The healing process - Chapter nine
Title: The healing process
Author: vladnyrki
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Characters & Pairings: Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle
Richard's back at Downton...
Beated by the wonderful mrstater
THIRD INTERLUDE: Back to normal?
Downton, July 4th, 1919
"Oh Robert, I'm so relieved Matthew has decided to come back to Downton and visit us at last."
"Indeed, my dear."
As he discarded his dressing gown on the chair by Cora's bed, Robert did not hide his own happy smile. To be true, Matthew's return to Yorkshire after weeks of mourning and self-imposed exile in Manchester was the light at the end of the tunnel. The apparently unimportant fact that his heir was supposed to arrive at Downton a day earlier than Mary's insufferable publisher could even be the first stone on the path that would lead the whole family back to normal. If only Sybil could come back to her senses, everything would be perfect.
Just perfect.
Robert joined his wife under the light cover and lay down on the pillow with a satisfied sigh, settling himself in a half-turned position to go on with their customary good night conversation.
"Did you notice Mary's apathy when she announced Richard's visit?" Cora turned to face him, her face suddenly serious.
"Like everyone around the table, I suppose…"
Cora could not hide a fugitive frown of disagreement.
"What is it my dear?" he enquired, not quite knowing how to interpret his wife's hesitation.
"I don't know… It's just that Mary was so adamant she was moving on last May. I guess I'm finding this attitude quite surprising, almost as if…"
"As if…" Robert pressed on anxiously. The idea that there may be an obstacle to the dreamed reunion was bordering on unbearable.
"As if she was downplaying her feelings, or something similar," Cora finally expressed her fears out loud.
"Oh, go on, Cora !" Robert exclaimed, laughing at the incongruity of such an apprehension. "Mary? In love with this man? When she had spent the last years suffering from Matthew's engagement to poor Lavinia? That's preposterous!"
He leaned in and took his wife in a comforting embrace.
"You'll see, Matthew's coming back tomorrow, and all will be forgotten."
Cora settled in his embrace.
"I hope you're right, Robert. I really hope. But don't you remember what you had said about discarded toys which weren't here anymore when you wanted them back?"
Downton, July 6th, 1919
This was most interesting.
Violet Crawley observed the scene unfolding in front of her attentive eyes like a surgeon's blade cut through skin and muscle.
After months of absence, Matthew had made his reappearance at Downton, at last. Gone was the haunted stare and his rather alarming pale complexion - if she had been in a quipping mood, she would have invoked Bram Stocker - which was a very good sign. The day before, he had accompanied his mother at Cora's invitation to luncheon, accepted another round of formal condolences with his usual dignity, and reclaimed his position as Cousin Matthew under the family's happy scrutiny. A shy, hopeful grin was even exchanged between Cora and Robert when they spied Mary proposing to accompany him to Lavinia's grave. As the once couple made their way to the village under the summer sun - keeping a respectful distance between them, naturally - hoping the nightmare was finally over did not seem so far-fetched a sentiment.
The war was really over, as the newspapers celebrating the peace conference in Paris kept on repeating.
Poor Lavinia had been a good soul, but anyone with a pair of eyes and a functioning brain would have been able to notice that Mathew's longing stares had another recipient entirely.
Mary's publisher had forgotten his fiancée for more than a month, too preoccupied by President Wilson and these talks about a League of Nations, and too anxious to invest in ruined Hungarian and Italian papers.
Her granddaughter's growing outward indifference seemed to indicate that the crisis in May had been that, and nothing more, a passing crisis. Furthermore, in spite of an acute observation during a long walk last Sunday, she had not been able to detect any impatience or longing when Mary had announced that her fiancé would visit Downton in a few days.
There was no passion here, she had concluded, sipping her tea with satisfaction.
If you came to it, the equation was quite simple now, and Violet prided herself on being a problem solver. Her impromptu visit to Matthew had produced no effective result, but it had made some crackles appear in the façade of the great love he supposedly shared with Lavinia. She just needed to better her aim, sharpen her weapons, and wait patiently for the best opportunity to push Mary's true affections to the surface once again. The comedy had lasted far too long for the Dowager's taste.
