Fanfic - Truth, Lies and Blackmail - Chapter 2
Truth, Lies and Blackmail
Rating - Teenage
Fandom - Downton Abbey, Mary and Matthew
Summary - My Interpretation of the events in the episode 6 (series 2) preview between Mary and Matthew and Mary and Carlisle and what I think could happen.
Genre - Romance/Angst
Status - Work in Progress, Chapter 2 of 4?
Word Count - 3,780 words
Ok, so here's the second chapter of my story, which is based on the episode 6 preview clips we saw. Obviously, the story contains spoilers for the series up to episode 6 and the preview. I have no idea of any spoilers outside of this. The previous chapter is here.
Truth, Lies and Blackmail
Chapter 2
It was only a moment after Mary had left the library that she noticed Sir Richard leaving behind her. His polite smile, twisting into a grim scowl as he saw Matthew outside and Mary by his side, was enough to spur her into immediate action. She knew she would no doubt regret it later, but at that moment the decision to further enrage her future husband or to find out just what Matthew had heard was not a difficult one to make. She stepped behind Matthew’s chair and took hold of the handles. Fixing her most dazzling and charming smile to her face once more, she breezed, “Now then, Matthew, let’s take you outside before the sun has quite set, for we do not know how many more sunny days we shall have this week.”
She pushed Matthew forwards, pleased that he made no protest, and only turned back when she neared the front door. Ignoring the thunderous expression lining her fiancée’s face, she said cheerfully, “I assume you don’t mind, Richard. We will be back soon, though you are of course more than welcome to join us.”
He held her gaze for several moments, his own hard and penetrating, a definite warning. Mary managed not to flinch, keeping her fake smile and innocent expression in tact and a moment later his own turned into one of polite cordiality. “No, thank you, Lady Mary. I will wait in the library and continue reading, if that is acceptable.”
Ignoring the mocking, cold edge creeping into his voice, Mary continued forwards once more, only turning her head to respond, “But of course, Sir Richard.”
Matthew remained silent throughout this exchange and his gaze seemed fixed steadfastly ahead. No comment or joke was uttered when Mary accidentally misjudged the ramp over the front doorstep and Matthew lurched forward in his chair. Only a quick apology escaped her own lips before they remained closed once more, though so many words and questions she longed to say slipped through her mind.
The sunshine was far too bright when Mary stepped outside and she paused for a moment, blinking as her eyes accustomed themselves, before she glanced around her at the rich green manicured lawns. Over in one area, the shouts of a few nearly recovered soldiers could be heard as they bickered genially over a game of cricket. Mary knew better than to take them over there, for just the other day Matthew had insisted on watching a game. He’d seemed cheerful enough at first, but his chatter had soon grown sporadic and his expression gradually soured. The worst was when the ball had rolled and hit the wheels of his chair and Matthew’s anxious attempts had failed to retrieve it. Mary had leant over and picked up the ball instead, handing it to him. He’d remained silent, turning it over in his hands, too many emotions flickering over his face for Mary to even begin to comprehend. Finally, he’d thrown the ball back at the watching players, one with their arm in a sling, one a patch over his eye, though he still caught the ball easily. It was a fast ball too, hard, the aim true, direct, the arc of the throwers arm perfectly curved and well practiced. He didn’t speak for a while after that, his eyes looking bitterly into the distance, no longer focused on the game and Mary had taken him inside soon after. No, she would not take him over there, nor towards the other crowd of soldiers laughing and playing croquet nearby, or those sat around playing cards on the rickety, rarely used outdoor tables. Instead her eye caught the bench, the one perched near the giant Cedar tree, still draped in the low autumn sunshine. She headed there immediately, pushing the wheelchair firmly across the gravel path, used to the pebbles shifting under the wheels by now.
It was strange really, how simple, innocent, the bench sitting by the tree looked, yet it had witnessed so many shared moments between her and Matthew, from their friendly chatter to their fierce arguments and their final break up. It seemed almost fitting that it would witness this moment between them too, when Mary knew things would change forever between them. She kept her pace strong, determined, her steps almost as fast as her pounding heart, though she longed for the journey to last a lifetime, for them to never reach their destination and face what awaited them there. She avoided Matthew’s eye as she brought the wheelchair around to face the bench, making sure the wheels were secure and positioned where the warm sun reached between the thick branches. Taking time to straighten her own skirts, she sat on the warm bench, hands folded neatly in her lap, and smiled kindly at Matthew. She watched his face, but could not quite meet his gaze, which was still looking distantly out across the gardens.
