Downton Abbey: All Is Fair In Love And War

Go On lad, Let's Finish Your Story.

Crawley House,
December 1919

Matthew sat in the drawing room alone. His mother was out for the night. She had gone to the hospital once again to help out with what was left of the war, organising and settling it back to normal - which took longer than expected. He held another beverage in his hand, another whisky — it was just another; that's what he told himself each night and for each glass he chugged down. To drown his sorrows was all he could do now. His lies had started it all, to cover up what he had Thomas had done. He had grieved for the lives it had taken — he had grieved for William and Lavinia. Yet he now grieved the most for another loss, the loss of Thomas Barrow. Matthew felt so guilty for seeing his face in his dreams and how he missed that cheeky grin Thomas Barrow bore so well. Matthew missed the twitch of Thomas' upper lip when he tried to hold his tongue. He even missed when Thomas' tongue turned unkind. His taste still lingered on Matthew's lips.

Matthew downed the whisky and held the glass up to the light in the room and how it made the crystal twinkle. Matthew spun the glass in his hand and made the light dance before his eyes and, if he squinted, he could pretend that it was him and Thomas dancing in the trenches, he could pretend that it was them dancing in Downton Abbey. How he missed that man.

Matthew clenched the glass in his hand and with a cry of sorrow he tossed it at the wall. It shattered over the floor in a thousand pieces, as shattered as Matthew's heart. Their last dance had been the final straw, the final sin. It had broken her so badly that she could not fight against the Spanish Flu that claimed her life. Now it was only fair that Matthew's heart was broken; an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart — wasn't that what he thought? Wasn't that a fair price to pay? Didn't he need to repent for what he had done?

Matthew sobbed into his hands. His life was over, it was over the day he sent Thomas' away. He was haunted by the man and the memories of Thomas laughing at one of his stories, laughing and calling Matthew an entitled upper class. Why wouldn't anything take away his thoughts of Thomas? Sleep only made him dream of him and kisses they had shared and no therapy worked to rid himself of these thoughts. Was death the only way to truly be free?

But Matthew didn't choose death, he chose his bed, and he stumbled up the stairs and into his room where he collapsed on top of the sheets. His bloodshot eyes were staring into the dark nothingness the room held. Not long ago, in the nights, Thomas Barrow had kept him and his bed warm. Not long ago, in the mornings he would help him out of bed and dress him. Not long ago their love showed how sinful it truly had been and Matthew still refused to accept himself for what he was, he refused to accept that he was a man who liked men — but only loved one. Thomas Barrow.

Crawley House,
Christmas Eve 1919

Breakfast had not been a happy state of affair these past months in the Crawley house, but this morning Mrs Crawley couldn't take it anymore. Her mission of saving her son was slipping from her fingers and she decided to be blunt; very blunt.

"Is this still about Lavinia, Matthew?" She asked her son who just ran his index finger around the tea cup without answering. " — or is it about someone else?" Mrs Crawley knew her son well and, with Matthew's sudden tension, she got the answer.

"You didn't love her, did you Matthew?" Mrs Crawley said and Matthew turned to look at her in horror.

"How—-How dare—" He was about to lie again, but what was the use? Matthew was too exhausted to try anymore. Matthew's eyes glossed over with tears and shook his head, finally admitting to someone other than Thomas that, no, he had not been in love with Lavinia.

"Then why didn't you break it off, oh Matthew " Mrs Crawley said and took her son's hand in hers. She squeezed it tightly and looked at Matthew with anguished eyes — had he been carrying this burden all this time?

"Because I'm a gentleman, I said I would and I needed to honour my word...." But he wouldn't have. His mind had been made up that night, he was going to get out of the lie which made him even worse of a person, but if he had wed Lavinia it would not have made him any better. Though he felt a small weight lift from his heart now that he had spilled what only he and Thomas had known. So he began spilling the truth, or a version of the truth at least.

"It all began as a cover, I just said her name when someone asked who my sweetheart was, I never thought that Captain Flintworth knew Mr Swire and then before I knew it I was engaged" Matthew explained "I didn't even notice it had been done until I had left their house and was on my way home."

Mrs Crawley shook her head, looking at her son. It must have been so hard to carry all of this inside for such a long time and she held such deep empathy for his sorrows. "And there is someone else you love?"

Matthew nodded "Someone who isn't fit for a future Earl, someone everyone would look down upon." Which was true, so very true, but he could never tell her who it was.

"My sweet boy, we were not meant to be lords and ladies to start with — whoever it is, it is your choice in life and marriage should be about love." She patted Matthew's hand.

"Even if I love a servant?" Thomas looked at his mother who seemed to contemplate it for a moment but then she nodded.

"Even if she is a servant." Mrs Crawley said. "Lady Sybil defined it all, and so can you."

Matthew gave his mother a little smile and nodded but that didn't change anything, did it?. 'She' — that was the big difference. It wasn't a she, it was a servant but not with the suitable gender. Perhaps his mother would accept a servant girl, but a man ? No, he could not see anyone accepting it — except Sybil, but she was too kind for her own good sometimes. Yet, a man was who Matthew loved.

Downton Abbey,
Christmas Eve 1919

"This is a night for merriment" Mrs Hughes said as she entered the door to Thomas' room.

"There is not much merriment to be had, being handed gifts of pity, and Mr Crawley standing there, looking as if he doesn't know me" Thomas shook his head "but I suppose it will be rude not to attend, and I don't wish to lose the only thing I have left — this job."

"At least you are not on trial for your life, Thomas." Mrs Hughes said and went to sit down on the chair next to Thomas' bed and put the cup of tea she had brought for him on his nightstand.

"I do feel for them, I do, but I cannot open my mouth without being nasty these days, Mrs Hughes, and Anna does not wish to hear my words even if they were kind." Thomas said and put the letter he was reading away.

"So I have noticed, you have also been avoiding my invites for months, I almost gave up" She said with a kind smile.

"After the last story...I knew that we were coming close to the end and I suppose I couldn't face it again, Mrs Hughes." Thomas said with a sigh.

"You won't have to face it alone, Thomas" Mrs Hughes said and took Thomas' hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

"Good thing they don't need us much tonight because if you want to hear it all we're going to be here all night" Thomas said, touched by how Mrs Hughes cared.

"It's not the first time I've listened to you throughout the night" Mrs Hughes said with a kind smile "Go on lad, let's finish your story."