Alas!
Never had she been so off the mark, which was quite vexing, she had to admit to herself. Earlier this afternoon, Sir Richard had finally set foot in Downton for the first time since the funeral, all smiles and dimples, more dashing than ever in his dark suit - at last the man seemed to remember the obligations of proper mourning. As usual, he had missed luncheon, and had begun to blame his lateness on some malfunction in Leicester station.
Heavens, the man was so predictable.
However, much less predictable had been Mary's absence of snappy retort; and the warm smile that brightened her features suddenly had been quite alarming, to say the least. For a moment, the Dowager thought it a rather shallow and understandable reaction to his new, short-cropped haircut and the beard that now covered his cheeks. When her granddaughter began to tease him and accuse him of having ignored his alarm clock once again as she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek that lasted a bit too long to be entirely chaste, Violet could see that the castle in the sky she had begun to build was crumbling even before she had set the first stone. A quick glance around her as she used her cane to sit straighter revealed that she was not the only one mourning the loss of the family's dearest dream, if her daughter-in-law's round, defeated eyes was any indication.
From this moment, everything had gone from bad to worse in a frightening, and almost fascinating way.
As soon as he had finished the tea Carson had offered him, Richard had got up, uttering something stupid about the fine weather and how much staying inside was a pity, and offered his arm to Mary. Violet observed them as they made their way to the village, and she noticed the absence of respectful distance between them with a pang of regret.
Worse than the way they strolled awfully close to each other, the length of their walk had been noticed by everyone. She had gone home to dress and come back to Downton, Cousin Isobel and Matthew had arrived, Robert had just walked downstairs, ready for dinner and fuming at his eldest's new insouciance and uncharacteristic oblivion of common courtesy. They were waiting for Cora and Edith to join them when they heard the couple come in and talk briefly to Carson before hurrying upstairs.
At once, three pairs of eyes had turned to consider Matthew with undisguised pity. Rarely had she witnessed a man retreat so quickly into in his shell. One moment, he was discussing the French's obstinacy about the Ruhr and the absurdity of President Wilson's pretension to force his rather naïve vision on victorious British Empire with Robert, standing straight in his evening wear, glass of champagne in hand. A few seconds later, the stubborn, closed expression they had observed so many times when he was confined to his chair, covered his features once again. It had been one of the rare occurrences when Violet regretted that cruel wit and irony that impregnated her every word: moments like this one made her speechless and unable to offer comfort more often than not.
Now, a few hours later, all the gathered family enjoyed, or tried to in her case, a rather unsettling and unfamiliar dessert - some new American invention, she was sure - and, unable to restrain her natural curiosity in spite of her disappointment, she studied the renewed dynamics around the table with rapt fascination.
This was most interesting indeed.
"So, you're affirming the League of Nations isn't a threat to our sovereignty, to our right to deal with our foreign affairs freely?" Matthew's harshness was not entirely due to political disagreement, she was sure.
"Almost as much as the House of Commons are a threat to my freedom of speech as a British citizen, I would say," the publisher answered back. "Moreover, if this League of Nations can put an end to the damn secret diplomacy that caused the war, I think it's the best idea in years."
"Ah! You and your lot made your money blaming everything on Germany, then, now that's out of fashion, you follow the wind of Wilson's hollow sermons."
Richard laid his spoon on his plate more forcefully than was necessary, and the Dowager noticed Mary's soothing hand on his tensed arm.
"Am I part of the brand new Ministry of Propaganda?" Richard shot back. "I'd be really thankful if you didn't confuse me with Lord Northcliffe. We sell newspapers; that's the only thing we have in common. And in July 1914, we sang very different tunes, I can tell you."
"So, you're a pacifist." The disdain in Matthew's voice was clear like crystal. To him, an injured veteran, this was a synonym of coward.
"Yes, I am. If I had been your age in 1914, I wouldn't have volunteered. I wouldn't have volunteered until the draft would have made it impossible for me to avoid the fighting. I'm too individualist to accept the idea of shooting at anyone because I'm told to. If this makes me coward, then a coward I am." The way he set his shoulders, rolling them under the tuxedo, showed that his political opinion did not extend to his social interactions, obviously.