She waited for him to speak first, not quite daring to speak herself for fear of what she may say. She could not even begin to imagine what Matthew may have heard and what he may think and she did not want to push, or give away more than he may be willing to know.
Eventually, Matthew turned towards her and spoke, his voice surprisingly light, though there was little to hide the weight behind his tone. “I hope I am not causing any trouble for you, Mary. You really do not need to sit with me.”
“Nonsense,” Mary quickly replied, her voice sounding far too cheerful, “you can’t sit inside on such a lovely day. Besides, what sort of cousin would I be if I left you out here to wallow in your pity?” She gave a small laugh, but Matthew’s eyes only clouded further.
“Mary…” He shook his head slightly, before looking at her anxiously. “I do not want to take you away from Sir Richard.” He paused for a moment, looking down, before raising his eyes once more to hers. “I’m afraid… outside the library… I couldn’t help but hear.”
Mary nodded, forcing her smile to widen encouragingly, though her heart was twisting painfully in her chest, wondering what he would say, what he may ask…
“You do not have to keep looking after me you know, especially if it is upsetting your fiancée.”
Mary just chuckled lightly before responding, her voice full of fake cheer. “He is a grown man, Matthew. If my nursing upsets him, it is his own business.” She reached over and took his hand lightly, giving it an affectionate, reassuring squeeze, before sitting back and smiling brightly.
Shuffling uncomfortably in his wheelchair, Matthew glanced at her, searching, before staring back out to the distant trees scattered across the grounds. He looked towards her once more, before he spoke again. “Do you… I know it is none of my business, but have you any reason to worry… about marrying him?” He looked at her earnestly for a moment, before smiling and saying lightly, “I did after all promise to deal with him if he should hurt you in any way.” His smile broadened, though it only made the fake mirth more apparent as he looked down at his wheelchair. “Though I’m not quite sure what I can do considering my current predicament.”
Mary smiled politely at his joke, but when he then looked at her, his face serious once more, she felt her fingers knot awkwardly together in her lap. It took her a few moments to think of a suitable reply, and even then her words were weak, feeble, though her voice still strong. “Well, one doesn’t become a self made newspaper owner without being a bit ruthless.” Her chuckle did little to lift the searching, concerned look on Matthew’s face, so she continued speaking, her tone more serious now. At least he had not seen, only heard, the way Sir Richard had threatened her. “I am sure his long journey here from London merely left him out of sorts…” She smiled again, as much convincing herself of the words as Matthew. For that was surely it, she had nothing more to fear from her fiancée. He was tired and perhaps a little jealous and he did actually have good reasons to be. She tried to brighten her smile, pleased when he returned it, albeit weakly, but her own slipped a moment later and Matthew’s face once more grew concerned.
“Does he… perhaps… it’s silly I know… but does he have some sort of hold upon you?” When Mary’s smile slipped further and her fingers wrung tighter together, he looked at her, his expression troubled and edged with guilt. “Only I could not help but hear a mention of you being in his debt...”
He glanced away, back into the distance, and Mary realised he was giving her chance to escape, to lie, or at least hide the truth. Yet Mary, suddenly, wanted nothing more than to tell him. For so many years it had weighed so heavily in her heart, filling her with regrets about what she had done and what havoc it had caused, especially in regards to Matthew. The chance to finally reveal all lay in front of her now and before she had quite realised it, she was taking it. “Yes… Yes he does. He knows a secret about me, a secret from my past.” She dropped her eyes for a moment, unable to look at him as he suddenly glanced towards her, surprised at the honesty and heaviness in her tone.
As the silence lingered between them, his eyes continued to hold hers, probing, yet she knew he would not force the truth from her. She could lie, make up some silly story which Matthew may not believe, but she knew would not question. She could avoid answering, smile sweetly and say it was nothing, but she did not want to, she no longer wanted to hold this secret from him. It had caused so much pain, so much damage to their relationship and Matthew did not even realise…
She knew now was not the time to burden him, not when Matthew was still trying to heal; emotionally and physically. Yet that was perhaps why it was suddenly so simple, when Matthew would have other things to think upon. Her fingers clenched tightly in her dress, her heart beat sped up, but she knew her decision now, knew the courage had finally found her when it no longer mattered. For what would Matthew knowing now cost her? What did it matter if her heart should only break when she saw the disappointment and disgust in his eyes her truth would unleash? He was already lost to her, her heart had already shattered so many times for him over the last few years. Besides, she had the foreboding sense that her scandal and shame would become known soon enough and she would much rather he hear the truth from her own lips.
