The Governess – Part I

Downton Village, October 1919

There was such sadness in leaving a place where so much love had been present. There were so many fond memories and beloved people that she'd treasure the recollection of forever. Maybe one day, she thought as she donned her hat and picked up her bag, surveying her room bathed in moonlight for one last time, she'd come back and see the place again. But she had to leave. So, when she walked slowly and nostalgically down the grand staircase and into the library, glancing at the warmth of the roaring fire still in its grate, it was with a pang of sorrow that she placed the letter in clear view on the mantel.

To my family.

She'd found out about their agreement with Cousin James months ago- not long after her eighteenth birthday she'd overheard them discussing in the drawing room. It wasn't that she didn't like Patrick. On the contrary, he was a perfectly agreeable man and she was sure he'd make a fine husband for whomever he did marry, but she didn't want that to be her; she did not love him, nor he her, and although this was of no importance to her parents it was imperative to her. Women like her did not have a life. They paid calls and worked for charities and went to dinners and chose dresses, but really, they were stuck in a waiting room until they married. She did not want that life, so she'd cut and run while she still had the chance.

She walked all the way down the drive and into the village, tears gathering behind her eyes at the loss of her home and family that she refused to allow to fall. It was only when she'd boarded the train, taken a seat next to the window with her bag—now her only worldly possessions—clutched tightly in her lap, that she allowed herself to cry.

The whistles were blown, the train began to move, and Mary swore to never forget the precise look of the name of the village grown in beautifully coloured flowers at the side of the station.

Downton.

London, March 1921

Mary had spotted a curious advertisement for a position as a governess to a three-year-old boy in a column at the back of the newspaper that had been sent up to her hotel room. All through the day she'd found her mind dwelling on it as she kneaded dough absently and after some musing she gathered together a few appraises of her education, scraped a couple of references and wrote a letter to apply. It seemed an opportunity to have a life at least close to the one she had; she'd be given purchase to live in a large house in the heart of the English country and although she would no longer be known as a Lady and she would be working to earn a living, she would at least be free—to a higher degree than she was used to anyway.

The job seemed to be an extremely agreeable relief to those she had been entertaining in the meantime to pay her way- till girl in a sweet shop and general help in a bakery- and the lifestyle would be one to which she was wholly more accustomed to at any rate. No, it would not nearly match up, but it would be better than having her hands perpetually covered in flour and having to make chit chat with the ghastly old aunts that spoiled their already largely obese nephews and nieces with mountains of sweets on any occasion.

Which is how, on a beautiful spring day in early March, she came to be sat in a, rather nice, drawing room in a large house in Manchester, seated opposite a woman who couldn't have been much older than her own mother. She wore an elegant purple gown and smiled kindly at Mary who tried to remember her newly esteemed place. She would have to learn how to control her innately superior behaviour if she were to secure a bettering job.

A maid came in at the bell, bringing with her a tray of tea pouring it in silence with a respectful nod as Mary sipped it delicately when the woman began to speak.

"The position in question is for the care and teaching of a young boy of three years of age," she said clearly. "He is presently in the charge of my son and his current governess in Cornwall. My son lives and works in the city you see- but the little boy seems to have a knack for driving governesses to an untimely resignation so his present one has handed in her notice and will leave at the end of two months. If it isn't too much trouble, we would like you to start then."

Mary nodded, "of course."

"Am I right in assuming that this would be your first position?" She asked, reading Mary's letter of response to the advertisement that lay on the table in front of her.

"Yes. But I have worked in a village schoolroom," (she had done it as part of her charity work, something all Ladies did at some point before their first season, but she didn't need to mention that), "And I would venture to say I have a more than average grounding in all the major subjects."

"I don't doubt it," the woman smiled pleasantly, "you seem eminently qualified for the post. My son recommended you for interview after reading your letter and I quite say I couldn't agree more."

She hadn't met, or even corresponded with, her son, which was odd given that he'd be her employer soon enough, but from where she was standing he seemed like a pretty poor gentleman and an even worse father. He had left his three-year-old son in a house full of staff to be looked after by strangers, while he galivanted off to the city, and didn't even have the decency to conduct the interviews for a new governess himself, instead leaving the job to his mother.

