Chapter Text
Mary stood stiffly and silently in the corner of the hospital while the soldiers were brought in. Though her body may have been still, her eyes were darting all over the place. She shut her eyes in horror for a brief moment in order to try to get some of the ghastly images out of her mind, but it was to no avail. She knew they were permanently etched in her mind. She had chosen to stay here. Her discussion with Doctor Clarkson had made that evident and she needed to stay strong, for Matthew's sake.
“Mary!” she heard someone call. She quickly looked up to see Sybil at the door. “They're bringing them in,” she said quietly.
Mary quickly straightened up and went to the doorway where her sister stood. “Bring him this way,” Sybil said in a calm, yet firm voice.
In vain, Mary tried to not watch as Matthew was brought into the hospital on a stretcher. He lay there, stiff and extremely pale. If it had not been for the ever so slight rise and fall of his chest, she would have suspected the worst. She watched as some other soldiers carried in the wounded and laid them on the beds that had been prepared for them. She may have seen the other soldiers, but she only truly saw Matthew. She hurried towards the stretcher just as Sybil and another officer were lifting Matthew onto the bed.
Once the officer had left, Mary reached down and looked at the tag that was attached to Matthew's uniform. She gasped in horror when she read the words. Probable spinal damage. Sybil looked at her sister and said gently, “It could mean anything. We'll know more in the morning.”
Mary knew that her sister was right, but she also had a horrible feeling deep down that whatever injury Matthew had sustained on the battlefield would bring many great changes to the family. Sybil began to gather up the blankets and other items that had been at the foot of Matthew's bed, when a small object fell out from among them. She reached down and picked it up. "What's this doing here?" she asked in a curious voice.
Mary reached over and took the small toy from her sister. “I gave it to him for luck,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and nearly failing.
With a sigh, Sybil said, “If only it had worked.”
Mary looked at her sister and said with a hint of annoyance, “He's alive.” And back in England with his family, she added silently.
Sybil nodded in response, then looked back down at their cousin. “We're going to need to wash him,” she said quietly. “There's bound to be a lot of blood.”
Mary looked at her sister and saw a look of determination there. “How hot should the water be?” she asked.
A flicker of surprise passed over Sybil's face as she looked up, but she quickly composed herself. “More warm than hot,” she answered. “And bring some towels.”
Mary nodded in answer and went to get the water, as well as the towels that Sybil had requested. When she got back, the task of cleaning began.
Using a pair of scissors, Sybil carefully cut Matthew’s shirt off and removed it, taking care to move his limbs as little as possible. She covered his chest with a blanket and proceeded to cut off his trousers. Mary quickly averted her eyes until the trousers were removed and Sybil had placed a towel across Matthew’s private region.
Sybil proceeded to dip a cloth into the basin of warm water and gently cleaned Matthew’s leg, again taking care to move the limb as little as possible.
At first, Mary could hardly believe how calm and steady Sybil's hands and arms were. After all, she was looking at an unclothed man! Mary quickly tried to overcome those thoughts though. That part might be true, but he also was a grievously wounded man that desperately needed cleaning in order to avoid infection.
Noticing Mary’s unease, Sybil said, “Why don’t you clean Matthew’s face and try to get some of that mud out of his hair?”
Mary sighed in relief. She could still be useful, but could avoid seeing that area of a man. Taking a wet cloth, she went to the head of the bed. Matthew’s face was covered in mud and blood and his blonde hair was nearly black with a caked mixture of mud and blood. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” asked Mary, knowing that he couldn’t hear her, but needing to say something.
She dipped a cloth into the bowl of water and began to gently wipe the grime off of Matthew’s forehead. Before long his face began to look a bit more like the face of the man she knew and loved, though far more thin and tan than she remembered.
Soon, Sybil had finished cleaning Matthew’s front and an orderly came by to help roll him over. Mary winced when she saw his back and tried in vain to keep her horror at bay. If she had thought Matthew’s face and chest were hard to look at, it was nothing compared to his back. An ugly, purple bruise stared up at her, starting right above his hips and continued up to the middle of his back. Small bruises and cuts dotted the remaining area.