She couldn’t hold his eyes though, as she spoke, her voice surprisingly strong, calm, despite the turmoil inside. “Do you remember Kamal Pamuk, the Turkish gentleman?”
Matthew blinked, surprised for a moment, “Yes, I think so.” Looking at her more intently now as memories returned, he continued, “The man who died in the Abbey?”
Mary nodded, looked down, had to quickly bite her lip to hold back a sudden well of tears threatening to fall. She took a few steadying breathes, feeling her courage start to wane. Before she lost her nerve, she blurted out, her words tripping over themselves in their hurry, “He died in my bed.”
A deafening silence seemed to fill the quiet solitude of the late afternoon, the sun itself seem to fade slightly as a cool wind rose and ripped into her arms. She kept her head down, unable to look, not daring to see the expression, the possible disgust, horror, disappointment on his face. Her heart was pounding in her throat, making it impossible to speak even if she could find any words. The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sounds of laughter from the soldiers and the rustling of the wind as it flittered through the great branches of the Cedar tree. When the creak of Matthew’s wheelchair suddenly rang within the air, Mary found her anxiety finally snapping. She looked up, straight into his eyes and almost instantly Matthew’s face calmed, schooled carefully into a look of perplexity and politeness, though his hands were gripping the arms of his chair so tightly she feared the wood would snap. What his expression had read moments before, Mary could not tell, but she felt the tightening in her heart all the same, felt her stomach lurch and her blood run cold.
She somehow found the strength to look at him, though his gaze was once more unfocused, distant, his simple expression slipping and flickering through unreadable emotions. When he did speak, just the sound of his voice was enough to ease the tension she had not realised had gripped her so, though the question he asked surprised her. “But I thought… Wasn’t his body found in his own room?”
Mary nodded, it was all she was capable of doing for a time, before the power of speech once more blessed her and she answered his questioning gaze. “Mama and Anna helped me carry him to his room.” She looked down again, feeling all the more ashamed for this, for covering up his death and she hoped vehemently that he would probe that particular detail no more.
Matthew’s only answer for a while was an unconscious nod, as he continued to gaze into the distance, at the sun falling lower in the sky and the shadows lengthening around them. She watched his face, but could no more comprehend his thoughts than she could unravel the twists and turns of the complex universe around her. She wanted to speak, to pour out all the details, all the events leading up to that fateful encounter. Wanted to make him understand that she was no harlot or slut, as her sister had once so cruelly called her. Yet she held her tongue, for what right did she have to claim forgiveness, to plead her case when she was guilty? Instead she waited; waited for him to speak, forgive, condemn, question. She forced her hands to still, her breathing to slow and her heart rate to soothe.
“And were you and him… when he died?” He swallowed stiffly, suppressing a look of disgust.
“Yes.” There was nothing more to be said, for that was the truth of it, her shame. She thought her heart would shatter as she saw the disgust once more flicker across his face, but it held firm, strong in her conviction of her guilt, her punishment.
“And did you invite him?” His voice was growing harder now, thrumming with tension, his face once more turning towards her as he spoke.
“No.” For that was the truth, too.
“Then did he… force himself…?”
“No.” Mary interrupted him quickly, for she could not allow Matthew to think her irreproachable. When he looked at her sharply, she quickly continued, “When he came to my room, I did tell him to leave, but, when he did not...” Her voice faltered momentarily, but she forced herself to raise her head and meet his eyes. “I took little convincing to allow him to stay. I was weak and I was wrong.”
“So he took advantage of you?” The questioning, almost redeeming tone in Matthew’s voice caused her heart to twist painfully. She did not deserve his forgiveness, his clemency, nor his pity. She had done wrong that night. Yet she did not respond to his question, for it was one she did not dare answer herself. And what did it matter anyway? The instigator had been dealt his own punishment, one far greater than any sentence she had been given.
“Was he… your only…” He swallowed nervously again, though his face otherwise remained impassive.
A sharp stab of annoyance swept through Mary at his implication, though she was not sure whether it was aimed at herself or Matthew. Could he really think so lowly of her? Were her usual actions and conduct so uncouth that he would believe her so capable? But then, considering the news she had just imparted, was it surprising he should ask such a thing? She bit back her anger and replied in the same resolute tone as before, “Yes.”
Once more he turned away, silence descending for several moments before he spoke again, “And Sir Richard is… blackmailing you with this information?”
Mary couldn’t stop her grimace at the use of that word, for it implied such misconduct and guilt on the side of both parties. “He is preventing this information from entering the newspapers, resulting in me owing him a great debt.”