"There are a few things you should know," she pressed on, "Teddy, the little boy, has a weak chest. He's bright and ambitious and he'll want to do things he can't sometimes, and it is very important that he is not indulged. He's not strong enough to swim, and if he runs for long lengths of time he can become very short of breath- but it's nothing to worry about, just something to be mindful of." The woman smiled at Mary, who returned it before placing her tea down, pondering a question.

"I'm sorry for the impertinence, but may I ask where the boy's mother is?" Mary queried.

"His mother died a last year. The boy went into my son's care when he left university." She replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mrs…?"

"Crawley," The woman said, "Call me Isobel, please."

Mary, taken aback by the common surname, was about to explain her affront in haste before realising she had applied under a different name. She was Mary Levinson now, no longer Mary Crawley.

Isobel smiled, seemingly not to notice Mary's surprise.

"I shall pay for your train tickets in due course and post them to your home address presently. All going according to plan, you'll arrive on the Friday evening in precisely two months' time. The house keeper, Mrs Lynn, will introduce you to the house staff and you will start teaching Teddy on the Monday. Are those terms acceptable?"

"Very much," Mary agreed. "Thank you for offering me the role."

The Hut on the Cliffs, Porthcurno Cove, Cornwall, May 1921

Drinks sloshed freely as the room was filled with loud and jolly conversation that drowned out the deluge that beat itself down onto the windows of the darkened studio. The storm had come with the fall of night and it was quite dark and exceedingly wet beyond the walls of the room in which the party took place. There was loud music playing behind the raucous laughs and booming chatter of the happy drunks and it was an excitable atmosphere that filled the studio on the cliff face.

Matthew watched from the bar as James pranced around the room with his latest conquest on his arm, dancing merrily until the fast-paced song ended and everyone erupted into more cheers as another one began.

"Get Matthew a drink, will you?" James shouted over the noise so the bartender would hear and thanked him a little too profusely as he took the two tankards of beer and thrust one into his friend's hands. Half the liquid spilled over Matthew's waistcoat and he laughed at James' drunk antics as he took a hearty swig of what remained of his drink. Matthew enjoyed returning to the coast very much, it was the community in this small town that he loved and that loved him. Here he was not treated like an upper middle-class lawyer but like one of their own and he revelled in the feeling of normalcy when he came. He wouldn't usually leave Oscar so soon after putting him to bed, after all he only came every weekend and wanted to spend as much time with the boy as possible, but James had invited him to his studio party and it would have been bad form to not attend- especially given that James was not opposed to dragging him there if he had to. He loved the busy-ness of these parties, the happiness and light-hearted jollying of everyone that attended.

He stood at the edge of the room, watching the goings on with a smile and enjoying the warmth of the fire in comparison to the torrential downpour outside. He could have seen the sea out of the far window if it weren't for the overcrowding in the studio blocking the view from sight.

Soon, predictably, the party was hushed very aggressively by James in order to restore silence so he could recite his latest poem. It was remarkably quick how he did it, James always did have an odd kind of authority even when intoxicated by drink, and he read out his work with equal amounts of fervour and gusto, enrapturing the party into stunned silence.

That was, until he was interrupted by a loud and abrasive knock at the studio door. Everyone turned in shock and watched as Laura tentatively opened the door and invited the person into the room and out of the storm immediately.

"My god, you must be freezing come in, come on in girl."

Laura ushered her through the door and closed it against the harsh gale to shut the cold out. Matthew snapped out of his reverie when the silence died away and people began to resume the party again, but instead of also continuing to talk he fetched his jacket from the stand and offered it to the shivering, soaking girl that stood in the doorway. She was drenched from head to toe, but between her hat and travelling cloak, little of her could be seen. When she removed her hat, she revealed long, dark hair held up in an elegant bun and dark eyes that glinted. Even after walking through the wind and rain on the cliffs, she maintained elegance in her form and was quite simply the most beautiful woman Matthew had ever seen in his life.

He gave her a smile which she returned as he helped her off with her sodden coat and wrapped his jacket around her shaking shoulders. Matthew took her things and went away to hang them up. Mary looked around the room with distaste, not only was her master a callous, heartless father that didn't care enough to live with his son or bring his son to live with him, but he was also a drunkard going by the occupants of this room. The only gentleman seemed to be the man that had offered her his jacket, and he couldn't have been any more than two or three years older than herself meaning he was far too young to be the father of the three-year-old boy.