"You cannot deny that President Wilson has an unbearable way of treating the Alliance like a wayward child," Robert interrupted the escalating debate. "We won a long war, a war in which the United States did not really participate until late 1917, and we deserve our share." He tried to side with Matthew and re-orientate the conversation at the same time; his tone indicating his will to remind who the patriarch was.
"Our share?" Richard was staring at her son as if he had grown another head. After more than a year of downplaying his opinions, his sudden political honesty was quite surprising. Although, if she was totally honest, he had expressed his disdain of official propaganda the first time they had ever met. At the time, she had attributed this rather mercenary comment to his obsession with selling papers at any cost. Now, she could see the brutal honesty of their brief exchange.
"What share?" The newspaperman went on animatedly. "North-Eastern France, their richest region, is ruined and must be rebuilt from scratch, literally. I won't even speak of Russia. The Alliance as a whole, and England isn't an exception, is indebted to the United States and other countries like Japan or Argentina. Said countries modernized their economies and infrastructures when we were busy destroying one another in Europe. So what share do you want? Because, unless you're American, there's nothing to share, I'm afraid."
The Dowager barely concealed an amused smile, the first one this day. If her son thought Branson was a poor choice for a son-in-law, what was he thinking of Richard right now? Sybil was marrying an Irish socialist, and a former chauffeur. Mary was marrying a liberal and pacifist Scot, an admirer of President Wilson and a man probably far richer than they would ever be, which added salt to the wound. Nothing would go back to normal now, if something like "normal" ever existed. Violet Crawley was disappointed, but, more than anything, she was getting curious.
This was getting interesting.
"I simply cannot believe it!"
Cora stared at her husband as he paced her room. He had ridded himself of his dressing gown, but had not put it back on the chair, where its usual place was. Instead, he kept it in his hand, and the movement of the garment accentuated the angry gestures.
"Robert…"
"Have you noticed how long they stayed out this afternoon? Have you watched how casually he allowed himself to touch her when we went through to the drawing room? Have you heard how cocky he's become? Have you seen how they, they…"
Obviously, her husband had managed to contain himself all day but witnessing the couple passionate embrace after dinner had been the last straw.
Robert was hurt, did what he always did in such cases, he lashed out dramatically.
And cruelly.
"Of course, you cannot be that disappointed. You always were his staunchest supporter! You saw only his money!"
"Robert… I supported him because Matthew made his own choice. I supported him as long as he seemed to be Mary's choice. And I support him now, because he is Mary's choice, obviously, whether I like it or not." Her voice was firm, authoritative almost. By nature and by habits, Cora had grown into an accommodating woman. One did not have much other choice with a mother, a husband and a mother-in-law like hers. However, she never appreciated wrongful accusations, even when they were uttered in grief and anger.
"I just cannot believe it," he repeated more softly, defeated almost.
"Robert, we have to accept the evidence. Mary has every right to love another man than Matthew, and she's in love with Richard now." It was a cruel thing to say, but her husband needed to hear it.
They had to accept this new situation, even if they did not like it.
The perfect marriage that could have solved everything would not happen.
Mary would not inherit Downton.
Cora's money would not go to her grandchildren.
Robert's heir would never be his "son" as well.
At the same time, in spite of her husband's vehement protestations, she was not entirely sure that Mary marrying Richard was such a bad thing. The man was rich, powerful, and could be very helpful if the need arose. To be honest, if O'Brien was to be believed, he already had been.
Most importantly, when he thought nobody was observing him, Richard gazed at Mary with pure admiration and adoration.
"It's just that…"
Robert sat down heavily, unable to finish his sentence. He did not need to.
"Robert…"
Cora sat up from her pillows and rested her chin on his shoulder.
"Do you remember what you told me when Matthew first came back with Lavinia in 1916? We had a dream and now it's over, we have to live with it."
"Yes, of course, you're right."
"I might add today that, maybe, it's high time to let them, every one of them, Mary, Matthew, Richard even, live their dreams and not hope for them to live ours. Don't you agree, darling?"
