The Cowboy and the Ladies

September 12, 1917

Downton Abbey

Mary stared out the window. The prospect before her was of high summer but all she saw was bleak winter.

She had done everything expected of her. She had married the heir. The 'hail fellow well met' heir whom everyone loved. Everyone. Everyone but her.

Certainly there had been affection. He was after all her cousin. There had been the familial familiarity. Everyone in the family loved him. Everyone. Everyone but her.

The outbreak of war had sealed her fate. He had joined up. As was expected of him. And she had married him. As was expected of her.

She had gone to the altar knowing that she did not love him. She had gone to the altar to gain what was rightfully hers if only her father had broken the entail. She had thought love would come later as it had come for her parents. But it had not.

In not eighteen months of marriage they had been together for not eight weeks. And in that time she had realized she would never grow to love him. She had learned what was behind his facile facade. He was a wastrel. In not eighteen months of marriage he had spent her whole settlement. It was all gone. Gone paying his enormous debts. Gone gambling with his friends. Gone carousing with his friends. Friends he would rather spend time with than with her.

But she did not begrudge that time he was away from her for her private time with him was horrid. Oh in public he was charming. But in private they did they not converse; he grunted and wanted nothing more in response from her than a meek 'yes dear'. He did not want to hear her opinion on anything. He could not be bothered that she had a mind.

He did bother with her body. He did not make love to her. He climbed on her, reeking of alcohol and tobacco, and did grunt and rut. And that was it. For him. Satiated he staggered back to his room. In their time together they had never awoke in bed together. Every joyful supposition or anticipation she had about lovemaking was ground to dust beneath his heaving body.

During his last Christmas leave he had, in his perfunctory way, managed to leave her with child. She had not yet known that when, on the second day of February, he had, in a cursory way, managed to get himself killed. Her father had used every connection to secure a staff position for him safe behind the front lines but a stray German shell had put paid to that while he and the general he served had been inspecting those very same front lines.

But all was not lost. Not then. A boy child, a golden child, would have secured her future. Mother of the heir, mother of the next Earl of Grantham. But two weeks ago she had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. All was lost now.

A poor widow with baggage. That was all she was and all she would be. She could feel the bitterness flow up through her from the root of gall and wormwood. She stared out the window at bleak winter.

She could hear the door open behind her. She did not turn around.

"Mary"

It was her mother.

"It has been two weeks. You must name the baby"

She did not turn around.

"Name her Patricia, after her father."

She stared out the window at the bleak winter before her.

September 19, 1917

Downton Abbey

"I am concerned about Lady Mary's state of mind". Dr. Clarkson looked at Robert and Cora. "It is natural for her to grieve for her husband but I would have expected that her mood would have changed after the birth of her child. But it has not. If anything she has sunk deeper into melancholia. She has not established any connection at all with her child." He shook his head. "I fear for both her and the child".

"What can we do?" asked Robert.

"I am not qualified to treat disorders of the mind. There are specialists in London to whom I can refer you. And there are very discrete facilities where she ..."

"I am not mad"

The three of them turned to the doorway. There stood a very pale Mary dressed in her widow's weeds glaring at them.

"I will not be put away in some upper class Bedlam"

October 14, 1917

Downton Abbey

Robert looked up from his breakfast plate. He had been dreading having to say what he was about to say. He knew Mary would be hurt, would think he was blaming her in some way. But he was not. It had happened. Just as Cora had miscarried. Things happen. But he must move on. They all must move on.

He cleared his throat. Cora and the girls looked at him. "My grandfather had a cousin who emigrated to Canada a long time ago." He paused watching Mary's reaction. He could see her mouth tighten but she did not say anything. "I have asked Murray to see if my grandfather's cousin has any male descendants".

At this Mary stood up and left the room.

Cora opened her mouth but Robert held up his hand. "It had to be done" He looked down at his plate. He picked up his spoon and started to break the shell on his hard boiled egg.