Matthew’s face hardened, but Mary was relieved when he asked for no more information, especially as to how Sir Richard had come to know of such a personal matter. Even though she had her suspicions, that was not a question she could answer and she loathed to tell him that it most likely resulted from the fierce resentment her sister once held for her.
The silence stretched once more, Matthew’s face growing harder, his knuckles digging into the chair whiter and she wondered if, had he the power to move freely, he would have even remained. A strong weight of guilt filled her chest then, for the truth she was inflicting upon him was far from pleasant for them both. She knew not how it may twist his already frayed thoughts and pain his already fragile emotional state. Yet she did not regret telling him, even if the burden lifted from her own shoulders was selfish. He had overheard, asked and she had answered, truthfully, for she was done with playing games now.
The sun was dropping lower in the sky and Mary felt a cool chill as the late afternoon breeze picked up around them. She wondered if she should take Matthew inside now; leave him free of her suffocating company and disgrace. She was about to ask when he spoke first, looking away, with a hard, almost pained edge to his voice. “And if we… Heaven knows it’s none of my business, but… If our engagement had gone ahead… were you ever planning on telling me this?” He turned to face her as he finished, his eyes searching hers, his face somewhat earnest now, though the lines tight, holding back a tension that was still simmering in the air between them.
Mary smiled brightly once more, trying to dispel the tension and give herself the courage to speak. It was easier to tell the truth when she was hiding behind feigned civility, though her words were still simple, honest. “Yes, Matthew. I wanted to tell you before I accepted you.”
“And yet you did not?” His voice was colder now, his expression darkening and Mary could no longer hold his gaze as a knot of guilt struck through her heart.
“I wanted to, Matthew, but I did not know how...”
“You did not trust me.” It was not a question, but the disappointment, the past regrets and pain in his voice made her heart break. The anger and disgust she thought would come once she told him of her scandal were appearing now and Mary suddenly felt so very ashamed. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, to explain, but no words came, for what could she say to make things right now?
Matthew must have seen the pain and sorrow that crossed her face, for his next words were gentler and his gaze upon her felt softer too, though she could not bring herself to meet it. “A lack of trust was something we were both guilty of.” He sighed then and she felt his gaze fall away, back out into the distance. She was afraid he would once more descend into silence, but a few moments later, he continued, “Was this… one of the reasons, you… delayed?”
Looking up suddenly, she caught his gaze resting once more upon her and she almost gasped at the expression she saw there. He looked suddenly so lost, melancholy, as if weighed down by a thousand painful memories. She wished she could lie to him then, reassure him that it had indeed been the only reason, but she did not want to begin lying to him now. “One of the reasons, perhaps…”
Matthew nodded, understanding dawning and he turned away again, his throat distorting as he worked hard to regain his cool composure, though his fingers were twisting together now, pulling crossly at the threads of the blanket draped across his knees. “I heard something else whilst I waited outside. Forgive me, Mary, I did not mean to listen, but… I overheard… Sir Richard accused you of something…?”
At Mary’s nod, he tried to continue, but though his throat worked, no sound came out. Mary felt her own throat choke her then, her heart stop dead in her chest. There was something almost wistful in his voice, almost afraid, cautious. Mary knew what the question would be, knew the one topic they had yet to touch upon, and she did her best to prepare herself. She forced her hands still in her lap, raised herself higher in her seat and gave Matthew a soft, warm and she hoped encouraging smile. She wanted him to ask her, wanted to finally have the chance to admit what was in her heart. Perhaps, even after all she’d told him today, this was the most selfish act of hers. Perhaps the right thing to do would be to brush off his question, stand up and take him inside, chattering idly about the weather or Edith’s latest plan for another concert. As the silence stretched between them, she wondered if that was also Matthew’s wish, but she was selfish, then; she stayed still, kept her voice silenced and waited for him to ask.
He pulled suddenly at the thread in the rug, the snap of it breaking seemingly pushing him into action. “He said that… I know you denied it and I’m sure it’s not true, but…” His voiced faltered a moment and Mary brightened her smile further, though every muscle within was winding tighter than a clock spring, waiting…
Turning towards her, he looked directly into her eye, though his gaze was distant, unfocused. “I heard him accuse you… of being… in love with me?”
Next Chapter
----------------------------
Ok, hope that wasn’t too melodramatic, OOC or painful a read! I’d just like to say though, that Mary is one of my favourite characters and I definitely intended no bashing of her here. However, whilst I do not think all the guilt and shame put upon her over Pamuk is right, I believe the character of Mary believes it is - and I was of course writing this from her point of view!
Anyway, thanks so much for reading. Hope to get the next chapter written up soon.