Chance encounters
Title: Chance encounters
Author:vladnyrki
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Characters & Pairings: Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle
"This happiness should have been hers" The dissolution of their engagement allowed Mary to live her dreams at last whereas Richard left Downton defeated. Eighteen months later, he enjoys everything life has to offer to a single millionaire whereas she struggles against financial difficulties and a shaky marriage. A collection of snapshots about their chance encounters.
Mary's pregnancy ended with a miscarriage. Matthew decided to bury his sorrow in his work, tyring to free Bates in the process whereas Mary dealt with her grief by ignoring it. The appeal for Bates paved the way for a new encounter with Richard.
Thank you to mrstater!!
1
Instinctively, Richard felt the gap left by the missing part of a tooth with his tongue, and immediately repented of his bad habit when he almost cut himself once more. Grinding his teeth had never achieved anything and this latest incident that guaranteed new painful sessions at the dentist's was another evidence. Trying to distract his raging mind from the broken tooth and, above all, from the most unnerving reason of his presence in York this afternoon, he checked the time once again and decided to walk outside the courtroom and smoke another cigarette - the fourth one in the last hour and a half.
This way, he could even miss the Crawleys' entrance in the courtroom, which would be an added bonus in a nightmarish week.
What the hell were they thinking? Richard's angry incredulity had not diminished a bit since the day he had received the defense's convocation to come and testify for Bates' appeal. What the hell was that about? He did not know anything, he had barely met his harpy of a wife before legally putting her in a corner and, most of all, he could not care less about the delusional and vengeful woman.
That was Bates' problem. That was the Crawleys' problem.
Not Richard's anymore.
Once the clerk had delivered him the injunction - in front of a good part of his staff, no less - Richard's first impulse had been to take the Pamuk file out of the locked drawer of his mahogany desk. He had spent the afternoon ignoring the world outside his office and devising what the most hurtful and reputation ruining angle could be. The sex scandal was an old outdated story - and he still could not resolve himself to completely ruin his former fiancée - but it was possible to put a very interesting spin on the association of an aristocratic family with the Ottoman Empire before the war. After all, the renewed tensions in the region with Kemal's offensive against the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles provided the perfect context to remind the Crawleys who they were dealing with once and for all.
If they believed he had built his fortune only on superficial gossip, they were sorely mistaken.
A week later, the sheer feeling of humiliation and blind anger was still there, and pacing on the pavement before York courthouse was the only thing he could do to keep his nerves in check. The heavy rain that had started in the middle of the night had finally stopped and sunlight filtered through the dark, scattering clouds, creating a surreal atmosphere he barely noticed as he lit his cigarette and exhaled the first puff of smoke. The reflection of the sun in the puddles on the road was so blinding that Richard had to use the brim of his hat as a protection as he strolled across the street to the park nearby. Here, the light, bright green of the linden trees new leaves created a stark contrast against the steel-like quality of the remaining clouds. The droplets of rain on the drenched thus useless benches shined like as many little pearls.
Richard pushed back his hat a little and tilted his head backwards, enjoying the feeling of the sunlight and the still fresh wind on his face, trying to relax before going back to the arena. Back there, he would need all his patience and his self-control not to explode, not to do something drastic like he had almost done last week. Fortunately, before reaching the no turning back point, he had remembered the rumors about Mary's difficult miscarriage that had circulated around London a few weeks before, and he had put the file back in the safe confines of the locked drawer.
Then he had walked home, paying no attention to the heavy spring rain.
And he had drunk himself into a stupor with a twenty-year bottle of single malt.
The following day, Richard had walked back to his office, swearing against the morning sun that turned his bad headache into a blinding one, and he had done what he did best when confronted to an unpleasant situation.
He had clenched his teeth, figuratively and literally.
The broken tooth that had bothered him for the last two days and the overall permanent and painful clenching of his jaws were the consequences of a week of barely contained anger and general foul mood. Since the delivery of the injunction, he had made two secretaries cry because they weren't fast enough and one of his editors' ears were probably still ringing after latest Richard's explosive visit to the poor man's office.
This was the nightmare of 1919 all over again, and he was tired of being the Crawleys' scapegoat for whatever problems they needed to blame someone, of letting them affect him in such a horrendous way.
These people had a particular talent for feeding gleefully the worst parts of his personality.
-/-
"You shouldn't be there, darling."
In spite of the use of an endearment, Matthew's voice possessed the same familiar, slightly patronizing and unnerving tone he used to reserve for his mother when she acted unreasonable.
For the first year and a half of their marriage, he never had used this tone with Mary, even in the middle of their biggest quarrels. On the opposite, they had been fighting a lot less since the miscarriage but this kind of voice had been a more and more frequent occurrence.
"I promised Anna I would be there, and for the hundredth time, I feel fine, Matthew," she snapped back. She was tired of his clipped condescension and over-protectiveness. At times, it seemed as if he treated her like an innocent and fragile child who did not know what was good or bad for her.