Author: vladnyrki
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Characters & Pairings: Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle
Richard's back at Downton...
Beated by the wonderful mrstater
THIRD INTERLUDE: Back to normal?
Downton, July 4th, 1919
"Oh Robert, I'm so relieved Matthew has decided to come back to Downton and visit us at last."
"Indeed, my dear."
As he discarded his dressing gown on the chair by Cora's bed, Robert did not hide his own happy smile. To be true, Matthew's return to Yorkshire after weeks of mourning and self-imposed exile in Manchester was the light at the end of the tunnel. The apparently unimportant fact that his heir was supposed to arrive at Downton a day earlier than Mary's insufferable publisher could even be the first stone on the path that would lead the whole family back to normal. If only Sybil could come back to her senses, everything would be perfect.
Just perfect.
Robert joined his wife under the light cover and lay down on the pillow with a satisfied sigh, settling himself in a half-turned position to go on with their customary good night conversation.
"Did you notice Mary's apathy when she announced Richard's visit?" Cora turned to face him, her face suddenly serious.
"Like everyone around the table, I suppose…"
Cora could not hide a fugitive frown of disagreement.
"What is it my dear?" he enquired, not quite knowing how to interpret his wife's hesitation.
"I don't know… It's just that Mary was so adamant she was moving on last May. I guess I'm finding this attitude quite surprising, almost as if…"
"As if…" Robert pressed on anxiously. The idea that there may be an obstacle to the dreamed reunion was bordering on unbearable.
"As if she was downplaying her feelings, or something similar," Cora finally expressed her fears out loud.
"Oh, go on, Cora !" Robert exclaimed, laughing at the incongruity of such an apprehension. "Mary? In love with this man? When she had spent the last years suffering from Matthew's engagement to poor Lavinia? That's preposterous!"
He leaned in and took his wife in a comforting embrace.
"You'll see, Matthew's coming back tomorrow, and all will be forgotten."
Cora settled in his embrace.
"I hope you're right, Robert. I really hope. But don't you remember what you had said about discarded toys which weren't here anymore when you wanted them back?"
Downton, July 6th, 1919
This was most interesting.
Violet Crawley observed the scene unfolding in front of her attentive eyes like a surgeon's blade cut through skin and muscle.
After months of absence, Matthew had made his reappearance at Downton, at last. Gone was the haunted stare and his rather alarming pale complexion - if she had been in a quipping mood, she would have invoked Bram Stocker - which was a very good sign. The day before, he had accompanied his mother at Cora's invitation to luncheon, accepted another round of formal condolences with his usual dignity, and reclaimed his position as Cousin Matthew under the family's happy scrutiny. A shy, hopeful grin was even exchanged between Cora and Robert when they spied Mary proposing to accompany him to Lavinia's grave. As the once couple made their way to the village under the summer sun - keeping a respectful distance between them, naturally - hoping the nightmare was finally over did not seem so far-fetched a sentiment.
The war was really over, as the newspapers celebrating the peace conference in Paris kept on repeating.
Poor Lavinia had been a good soul, but anyone with a pair of eyes and a functioning brain would have been able to notice that Mathew's longing stares had another recipient entirely.
Mary's publisher had forgotten his fiancée for more than a month, too preoccupied by President Wilson and these talks about a League of Nations, and too anxious to invest in ruined Hungarian and Italian papers.
Her granddaughter's growing outward indifference seemed to indicate that the crisis in May had been that, and nothing more, a passing crisis. Furthermore, in spite of an acute observation during a long walk last Sunday, she had not been able to detect any impatience or longing when Mary had announced that her fiancé would visit Downton in a few days.
There was no passion here, she had concluded, sipping her tea with satisfaction.
If you came to it, the equation was quite simple now, and Violet prided herself on being a problem solver. Her impromptu visit to Matthew had produced no effective result, but it had made some crackles appear in the façade of the great love he supposedly shared with Lavinia. She just needed to better her aim, sharpen her weapons, and wait patiently for the best opportunity to push Mary's true affections to the surface once again. The comedy had lasted far too long for the Dowager's taste.