Whichever one of these men happened to be Matthew Crawley, at least she knew he had a respectable upbringing, a respectable job, a respectable position in society and a rather nice mother. However awfully he treated his son, he at least was raised into a family with some ideas about class.

A dark-haired man approached her with a rather dashing debonair smile, his hand outstretched. Mary reached out to shake it, not expecting him to make a show of kissing her gloved hand before he straightened up and introduced himself. "Hugo Maudsley," he said, staring into her eyes with an eyebrow flicked upwards, "pleased to make your acquaintance."

Mary had devised rules when she made her decision to run away from home, and the number one rule was to withhold her title and her precise identity. No one could know she was the daughter of Lord Grantham. She could not, and would not, let anyone know she was, by birth right and upbringing, a great Lady.

"Mary Levinson," she said. She knew his game and knew his intentions very well. "Mr Maudsley," she began, if he was so bent on impressing her she could at least use his help to find who she was looking for. But he interrupted her.

"Hugo, please," he said politely.

"Hugo," she corrected giving him a flirtatious smile to encourage him to help her, "I wondered if you would know if there is a Matthew Crawley hereabouts?"

Hugo raised an eyebrow at this strange mention of his friend.

"I was told I could find him here." She said, hoping to hurry the man to an answer, glancing around the jam-packed room. Another man sidled up next to Hugo, and smiled at her, offering his hand. He was about to say something when the blonde man who's coat she was wearing came over and eyed him sternly.

"James, I warn you, don't say anything you'll regret," he said raising an eyebrow at the man and giving him a very clear warning look. Mary would be impoverished if she didn't think the gesture thoughtful- she didn't like people fighting her battles for her, she could do that perfectly well herself.

"Ah, I was just looking for you!" Hugo exclaimed toward the blonde man.

"Were you?" the blonde asked incredulously.

"Yes," Hugo confirmed, "Yes. Miss Levinson here, was told she could find you here."

Mary's gaze at once hardened at the blonde man, whom apparently was the infamous Matthew Crawley, and she eyed him warily, a hard look behind her eyes. So, he was the man who gladly abandoned his child. She had to admit she had not seen that coming.

"Miss Levinson?" Matthew's eyes widened as he exclaimed in surprise. "But you're not due until tomorrow!" He looked concerned, his eyebrows furrowed as he thrust his long-forgotten drink over to a thoroughly bewildered, and rather amused, James.

"Clearly I've come early." She stated, rather coldly. Was it not obvious? Realising that he was her employer- she'd have to get used to holding her tongue- she continued. "Your mother did mention to me that perhaps she may have muddled the dates."

"Dear god, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have gone out if I'd known." Matthew gushed, nervously. "Well, um… if you want a drink then you're welcome to stay but otherwise I'm afraid we'll have to walk back to the house." He grimaced and looked at her to try and gauge her reaction.

She did not look pleased.

"Don't let me spoil your night, I'm sure I can find my own route." Her voice had a bite to it- something cold and irritable that annoyed Matthew and intrigued him in equal measure.

"Nonsense," he dismissed, only showing the slightest hint of his indignation through his tone, "I know a shortcut; besides, the staff may be asleep and you'll need someone to show you to your room."

Mary sighed.

"Take my coat," Matthew said, his gentlemanly habits overtaking his current vexation. "I'll send for your cloak and hat in the morning. I trust the station master will have sent on your bags from the train?"

"He has said so," Mary answered, clearly sceptical about each and every fibre making up this new and, in her opinion anyway, unsavoury environment.

"Ah good," Matthew smiled. "Well I suppose I should formally introduce myself, I'm Matthew Crawley."

He held out his hand.

Mary narrowed her eyes at him.

"Mary Levinson," she replied after a tense battle of glances exchanged between them.

She took his hand and they lingered in their hold for just a bit longer than was necessary.

Neither were completely sure why.

"Well I do hope you last longer than the rest of them have," Matthew said, guiding her through a narrow pathway along the cliff edge.

Mary did not think much about this man's apparent shortcut. It seemed awfully long.

"Although do be careful," he warned, "You're the youngest governess he has had so far as he has managed to drive older and more experienced people to distraction."

"I'm twenty-one," Mary said indignantly, "That's old enough. And I am not faint-hearted I can assure you."

Matthew a little taken aback by her briskness, shook it off as a faint joke.

"That bodes well."