At times, Mary could not help but feel defeated. The pregnancy had pushed them together, helped them to build new foundations as a couple. The miscarriage had pulled them away further than they ever had been.
Matthew grieved the way he always used to, in a spectacular way. He had spent days looking for a reason, for anything to blame. Two weeks later, he had decided that they had failed as parents because of their obsession with saving the family finances. Mary had invested herself too much in the effort, and Matthew had let her, blinded by his responsibility as heir.
It was Lavinia all over again, except that the culprit was not a simple kiss anymore, but Downton as a whole.
Predictably, Matthew had found a project in which he could bury his grief and guilt. Since Mary had been already saved from her fiancé, Matthew dedicated himself to Bates' appeal, working long hours to take and pass the exam that would allow him to act as a barrister, multiplying trips to London in search of clues… The week before, he had come back to Downton almost triumphant, confiding he had good hopes for Bates.
Meanwhile, Mary had tried to resume her life as it was before the pregnancy as soon as possible, unable to shed a single tear, scandalizing the whole family by her apparent coldness. Her parents had called her on her lack of support for her husband's grief. Sybil had criticized her shallowness the night Mary had walked down for dinner clad in a dress she had just received from a creator in London. Edith had followed her husband's advice and had chosen to make herself scarce, afraid to display her own pregnancy. Only Granny had refrained from uttering any comment until now, and teatime visits to the Dowager had become their daily routine. They chatted about everything and nothing, and in these moments, Mary felt almost at peace.
As they had two years ago, the family and some servants sat side by side on uncomfortable benches in a crowded courtroom: Bates' appeal was not the only trial occurring this day. In the audience, there were families afraid for their loved ones, just like the Crawleys. In the uncertainty of the courtroom, there were not that many differences between the upper-class and the lower-classes. The clothes her family wore were smarter, but the latent fear and anguish was just the same. They were also people with closed faces and vengeful expressions, who wanted justice to be done.
The stifling, harrowing room reeked of fear, revenge and perverse curiosity.
The crowd of the journalists with their notepads gathered on the last benches of the room, ready to write down the most horrid aspects of human nature and feed them to their reader in the next morning edition. Mary noticed they were not that numerous during the first trial, courtesy of Richard Carlisle most probably. Today, nobody was here to keep the dogs at bay, and Mary prayed that her husband really knew what he was doing.
Matthew was conversing with Murray, the family lawyer who had defended the first time, trying to hide his uneasiness - some could call it stage fright - behind the projected self-assurance of the officer he once had been.
Then, an unexpected silhouette attracted Mary's attention.
Richard.
The clenching of his jaw, his angry stare, his paleness, everything indicated that he was not here as a mere observer. Before sitting down in the area where the witnesses were supposed to gather, she saw him look around the room, visibly searching for someone.
When he noticed Matthew at the bar, the anger of his expression became blatant furor.
When he turned around and noticed her at Anna's side, his surprised stare became softer, sheepish almost.
Suddenly, Mary felt sick. This could not be. This was not the clue Matthew thought he had found in London. Richard was many things, but a killer was not one of them, because he was not a stupid man. Richard was no killer, she was sure of that, but she was also certain that he would not accept gladly to be chosen as an expiatory scapegoat, far from it…
Before she could even stand up to look for her husband, to try and talk to him, the officers announced the court's entry and the trial began.
Bates' appeal was the first case examined this day. When Anna's husband entered the room in chains, between two policemen, Mary instinctively reached for her friend's trembling hand. The prosecution repeated the same litany as two years before, insisting on the accused's well-known violence, Vera's letter, the presence of poison in the house… Nothing of this was new, but Anna had to sit and suffer through exactly the same depiction of her husband as a calculating monster.
Mary turned around to consider the woman at her side, her reddened eyes with unshed tears, her pale complexion, and her trembling bottom lips. This was a woman in hell. By comparison, Mary could not help but feel lucky, as strange as it may seem: she had lost a child but she still had her husband - in theory at least, because Matthew had refused to touch her since the miscarriage, arguing they were not ready for this - and could hope for better days.
Then came the defense's turn and Matthew stood up, quite smart in his brand new barrister robe. He began with a convincing and moving speech about John Bates, the most loyal man. He spoke about the former valet's loyalty to the Earl and his family; he told stories only Bates and Matthew shared from the days when her husband had been stuck in his wheelchair. He attacked the prosecution's lame and fragile logic and concluded the defense would prove John Bates' innocence today.
Matthew was actually good at that. His experience as an officer was serving him well here, in the courtroom. His voice was firm but not pontificating, he knew when to appeal to the jury's brains, when to appeal to their emotions.
The defense called for the first witnesses, and, for a second, Mary almost thought she had been wrong about the reason behind Richard's presence here. However, a former neighbor finally evoked a tall, blond man in fancy clothes who used to visit Vera quite a lot before her death, and Mary knew exactly where her husband wanted to go.
To a disaster.