Alas!
Never had she been so off the mark, which was quite vexing, she had to admit to herself. Earlier this afternoon, Sir Richard had finally set foot in Downton for the first time since the funeral, all smiles and dimples, more dashing than ever in his dark suit - at last the man seemed to remember the obligations of proper mourning. As usual, he had missed luncheon, and had begun to blame his lateness on some malfunction in Leicester station.
Heavens, the man was so predictable.
However, much less predictable had been Mary's absence of snappy retort; and the warm smile that brightened her features suddenly had been quite alarming, to say the least. For a moment, the Dowager thought it a rather shallow and understandable reaction to his new, short-cropped haircut and the beard that now covered his cheeks. When her granddaughter began to tease him and accuse him of having ignored his alarm clock once again as she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek that lasted a bit too long to be entirely chaste, Violet could see that the castle in the sky she had begun to build was crumbling even before she had set the first stone. A quick glance around her as she used her cane to sit straighter revealed that she was not the only one mourning the loss of the family's dearest dream, if her daughter-in-law's round, defeated eyes was any indication.
From this moment, everything had gone from bad to worse in a frightening, and almost fascinating way.
As soon as he had finished the tea Carson had offered him, Richard had got up, uttering something stupid about the fine weather and how much staying inside was a pity, and offered his arm to Mary. Violet observed them as they made their way to the village, and she noticed the absence of respectful distance between them with a pang of regret.
Worse than the way they strolled awfully close to each other, the length of their walk had been noticed by everyone. She had gone home to dress and come back to Downton, Cousin Isobel and Matthew had arrived, Robert had just walked downstairs, ready for dinner and fuming at his eldest's new insouciance and uncharacteristic oblivion of common courtesy. They were waiting for Cora and Edith to join them when they heard the couple come in and talk briefly to Carson before hurrying upstairs.
At once, three pairs of eyes had turned to consider Matthew with undisguised pity. Rarely had she witnessed a man retreat so quickly into in his shell. One moment, he was discussing the French's obstinacy about the Ruhr and the absurdity of President Wilson's pretension to force his rather naïve vision on victorious British Empire with Robert, standing straight in his evening wear, glass of champagne in hand. A few seconds later, the stubborn, closed expression they had observed so many times when he was confined to his chair, covered his features once again. It had been one of the rare occurrences when Violet regretted that cruel wit and irony that impregnated her every word: moments like this one made her speechless and unable to offer comfort more often than not.
Now, a few hours later, all the gathered family enjoyed, or tried to in her case, a rather unsettling and unfamiliar dessert - some new American invention, she was sure - and, unable to restrain her natural curiosity in spite of her disappointment, she studied the renewed dynamics around the table with rapt fascination.
This was most interesting indeed.
"So, you're affirming the League of Nations isn't a threat to our sovereignty, to our right to deal with our foreign affairs freely?" Matthew's harshness was not entirely due to political disagreement, she was sure.
"Almost as much as the House of Commons are a threat to my freedom of speech as a British citizen, I would say," the publisher answered back. "Moreover, if this League of Nations can put an end to the damn secret diplomacy that caused the war, I think it's the best idea in years."
"Ah! You and your lot made your money blaming everything on Germany, then, now that's out of fashion, you follow the wind of Wilson's hollow sermons."
Richard laid his spoon on his plate more forcefully than was necessary, and the Dowager noticed Mary's soothing hand on his tensed arm.
"Am I part of the brand new Ministry of Propaganda?" Richard shot back. "I'd be really thankful if you didn't confuse me with Lord Northcliffe. We sell newspapers; that's the only thing we have in common. And in July 1914, we sang very different tunes, I can tell you."
"So, you're a pacifist." The disdain in Matthew's voice was clear like crystal. To him, an injured veteran, this was a synonym of coward.
"Yes, I am. If I had been your age in 1914, I wouldn't have volunteered. I wouldn't have volunteered until the draft would have made it impossible for me to avoid the fighting. I'm too individualist to accept the idea of shooting at anyone because I'm told to. If this makes me coward, then a coward I am." The way he set his shoulders, rolling them under the tuxedo, showed that his political opinion did not extend to his social interactions, obviously.