She pursed her lips, more mindful than perhaps she should have been of the gentle hand of his that rested above her shoulder blade as they negotiated some particularly rocky terrain leading down a steep hill, muddied by the thick falling of rain.

"I really am so dreadfully sorry about this mix up with the dates," he said, as they trudged across what must have been the third field they'd walked through that night. "Of course, I'll reimburse you for any damage to your clothing and investigate the mix up of lifts at the station. You should have been driven to the house."

Mary silently sighed. He talked an awful lot.

She found herself slightly aggravated by the part of her that found it endearing.

"How much further is it? I can't see a thing."

Indeed, through the storm and raging winds, the fog and cloud that eclipsed the moonlight, the lamp that Matthew held bore the only light visible and it barely illuminated any few metres before them.

He squinted in the dim light, apparently being able to recognise the common surroundings despite the inhibiting factors.

"Another few minutes down this path and we'll have reached the road. The drive way is quite long but the walk will be easier on flat ground. We'll be in the grounds of the house soon enough."

She looked at him, for the first time realising that, in giving up both coat and jacket to her, he had been left sacrificed to the elements in nought but a soaked through shirt.

She looked too long, however, and only managed to snap her eyes way when he noticed where her gaze was directed.

"Here we are," Matthew said, jumping down a swift jut of rock onto a clear pathway. This must be the road, Mary thought, relieved to be at least nearing some kind of noticeable civilisation.

He held up a hand to help her down the jump, but she did not take it, jumping it clean herself without his assistance.

He couldn't help but feel rather impressed.

Soon enough, the pair arrived at a large gateway; two stone pillars towered above either of their own heads, bearing two large cast iron gates, welded into an intricate spiral pattern. Mary admired them thoughtfully, wondering what kind of estate sat beyond them—not that she'd be able to spectacle in it that night.

Matthew pushed open a gate with a loud creak and held it open for her to enter in front of him. He pushed it to once on the other side, grimacing at the noise it made for a second time.

"I really ought to sort that out," he noted, more to himself than her.

There were three separate pathways that led in askew directions and Mary stopped short, unsure which one to take.

"This way."

Matthew smiled again, guiding her down the middle path, brandishing his lamp high before him.

They could barely see the house before they got to it, arriving at a large oak door that looked rather like a side door or secret entrance, as entwined with ivy as it was.

Matthew pushed it open.

"If ever you should come back late for one reason or another, Mrs Lynn will leave this door unlocked for you. I'll make certain you're given a key, so you can lock it from the inside when you return."

"Thank you," she voiced, unsure there was anything else to be said.

He ushered her in and out of the rain, turning to lock the door behind him. she instantly felt the benefit of being inside, the warm fire of a secondary entrance hall flickering in a grate and lamps about the room lit it up like a homely cavern. It was cosy and suitably so, with many different doors she supposed led to other rooms and halls or corridors. There was a staircase against the far wall, carpeted with red with a thick wooden banister.

To her surprise, Matthew helped her off with his coat and hung it up before addressing her.

"I'll give you the full tour of the estate tomorrow, but for now I'll show you to your room and leave a note for Anna—she's the head housemaid—to provide you with a bath in the morning. The staff will not be expecting as of yet, so you can take breakfast with Teddy and I or later should you prefer to sleep in."

He offered her a gentle smile, leaving his jacket on her shoulders.

He went to one of the doors, revealing a hidden winding staircase.

"Follow me, it's a direct route to the wing we've put you in."

She raised an eyebrow at this, thinking the house's many different routes to the same place strange and unfamiliar. Stirring up intrepidity, she followed him finding herself being led to an intriguing large corridor with windows that, sans darkness, would have looked out upon the gardens of the estate. Her room was through a far door and up a short couple of steps.

Matthew lit the room, making sure her things had been delivered properly before stepping out of the threshold once more.

"This is where I say goodnight," he muttered, unsure of the protocol for these kinds of situations—none of the other governesses had arrived in such an uncouth way, or, indeed, had made quite the impression that Mary had. He found himself transfixed by her delicate features, briefly allowing himself to behold the beauty in her countenance.

He took her hand, bringing it to his lips for the most fleeting of moments.

"Goodnight, Miss Levinson," he whispered.

Bewildered, feeling estranged to her own emotions, she replied in a daze.

"Goodnight, Mr Crawley."

A/N - thoughts? any good or should I abandon it altogether?