When she heard Sir Richard Carlisle called as a witness, she kept her eyes downcast, unable to look at her family, not because she was ashamed, but because she was afraid to meet a pair of eyes convinced her former fiancé could have done it.
She was not even able to look at Anna, who was still clasping her hand.
In the distance, she heard Richard decline his identity and occupation, swear to tell the truth on the Bible, and sit down on the witness creaking chair.
His voice was firm, with just a hint of coldness.
Matthew asked him about his association with Vera Bates; Richard told the jury about Vera's intention to hurt her husband by ruining the reputation of the family he worked for. Mary's name was uttered but Pamuk's was not.
Then Matthew wondered about the publisher's motives, to which Richard answered quite candidly, as if it was evidence: "Because my fiancée asked me to."
Mary let a small, fugitive smile form on her lips. Indeed, even if they had not announced it at the time, Mary had accepted his proposal in a letter three weeks before her trip to London, but had asked him to keep quiet for a while, to wait for the proper moment to announce their arrangement as she had put it. At first, he had agreed. After her visit to his office, he had unilaterally changed the rules she had established on her own.
"So, you learnt about some scandal that could ruin this family?" Matthew pressed on, anxious to make his point, unsettled by his opponent's apparent calmness. "Didn't it give you some leverage?"
"I'm afraid some considered it was the case, indeed," Richard simply commented.
Mary looked up sharply, stunned. Richard had blackmailed her, hadn't he? It had been the base of their sour relationship. He had clearly threatened her, hadn't he?
"And you put a lid on this scandal, didn't you? Matthew went on.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Easy. She was a gullible woman. I bought the exclusivity; made her sign a contract with small letters at the bottom and it was done. If she had had the stupid idea of turning to a concurrent of mine, I was legally authorized to sue her to her last penny, bankrupt her and have her sent to Australia for defaulting on the fine that expected her." The coldness in Richard's tone and his pointed stare at Matthew indicated that he could apply this kind of ruthless treatment to other people than Vera Bates.
"So, you're saying she wasn't a threat to you anymore?"
"No."
Matthew's clear voice was now more subdued. Clearly, he did not know how to crack open the block of hostility that was Richard.
"What can you tell me about your sudden trip to London on November 9th 1918, Sir Richard?"
Mary almost shrieked in panic. This was a direct attack and there was no turning back anymore.
"Well, as you well know, barrister, I went back to go and help your fiancée Miss Lavinia Swire, who wanted badly to go back to Downton, but did not dare to disturb you in the condition you were in at the time." The reply was as unforgiving as the attack. In one sentence, Richard had discredited Bates' defense by underlining Matthew's involvement in the whole story.
At Mary's side, Anna gasped, tears now forming in her eyes.
"You were late." Matthew was now clearly accusing.
"Because I had an errand to do, and the jeweler from whom I had bought an engagement ring for my fiancée, was an excellent craftsman but not very keen on punctuality. If you want, you can ask your wife to show you the ring, and I can produce the bill right now if an officer wants to retrieve it."
Mary heard a collective gasp as the audience realized how both men were former rivals. Richard had tried to keep her out of the debacle, and had managed Pamuk's name out of it, but in his anger, he had dragged her in the very center of the attention.
Tomorrow's papers in Yorkshire would be a feast, that was certain.
That was an utter disaster, and Bates' chance at freedom had been just wasted.
The room was now very agitated, and the judge had to threaten the audience with fines to obtain silence once again. Richard produced his piece of paper, then the court let him go back to his seat.
When the defense was asked if they had more witness to present, Murray spoke instead of Matthew, pitifully admitting Sir Richard Carlisle was their last witness.
The deliberation was short, and after a few minutes, the court walked back into the room and declared the new evidence presented by the defense were not enough to prove John Bates' innocence.
As a consequence, the life sentence was maintained.
Mary felt Anna nearly collapsing by her side, and had to literally drag her through the crowd and out of the room with the help of Carson, the rest of the family sheepishly following close behind. In her peripheral vision she could see Richard rush to the journalists, exchange a few angry words and walk out as well.
Matthew had already disappeared.
-/-
"Carlisle! You had no right to drag Mary into this!"
Richard had almost reached the threshold of the building when Crawley's indignant voice stopped him in his tracks. The rest of the family stood behind, surrounding a shocked Anna - the appeal had been a failure, and she was the one suffering from it. In spite of the Earl's objection, Matthew had proceeded to follow his once rival.
Damn the man.
"To be accurate, you're the one who dragged our past relationship to the forefront when you started blurting stupid hypothesis about my supposed motives." The publisher did not bother to turn around, hoping that the other man would catch the hint. Richard was in no mood at all for a little chat with the heir.
"Don't act innocent with me, Carlisle! Of course you had motive! You couldn't let Vera Bates spoil your dirty blackmail, you bastard." Matthew was trembling with rage, visibly unable to accept his latest failure. "And you were horribly late that night. Anybody with a logical mind would have thought of you!"