"You cannot deny that President Wilson has an unbearable way of treating the Alliance like a wayward child," Robert interrupted the escalating debate. "We won a long war, a war in which the United States did not really participate until late 1917, and we deserve our share." He tried to side with Matthew and re-orientate the conversation at the same time; his tone indicating his will to remind who the patriarch was.
"Our share?" Richard was staring at her son as if he had grown another head. After more than a year of downplaying his opinions, his sudden political honesty was quite surprising. Although, if she was totally honest, he had expressed his disdain of official propaganda the first time they had ever met. At the time, she had attributed this rather mercenary comment to his obsession with selling papers at any cost. Now, she could see the brutal honesty of their brief exchange.
"What share?" The newspaperman went on animatedly. "North-Eastern France, their richest region, is ruined and must be rebuilt from scratch, literally. I won't even speak of Russia. The Alliance as a whole, and England isn't an exception, is indebted to the United States and other countries like Japan or Argentina. Said countries modernized their economies and infrastructures when we were busy destroying one another in Europe. So what share do you want? Because, unless you're American, there's nothing to share, I'm afraid."
The Dowager barely concealed an amused smile, the first one this day. If her son thought Branson was a poor choice for a son-in-law, what was he thinking of Richard right now? Sybil was marrying an Irish socialist, and a former chauffeur. Mary was marrying a liberal and pacifist Scot, an admirer of President Wilson and a man probably far richer than they would ever be, which added salt to the wound. Nothing would go back to normal now, if something like "normal" ever existed. Violet Crawley was disappointed, but, more than anything, she was getting curious.
This was getting interesting.
"I simply cannot believe it!"
Cora stared at her husband as he paced her room. He had ridded himself of his dressing gown, but had not put it back on the chair, where its usual place was. Instead, he kept it in his hand, and the movement of the garment accentuated the angry gestures.
"Robert…"
"Have you noticed how long they stayed out this afternoon? Have you watched how casually he allowed himself to touch her when we went through to the drawing room? Have you heard how cocky he's become? Have you seen how they, they…"
Obviously, her husband had managed to contain himself all day but witnessing the couple passionate embrace after dinner had been the last straw.
Robert was hurt, did what he always did in such cases, he lashed out dramatically.
And cruelly.
"Of course, you cannot be that disappointed. You always were his staunchest supporter! You saw only his money!"
"Robert… I supported him because Matthew made his own choice. I supported him as long as he seemed to be Mary's choice. And I support him now, because he is Mary's choice, obviously, whether I like it or not." Her voice was firm, authoritative almost. By nature and by habits, Cora had grown into an accommodating woman. One did not have much other choice with a mother, a husband and a mother-in-law like hers. However, she never appreciated wrongful accusations, even when they were uttered in grief and anger.
"I just cannot believe it," he repeated more softly, defeated almost.
"Robert, we have to accept the evidence. Mary has every right to love another man than Matthew, and she's in love with Richard now." It was a cruel thing to say, but her husband needed to hear it.
They had to accept this new situation, even if they did not like it.
The perfect marriage that could have solved everything would not happen.
Mary would not inherit Downton.
Cora's money would not go to her grandchildren.
Robert's heir would never be his "son" as well.
At the same time, in spite of her husband's vehement protestations, she was not entirely sure that Mary marrying Richard was such a bad thing. The man was rich, powerful, and could be very helpful if the need arose. To be honest, if O'Brien was to be believed, he already had been.
Most importantly, when he thought nobody was observing him, Richard gazed at Mary with pure admiration and adoration.
"It's just that…"
Robert sat down heavily, unable to finish his sentence. He did not need to.
"Robert…"
Cora sat up from her pillows and rested her chin on his shoulder.
"Do you remember what you told me when Matthew first came back with Lavinia in 1916? We had a dream and now it's over, we have to live with it."
"Yes, of course, you're right."
"I might add today that, maybe, it's high time to let them, every one of them, Mary, Matthew, Richard even, live their dreams and not hope for them to live ours. Don't you agree, darling?"