meant what I said. If Lord Grantham needs to hear it from me, come and get me.”

“I will.” Bates said. It was hard to believe that the situation was far worse than anyone thought.
~*~
Charles Blake wondered suddenly if anyone at Downton Abbey understood how ridiculous the whole weekend was. It was ostentatious and silly, and for all that the family was happy that Matthew Crawley was alive and seemingly well, they didn’t seem to notice how pressured the fellow looked. He had a suspicion the last thing the poor man wanted to do was walk around the woods with a bunch of relative strangers.

He had accepted the invitation on a lark. Mary wasn’t what he thought, and he was willing to be a good sport since his own motivations towards her hadn’t been upfront. He had been wrong about her, not in a bad way. She was just exactly what she said she was, a woman slowly getting over the death of a beloved husband. He liked her and if he had been right about her, it would have been a good match. But he wasn’t right, proven in part by her obvious devotion to the somewhat nervous Matthew Crawley.

As he watched the couple at the pre-shooting breakfast, it also occurred to him that the photos of Matthew that Mary had shown him didn’t do the man justice at all. He’d told Mary that he’d never met her husband and at the time, looking at her pictures, he was certain it was the truth. Now, looking at the man alive, he was quite certain he’d met the man before. Photos didn’t capture Crawley’s eyes, they were a delightfully unexpected blue and that and the blond hair made him cut a dashing figure. Yes, he was certain he had met the man. Not in the war, and certainly not in the private circles he ran with in London but somewhere. He was certain Crawley had sensed it as well, the man had been startled the day before when they had met, and Mary had mentioned in her letters that the fellow tended to be surprised by his own thoughts at times. So where had they met, Blake wondered. As he watched, one of the servants bumbled into Crawley and Crawley dropped the glass he’d been holding in his bad hand. As Crawley knelt down with the servant and helped the poor fellow pick up the bits of glass, all while pleasantly reassuring the young fellow it was an accident, Blake realized exactly where he’d met Matthew Crawley.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a new voice chimed beside him. It was Philip, the Duke of Crowborough, a person he knew and wished he didn’t. “Frankly, I would have thought this was the last place you’d be for the holidays.” He gestured to Crawley, who was still picking up glass. “I see they have cleaned him up but he still can’t last a meal without breaking something. I pity the servants here, I really do. I doubt Lord Grantham would allow them any protest in picking up after the pretty little oaf.”

“You should really watch what you say,” Blake said after a long moment. “I was invited by Lady Mary. We took a liking to each other during the last year. Had things not changed so dramatically for her, I might have pressed an interest in her. We’re friends. That’s why I am here.” He gave the Duke a cold stare. “Why are you here, your grace?”

The Duke smiled. “I was curious. And speaking of watching what you say, you might want to be careful as well. You’re hardly an innocent party. As it happens, I think we’ll both be lucky. They’re putting on a good show but he’s not all there.” Philip sniffed. “This is what happens when you let amusement get in the way of being clever. Hightower wanted him done away with, but it amused me to say no…. Hightower was so jealous of my foxy little footman.”

That was even worse than the ugliness Charles already knew about. “Why on earth are you telling me that?”

“Because, quite simply, Blake, you need to keep your mouth shut. I can ruin you. Crawley can ruin us both. I don’t intend to let him destroy me. I’m willing to live and let live if he doesn’t remember but I think he does… or if he doesn’t, he soon will. Apparently if you put him with familiar things, he starts to remember more. I hope you can see where that’s a problem.”

It wasn’t as much of a problem as the Duke thought, Blake realized with relief. “What are you intending?”

“Nothing, my dear Charles.” The Duke smiled more broadly. “But accidents can happen on these lengthy hunts. Don’t get in my way, and you won’t have to worry. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Blake said. The next order of business then was seeing to it that Matthew Crawley wasn’t murdered.