"Anybody with a grudge, Crawley," Richard corrected, his patience wearing thinner by the second. "But you're right, neither of us should have drag Mary into this, not after what she just came through. However, if I owe anyone an apology, it's to your wife, not to you."
"Don't act as if you cared for her, you never did," Crawley went on, anxious to reassert his place in Mary's life, as if the damn rings both wore were not enough.
That was a well-known refrain: only Matthew could love Mary, and Mary could love only Matthew. Richard was tired of it.
"Did I ever question your feelings for your wife? Never. So, I would appreciate it greatly if you didn't question mine," he shot back in cool voice, closing his eyes to focus and control his rising anger.
"She was just a tool in your damn plans."
That was it.
Richard snapped.
With no warning, he turned around, grabbed Matthew by the collar and aimed at the younger man's spleen, which had the effect of making Crawley double down in pain. Richard used this opportunity to finish the work with a crushing uppercut to the jaw.
The cracking noise of both Matthew's jaw and Richard's fingers was unmistakable in the resounding silence of the courtroom hall.
The publisher knelt down besides the man on the ground.
"I owed you one, Crawley. Make my day and sue me, if that makes feel you better about your pitiful self," he warned in a low voice, trying to hide the pain on his own hand. "I'll sue you back for defamation the minute I receive the injunction. I'm loaded beyond your wildest dream and a prominent figure in London, and you're the heir of a crumbling estate in the deep end of England. Who do you think is going to suffer the most from our confrontation at court? Want to take a chance? Be my guest."
Richard stood up, and refrained from cradling his hurting hand in front of the Crawleys who contemplated the fighting men with shocked stupor.
It was Christmas 1919 all over again, but reversed. At long last, he had got his revenge, as petty a feeling as it was.
If anything, Richard had won his pride back, and would regain even more as soon as he could make a few well-chosen phone calls in London. He could not let the Crawleys claim the glory of freeing Bates after today's ridiculous comedy, especially when the solution had appeared suddenly as clear as crystal water. He would never admit it to Matthew, but sitting in the witness chair had given him an excellent view of the assistance, and the unexpected presence of one of Bonar Law's minions did not go unnoticed. The man had been clearly exulting as long as Crawley had grilled Richard at the bar - which could be explained by the publisher's enmity for one of the Conservative leaders. But as soon as Richard had begun to shoot the defense theories' down, the man had turned grey, almost greenish, and had left the room before the judge's decision. Richard had noticed then the man was tall, blond and wore a fancy coat…
Then, he turned around to face his former fiancée, deliberately ignoring the other members of the family.
"Mary, please allow me say how sorry I am for your loss." He hated how corny he probably sounded. This kind of sentiment had never been is forte. "I hope you'll make a full and quick recovery," he added sincerely, hoping his eyes truthfully conveyed the empathy his words expressed awkwardly.
He extended his hand, as if he had not just broken it while shattering her husband's jaw, and she took it, mindful not to clench it too much in her slender, but unhurt one.
"Thank you, Richard."
The ghost of a sad smile passed on her pale face. Had they had been alone, he would have engulfed her in a tight embrace, anything to comfort her. Fortunately, the rest of the family was there, tending to Matthew, examining Richard with defiant stares, and the impulse to take her in his arms disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.
"Lady Grantham, I'm afraid I didn't keep my previous promise but I do hope for everybody concerned here that this is really the last time we ever cross paths." The Dowager was standing so close to her granddaughter, almost supporting her, that it was impossible to totally ignore her, so Richard chose head-on confrontation.
"Indeed, Sir Richard, it would be better if we never meet again." Surprisingly, her tone was conciliatory, and lacked the latent disdain she always used when she spoke to him. "And, on behalf of everybody, I hope you'll accept our most sincere apologies about what transpired today. We tend to get passionate about our people, to the point of blindness sometimes." The Dowager's voice was trembling with contained rage, but Richard was not the recipient of it, for once.
A wave of grudging admiration for the elder woman took him by surprise. Lady Grantham hated him, that was a fact, but unlike many others, she was able to swallow her pride to do some damage control to protect what still could be protected of Downton.
Richard smiled ruefully. Mary was really the Dowager's granddaughter, no doubt about that, for better and for worse.
Lady Grantham surprised him even more when she took a handkerchief from her bag and extended her own hand, obliging him to acknowledge her unspoken deal.
I can assure you that there will be no more talk about the late Mrs Bates and that nobody will press charges against you so you do not have to ruin Downton as revenge.
Speechless, he watched the wrinkled and apparently frail woman as she wrapped his hand in her handkerchief with practiced, almost gentle gestures. When she was finished with his hand, she patted him mockingly on the forearm before throwing her usual biting insults as a conclusion of the exchange: "You should see a doctor quickly, Sir Richard. You're reaching an age when arthritis can evolve quite brusquely."
Always trust Violet Crawley to hit where it hurt.
One last look at Mary to convey his silent support, and Richard was gone. If he was lucky, he could even catch the six o'clock train to London.
