Downton Abbey: All Is Fair In Love And War

It Doesn't Work, Mrs Hughes, Believe me

Crawley House,
August 1919

Thomas stood outside Matthew's house, smoking a cigarette. He didn't know why he was here, no, that was a lie — he knew why. For the past months Matthew had seemed far too different. What had started as Thomas just keeping an eye on him from time to time had turned into Thomas here every night — to watch over Matthew every time he supposedly arrived back from work in Ripon. Every night was the same, Matthew came home late — looking like he had been through hell and carrying a bottle of whisky. It wasn't the alcohol that worried Thomas the most, it was the fact that Thomas had discovered that Matthew didn't come from Ripon at all — he came from York. One night a ticket had fallen from Matthew's pocket, a train ticket, and Thomas had read the destination upon it which had caused him to wonder why Matthew was not going to work and visited York so frequently. He worried deeply for the man who still, and always would, hold his heart — because there was a strange familiarity on his face. It reminded Thomas of the expression he, himself, had worn when the electric shocks had been sent to his brain.

Thomas' heart couldn't bear to think that Matthew put himself through what Thomas knew didn't work. He had told Matthew so, there was no changing who you were. Thomas knew Matthew was suffering in ways he shouldn't, but in ways most of their kind did suffer throughout their lives. Thomas knew they were not to blame for what had happened, the outcome would have been the same even if their love had not existed. It had been true, what Thomas had told Matthew in the hospital bed, pushed away or not, his heart would always yearn for Matthew. The evidence of how sincere Thomas' words had been was right here as he stood, in the dark, to keep an eye on the man who had wounded him so deeply. This wasn't a love that could die and if Matthew was never to his again, Thomas still would never love another.

There were footsteps and there came Matthew, looking as worn out and depressed as always. He seemed tired, and Thomas understood that as well — shocks to the brain were not pleasant on the body. If anything was sin, Thomas thought, it was those horrible and false treatments to innocent men . He saw Matthew brace himself against the stone wall, looking like he was about to faint and Thomas took a step forward, his shoes making a noise on the cobble below.

Matthew's head spun around and he saw Thomas standing there, further down the wall from where he was. They just stared at each other for the longest of time before Matthew turned his head. It took every ounce of strength he had to do so, to turn away from the man he loved. Matthew walked as fast as he could to open the door to his home to leave Thomas alone out there, but if he had stayed another moment Matthew would have given in — he would have grabbed the footman and embraced him to heal their wounded hearts.

Matthew slid down the door he had just shut, he buried his face into his hands. All of this was supposed to help, all of it, he wasn't supposed to feel those urges or feelings anymore towards Thomas. But nothing changed, nothing at all. Matthew still felt the same, he was still covered in sin. He was still abnormal. Perhaps he needed to try harder, maybe he needed to force himself to find himself attracted to a woman. Perhaps then the treatment would finally give him a normal life.

Morning came and so did York. Matthew stood inside the psychiatric clinic and soon he found himself lying on a stretcher with the familiar tie around his head. The shocks then began and Matthew cried in pain, clenching his fists and biting down on the guard in his mouth. It continued, again and again, forcing him to look at images of men and shocking him each time; to take it away, but it never did. It was just pain over and over again but this time he would try and fix himself.

Matthew found himself in a bar — looking worse for wear, but he drank whisky after whisky until he saw the waitress. She had short black hair that just reached to her chin, a modern haircut. Her bone structure and nose were sharp — and she stood taller than many in the bar. Perhaps this would work, maybe now he could be normal, Matthew thought and in the night, after the bar closed, he found himself in the alleyway with her.

Though it changed nothing, it was messy, fast, and Matthew could barely get hard — only when she wasn't looking at him, when her head was tilted back and all he could see was a sharp jawline was when it worked — because deep down he knew that he had picked her because of her similar features of the man he loved above all else. After his unsatisfied release he turned and vomited over his shoes and the woman looked concerned but said nothing as she walked away — seemingly more pleased with what had transpired than Matthew was.

Matthew stumbled towards his hotel with his puke over his shoes and his mind still not fixed. There was Thomas still, clear as day, and nothing or no one would ever make Matthew feel what Thomas made him feel. It sent Matthew further down the spiral of self-loathing and self-destruction. When was he going to accept that his ways couldn't change, the ways he had always pushed far away and found excuses for. But because of Thomas' love they had been brought back. What Matthew had hidden since he was sixteen underneath a cork tree. A kiss in the trenches of war had given him true love and he wished he had never left, Matthew wished that he had died in the war because then he would have died as Thomas Barrow's sweetheart. If he had died in the battlefield his soul would have been released in France, in the place where his heart had awakened by a footman of Downton Abbey.\

In Downton Abbey sat a worried Thomas with Mrs Hughes and untouched tea next to him. "I think he's trying to get rid of it"

"Get rid of it?" Mrs Hughes said in confusion at first but then she understood what Thomas meant. "But, that cannot work, can it?"

"It doesn't work, Mrs Hughes, believe me" Thomas said and ran his hands over his face "I wish he understood that nothing takes it away, nothing is better than when you finally accept that you are who you are, regardless of law or God"

Mrs Hughes stood up and she contemplated a thought that had just sprung to mind, but she was unsure if she could overstep in such a way. Mrs Hughes reached down and hugged Thomas with a motherly love she had not been privileged to give to children of her own — she also sensed that Thomas had never been given love from a mother either.

Thomas began to violently sob in Mrs Hughes arms."I wish I could help him, I wish I could make him see — but how could I when he doesn't even want to acknowledge me?" Thomas wept and his whole body was convulsing.

Mrs Hughes had no answers but seeing Thomas like this had made her make up her mind. She was going to overstep. If Matthew would not realise it all on his own, that he and Thomas needed each other, she was going to try and make him see clearly.

Eventually Thomas' sobs fell silent but his face was just as wounded as before. "I'd like to continue the story" He said "It's all I have left now, that and letters of love along with a photograph. It's all I have to cling to."