Author:vladnyrki
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Characters & Pairings: Mary Crawley/Richard Carlisle
"This happiness should have been hers" The dissolution of their engagement allowed Mary to live her dreams at last whereas Richard left Downton defeated. Eighteen months later, he enjoys everything life has to offer to a single millionaire whereas she struggles against financial difficulties and a shaky marriage. A collection of snapshots about their chance encounters.
Mary's pregnancy ended with a miscarriage. Matthew decided to bury his sorrow in his work, tyring to free Bates in the process whereas Mary dealt with her grief by ignoring it. The appeal for Bates paved the way for a new encounter with Richard.
Thank you to mrstater!!
1
Instinctively, Richard felt the gap left by the missing part of a tooth with his tongue, and immediately repented of his bad habit when he almost cut himself once more. Grinding his teeth had never achieved anything and this latest incident that guaranteed new painful sessions at the dentist's was another evidence. Trying to distract his raging mind from the broken tooth and, above all, from the most unnerving reason of his presence in York this afternoon, he checked the time once again and decided to walk outside the courtroom and smoke another cigarette - the fourth one in the last hour and a half.
This way, he could even miss the Crawleys' entrance in the courtroom, which would be an added bonus in a nightmarish week.
What the hell were they thinking? Richard's angry incredulity had not diminished a bit since the day he had received the defense's convocation to come and testify for Bates' appeal. What the hell was that about? He did not know anything, he had barely met his harpy of a wife before legally putting her in a corner and, most of all, he could not care less about the delusional and vengeful woman.
That was Bates' problem. That was the Crawleys' problem.
Not Richard's anymore.
Once the clerk had delivered him the injunction - in front of a good part of his staff, no less - Richard's first impulse had been to take the Pamuk file out of the locked drawer of his mahogany desk. He had spent the afternoon ignoring the world outside his office and devising what the most hurtful and reputation ruining angle could be. The sex scandal was an old outdated story - and he still could not resolve himself to completely ruin his former fiancée - but it was possible to put a very interesting spin on the association of an aristocratic family with the Ottoman Empire before the war. After all, the renewed tensions in the region with Kemal's offensive against the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles provided the perfect context to remind the Crawleys who they were dealing with once and for all.
If they believed he had built his fortune only on superficial gossip, they were sorely mistaken.
A week later, the sheer feeling of humiliation and blind anger was still there, and pacing on the pavement before York courthouse was the only thing he could do to keep his nerves in check. The heavy rain that had started in the middle of the night had finally stopped and sunlight filtered through the dark, scattering clouds, creating a surreal atmosphere he barely noticed as he lit his cigarette and exhaled the first puff of smoke. The reflection of the sun in the puddles on the road was so blinding that Richard had to use the brim of his hat as a protection as he strolled across the street to the park nearby. Here, the light, bright green of the linden trees new leaves created a stark contrast against the steel-like quality of the remaining clouds. The droplets of rain on the drenched thus useless benches shined like as many little pearls.
Richard pushed back his hat a little and tilted his head backwards, enjoying the feeling of the sunlight and the still fresh wind on his face, trying to relax before going back to the arena. Back there, he would need all his patience and his self-control not to explode, not to do something drastic like he had almost done last week. Fortunately, before reaching the no turning back point, he had remembered the rumors about Mary's difficult miscarriage that had circulated around London a few weeks before, and he had put the file back in the safe confines of the locked drawer.
Then he had walked home, paying no attention to the heavy spring rain.
And he had drunk himself into a stupor with a twenty-year bottle of single malt.
The following day, Richard had walked back to his office, swearing against the morning sun that turned his bad headache into a blinding one, and he had done what he did best when confronted to an unpleasant situation.
He had clenched his teeth, figuratively and literally.
The broken tooth that had bothered him for the last two days and the overall permanent and painful clenching of his jaws were the consequences of a week of barely contained anger and general foul mood. Since the delivery of the injunction, he had made two secretaries cry because they weren't fast enough and one of his editors' ears were probably still ringing after latest Richard's explosive visit to the poor man's office.
This was the nightmare of 1919 all over again, and he was tired of being the Crawleys' scapegoat for whatever problems they needed to blame someone, of letting them affect him in such a horrendous way.
These people had a particular talent for feeding gleefully the worst parts of his personality.
-/-
"You shouldn't be there, darling."
In spite of the use of an endearment, Matthew's voice possessed the same familiar, slightly patronizing and unnerving tone he used to reserve for his mother when she acted unreasonable.
For the first year and a half of their marriage, he never had used this tone with Mary, even in the middle of their biggest quarrels. On the opposite, they had been fighting a lot less since the miscarriage but this kind of voice had been a more and more frequent occurrence.
"I promised Anna I would be there, and for the hundredth time, I feel fine, Matthew," she snapped back. She was tired of his clipped condescension and over-protectiveness. At times, it seemed as if he treated her like an innocent and fragile child who did not know what was good or bad for her.
At times, Mary could not help but feel defeated. The pregnancy had pushed them together, helped them to build new foundations as a couple. The miscarriage had pulled them away further than they ever had been.
Matthew grieved the way he always used to, in a spectacular way. He had spent days looking for a reason, for anything to blame. Two weeks later, he had decided that they had failed as parents because of their obsession with saving the family finances. Mary had invested herself too much in the effort, and Matthew had let her, blinded by his responsibility as heir.
It was Lavinia all over again, except that the culprit was not a simple kiss anymore, but Downton as a whole.
Predictably, Matthew had found a project in which he could bury his grief and guilt. Since Mary had been already saved from her fiancé, Matthew dedicated himself to Bates' appeal, working long hours to take and pass the exam that would allow him to act as a barrister, multiplying trips to London in search of clues… The week before, he had come back to Downton almost triumphant, confiding he had good hopes for Bates.
Meanwhile, Mary had tried to resume her life as it was before the pregnancy as soon as possible, unable to shed a single tear, scandalizing the whole family by her apparent coldness. Her parents had called her on her lack of support for her husband's grief. Sybil had criticized her shallowness the night Mary had walked down for dinner clad in a dress she had just received from a creator in London. Edith had followed her husband's advice and had chosen to make herself scarce, afraid to display her own pregnancy. Only Granny had refrained from uttering any comment until now, and teatime visits to the Dowager had become their daily routine. They chatted about everything and nothing, and in these moments, Mary felt almost at peace.
As they had two years ago, the family and some servants sat side by side on uncomfortable benches in a crowded courtroom: Bates' appeal was not the only trial occurring this day. In the audience, there were families afraid for their loved ones, just like the Crawleys. In the uncertainty of the courtroom, there were not that many differences between the upper-class and the lower-classes. The clothes her family wore were smarter, but the latent fear and anguish was just the same. They were also people with closed faces and vengeful expressions, who wanted justice to be done.
The stifling, harrowing room reeked of fear, revenge and perverse curiosity.
The crowd of the journalists with their notepads gathered on the last benches of the room, ready to write down the most horrid aspects of human nature and feed them to their reader in the next morning edition. Mary noticed they were not that numerous during the first trial, courtesy of Richard Carlisle most probably. Today, nobody was here to keep the dogs at bay, and Mary prayed that her husband really knew what he was doing.
Matthew was conversing with Murray, the family lawyer who had defended the first time, trying to hide his uneasiness - some could call it stage fright - behind the projected self-assurance of the officer he once had been.
Then, an unexpected silhouette attracted Mary's attention.
Richard.
The clenching of his jaw, his angry stare, his paleness, everything indicated that he was not here as a mere observer. Before sitting down in the area where the witnesses were supposed to gather, she saw him look around the room, visibly searching for someone.
When he noticed Matthew at the bar, the anger of his expression became blatant furor.
When he turned around and noticed her at Anna's side, his surprised stare became softer, sheepish almost.
Suddenly, Mary felt sick. This could not be. This was not the clue Matthew thought he had found in London. Richard was many things, but a killer was not one of them, because he was not a stupid man. Richard was no killer, she was sure of that, but she was also certain that he would not accept gladly to be chosen as an expiatory scapegoat, far from it…
Before she could even stand up to look for her husband, to try and talk to him, the officers announced the court's entry and the trial began.
Bates' appeal was the first case examined this day. When Anna's husband entered the room in chains, between two policemen, Mary instinctively reached for her friend's trembling hand. The prosecution repeated the same litany as two years before, insisting on the accused's well-known violence, Vera's letter, the presence of poison in the house… Nothing of this was new, but Anna had to sit and suffer through exactly the same depiction of her husband as a calculating monster.
Mary turned around to consider the woman at her side, her reddened eyes with unshed tears, her pale complexion, and her trembling bottom lips. This was a woman in hell. By comparison, Mary could not help but feel lucky, as strange as it may seem: she had lost a child but she still had her husband - in theory at least, because Matthew had refused to touch her since the miscarriage, arguing they were not ready for this - and could hope for better days.
Then came the defense's turn and Matthew stood up, quite smart in his brand new barrister robe. He began with a convincing and moving speech about John Bates, the most loyal man. He spoke about the former valet's loyalty to the Earl and his family; he told stories only Bates and Matthew shared from the days when her husband had been stuck in his wheelchair. He attacked the prosecution's lame and fragile logic and concluded the defense would prove John Bates' innocence today.
Matthew was actually good at that. His experience as an officer was serving him well here, in the courtroom. His voice was firm but not pontificating, he knew when to appeal to the jury's brains, when to appeal to their emotions.
The defense called for the first witnesses, and, for a second, Mary almost thought she had been wrong about the reason behind Richard's presence here. However, a former neighbor finally evoked a tall, blond man in fancy clothes who used to visit Vera quite a lot before her death, and Mary knew exactly where her husband wanted to go.
To a disaster.
When she heard Sir Richard Carlisle called as a witness, she kept her eyes downcast, unable to look at her family, not because she was ashamed, but because she was afraid to meet a pair of eyes convinced her former fiancé could have done it.
She was not even able to look at Anna, who was still clasping her hand.
In the distance, she heard Richard decline his identity and occupation, swear to tell the truth on the Bible, and sit down on the witness creaking chair.
His voice was firm, with just a hint of coldness.
Matthew asked him about his association with Vera Bates; Richard told the jury about Vera's intention to hurt her husband by ruining the reputation of the family he worked for. Mary's name was uttered but Pamuk's was not.
Then Matthew wondered about the publisher's motives, to which Richard answered quite candidly, as if it was evidence: "Because my fiancée asked me to."
Mary let a small, fugitive smile form on her lips. Indeed, even if they had not announced it at the time, Mary had accepted his proposal in a letter three weeks before her trip to London, but had asked him to keep quiet for a while, to wait for the proper moment to announce their arrangement as she had put it. At first, he had agreed. After her visit to his office, he had unilaterally changed the rules she had established on her own.
"So, you learnt about some scandal that could ruin this family?" Matthew pressed on, anxious to make his point, unsettled by his opponent's apparent calmness. "Didn't it give you some leverage?"
"I'm afraid some considered it was the case, indeed," Richard simply commented.
Mary looked up sharply, stunned. Richard had blackmailed her, hadn't he? It had been the base of their sour relationship. He had clearly threatened her, hadn't he?
"And you put a lid on this scandal, didn't you? Matthew went on.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Easy. She was a gullible woman. I bought the exclusivity; made her sign a contract with small letters at the bottom and it was done. If she had had the stupid idea of turning to a concurrent of mine, I was legally authorized to sue her to her last penny, bankrupt her and have her sent to Australia for defaulting on the fine that expected her." The coldness in Richard's tone and his pointed stare at Matthew indicated that he could apply this kind of ruthless treatment to other people than Vera Bates.
"So, you're saying she wasn't a threat to you anymore?"
"No."
Matthew's clear voice was now more subdued. Clearly, he did not know how to crack open the block of hostility that was Richard.
"What can you tell me about your sudden trip to London on November 9th 1918, Sir Richard?"
Mary almost shrieked in panic. This was a direct attack and there was no turning back anymore.
"Well, as you well know, barrister, I went back to go and help your fiancée Miss Lavinia Swire, who wanted badly to go back to Downton, but did not dare to disturb you in the condition you were in at the time." The reply was as unforgiving as the attack. In one sentence, Richard had discredited Bates' defense by underlining Matthew's involvement in the whole story.
At Mary's side, Anna gasped, tears now forming in her eyes.
"You were late." Matthew was now clearly accusing.
"Because I had an errand to do, and the jeweler from whom I had bought an engagement ring for my fiancée, was an excellent craftsman but not very keen on punctuality. If you want, you can ask your wife to show you the ring, and I can produce the bill right now if an officer wants to retrieve it."
Mary heard a collective gasp as the audience realized how both men were former rivals. Richard had tried to keep her out of the debacle, and had managed Pamuk's name out of it, but in his anger, he had dragged her in the very center of the attention.
Tomorrow's papers in Yorkshire would be a feast, that was certain.
That was an utter disaster, and Bates' chance at freedom had been just wasted.
The room was now very agitated, and the judge had to threaten the audience with fines to obtain silence once again. Richard produced his piece of paper, then the court let him go back to his seat.
When the defense was asked if they had more witness to present, Murray spoke instead of Matthew, pitifully admitting Sir Richard Carlisle was their last witness.
The deliberation was short, and after a few minutes, the court walked back into the room and declared the new evidence presented by the defense were not enough to prove John Bates' innocence.
As a consequence, the life sentence was maintained.
Mary felt Anna nearly collapsing by her side, and had to literally drag her through the crowd and out of the room with the help of Carson, the rest of the family sheepishly following close behind. In her peripheral vision she could see Richard rush to the journalists, exchange a few angry words and walk out as well.
Matthew had already disappeared.
-/-
"Carlisle! You had no right to drag Mary into this!"
Richard had almost reached the threshold of the building when Crawley's indignant voice stopped him in his tracks. The rest of the family stood behind, surrounding a shocked Anna - the appeal had been a failure, and she was the one suffering from it. In spite of the Earl's objection, Matthew had proceeded to follow his once rival.
Damn the man.
"To be accurate, you're the one who dragged our past relationship to the forefront when you started blurting stupid hypothesis about my supposed motives." The publisher did not bother to turn around, hoping that the other man would catch the hint. Richard was in no mood at all for a little chat with the heir.
"Don't act innocent with me, Carlisle! Of course you had motive! You couldn't let Vera Bates spoil your dirty blackmail, you bastard." Matthew was trembling with rage, visibly unable to accept his latest failure. "And you were horribly late that night. Anybody with a logical mind would have thought of you!"
"Anybody with a grudge, Crawley," Richard corrected, his patience wearing thinner by the second. "But you're right, neither of us should have drag Mary into this, not after what she just came through. However, if I owe anyone an apology, it's to your wife, not to you."
"Don't act as if you cared for her, you never did," Crawley went on, anxious to reassert his place in Mary's life, as if the damn rings both wore were not enough.
That was a well-known refrain: only Matthew could love Mary, and Mary could love only Matthew. Richard was tired of it.
"Did I ever question your feelings for your wife? Never. So, I would appreciate it greatly if you didn't question mine," he shot back in cool voice, closing his eyes to focus and control his rising anger.
"She was just a tool in your damn plans."
That was it.
Richard snapped.
With no warning, he turned around, grabbed Matthew by the collar and aimed at the younger man's spleen, which had the effect of making Crawley double down in pain. Richard used this opportunity to finish the work with a crushing uppercut to the jaw.
The cracking noise of both Matthew's jaw and Richard's fingers was unmistakable in the resounding silence of the courtroom hall.
The publisher knelt down besides the man on the ground.
"I owed you one, Crawley. Make my day and sue me, if that makes feel you better about your pitiful self," he warned in a low voice, trying to hide the pain on his own hand. "I'll sue you back for defamation the minute I receive the injunction. I'm loaded beyond your wildest dream and a prominent figure in London, and you're the heir of a crumbling estate in the deep end of England. Who do you think is going to suffer the most from our confrontation at court? Want to take a chance? Be my guest."
Richard stood up, and refrained from cradling his hurting hand in front of the Crawleys who contemplated the fighting men with shocked stupor.
It was Christmas 1919 all over again, but reversed. At long last, he had got his revenge, as petty a feeling as it was.
If anything, Richard had won his pride back, and would regain even more as soon as he could make a few well-chosen phone calls in London. He could not let the Crawleys claim the glory of freeing Bates after today's ridiculous comedy, especially when the solution had appeared suddenly as clear as crystal water. He would never admit it to Matthew, but sitting in the witness chair had given him an excellent view of the assistance, and the unexpected presence of one of Bonar Law's minions did not go unnoticed. The man had been clearly exulting as long as Crawley had grilled Richard at the bar - which could be explained by the publisher's enmity for one of the Conservative leaders. But as soon as Richard had begun to shoot the defense theories' down, the man had turned grey, almost greenish, and had left the room before the judge's decision. Richard had noticed then the man was tall, blond and wore a fancy coat…
Then, he turned around to face his former fiancée, deliberately ignoring the other members of the family.
"Mary, please allow me say how sorry I am for your loss." He hated how corny he probably sounded. This kind of sentiment had never been is forte. "I hope you'll make a full and quick recovery," he added sincerely, hoping his eyes truthfully conveyed the empathy his words expressed awkwardly.
He extended his hand, as if he had not just broken it while shattering her husband's jaw, and she took it, mindful not to clench it too much in her slender, but unhurt one.
"Thank you, Richard."
The ghost of a sad smile passed on her pale face. Had they had been alone, he would have engulfed her in a tight embrace, anything to comfort her. Fortunately, the rest of the family was there, tending to Matthew, examining Richard with defiant stares, and the impulse to take her in his arms disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.
"Lady Grantham, I'm afraid I didn't keep my previous promise but I do hope for everybody concerned here that this is really the last time we ever cross paths." The Dowager was standing so close to her granddaughter, almost supporting her, that it was impossible to totally ignore her, so Richard chose head-on confrontation.
"Indeed, Sir Richard, it would be better if we never meet again." Surprisingly, her tone was conciliatory, and lacked the latent disdain she always used when she spoke to him. "And, on behalf of everybody, I hope you'll accept our most sincere apologies about what transpired today. We tend to get passionate about our people, to the point of blindness sometimes." The Dowager's voice was trembling with contained rage, but Richard was not the recipient of it, for once.
A wave of grudging admiration for the elder woman took him by surprise. Lady Grantham hated him, that was a fact, but unlike many others, she was able to swallow her pride to do some damage control to protect what still could be protected of Downton.
Richard smiled ruefully. Mary was really the Dowager's granddaughter, no doubt about that, for better and for worse.
Lady Grantham surprised him even more when she took a handkerchief from her bag and extended her own hand, obliging him to acknowledge her unspoken deal.
I can assure you that there will be no more talk about the late Mrs Bates and that nobody will press charges against you so you do not have to ruin Downton as revenge.
Speechless, he watched the wrinkled and apparently frail woman as she wrapped his hand in her handkerchief with practiced, almost gentle gestures. When she was finished with his hand, she patted him mockingly on the forearm before throwing her usual biting insults as a conclusion of the exchange: "You should see a doctor quickly, Sir Richard. You're reaching an age when arthritis can evolve quite brusquely."
Always trust Violet Crawley to hit where it hurt.
One last look at Mary to convey his silent support, and Richard was gone. If he was lucky, he could even catch the six o'clock train to London.