Sybil managed to keep her composure, but only just. Knowing that touching the injury could cause more harm, but also realizing that it needed to be cleaned, she sighed and picked up yet another clean cloth, dipped it in the warm water, and gently placed it on top of the hideous bruise. She let it sit for a few moments, then picked it up, bringing a fair amount of loose grime with it. “That will do for now,” she commented, “as I do not want to put any pressure on the wound.” Mary nodded, as she plucked out a small stick from Matthew’s hair.
Before much longer, Sybil finished cleaning Matthew’s back and the back of his legs. "Nothing more can be done until he awakes," Sybil said. She glanced down at Matthew who was still unconscious. "I pray he won't be in much pain when he awakes."
Mary nodded in agreement. "I'll be back in the morning," she said gently and with a squeeze of Matthew's hand, she left the hospital.
Early the next morning, Mary was there again, this time coming to the hospital with her father.
She was sitting by Matthew's side when his eyelids fluttered open and a low groan escaped from his mouth. In a flash, Mary had moved to where he could see her without turning his head. "Matthew," she said in a tone that was barely above a whisper. "Can you hear me?"
“Mary?” Matthew moaned through another groan of pain. Where was he? What was going on?
“Yes, it's me,” she responded, taking his hand into her own. “You’re back at Downton, in the hospital.”
Matthew blinked in confusion as he tried to register what had been said. “Shell,” he murmured. “Threw me. William.” But before his brain could process any more, Doctor Clarkson appeared by the bed.
“Captain Crawley, I'm going to need to do an examination on you in order to determine the extent of your injuries,” he said. "I'm sorry I need to do this at the moment, but we need you conscious.”
“Does it have to be this moment?” asked Robert, “it’s clear Matthew’s in pain.”
“I wish we could wait until he's in less pain,” admitted the doctor, “but, the pain will be easier to treat if we know the symptoms. Once through, I’ll order a dose of morphine, which should help.”
While the doctor had been talking, a nurse had put up some curtains to allow for a certain degree of privacy during the examination.
“Can I stay with him?” Mary asked breathlessly as Doctor Clarkson entered the semi-private area. He responded with a curt nod and she followed him in, while Robert waited outside.
With the help of the nurse, Doctor Clarkson rolled Matthew onto his stomach. “Captain Crawley, all you need to do is tell me if you can feel my hand.” While the doctor began the examination, Mary stood where Matthew could see her. He needed someone nearby that he knew. Mary was dreading the worst, she knew what it had to be, but she was praying that it wasn't what she thought.
The first few times Matthew responded positively, but as Doctor Clarkson got down to the waist, Matthew shook his head when asked if he could feel something. Mary gulped, but kept calm for Matthew's sake. He couldn't know, not yet. Doctor Clarkson moved his hands back up a few inches and pressed down, Matthew let out a low groan and nodded ever so slightly. Yet again, the Doctor moved back down to the waistline, this time in a different part, but again, Matthew didn't respond.
“There’s something wrong with his legs,” murmured Clarkson, “that must be the spinal injury.” Mary looked at the doctor in horror. She might not know much about the human anatomy, but she knew enough to realize that it was likely he was paralyzed.
Clarkson began to work his way down Matthew's thighs, but he didn't get a single response. Mary was afraid she was going to break down. At that moment, she was extremely grateful that Matthew wasn't awake enough to be fully aware and understanding of the apparent fact that he couldn't feel anything below his waist.
At that moment, Lord Grantham opened the curtains so Mary could see out. There stood Lavinia. “I need to step away for a moment,” Mary whispered to Matthew and she quickly exited the small private area.
"Do they know anything more?" Lavinia asked in a small voice. Mary could tell she was doing her best at staying calm.
"The doctor is examining him now," Mary answered.
“So he’s conscious?” inquired Lavinia, a small amount of hope in her voice.
“Just,” replied Mary.
“Have they found out what happened?” Robert asked.
Mary sighed and said, “From what I could gather a shell landed near him and William. It appears that the explosion threw Matthew against something.” Mary closed her eyes before she continued. “Doctor Clarkson thinks there may be trouble with his legs.”
Before either Lavinia or Robert had a chance to respond, Doctor Clarkson came over. “Not good news, I'm afraid,” he said with regret showing in his voice. He continued, "It appears that the spinal cord has been transected, that is, permanently damaged.”
For a few seconds, no one could say anything, then Robert spoke in a steady, yet shocked voice. “You mean he won't walk again?”
Lavinia let out a strangled cry and Robert placed an arm around her shoulders.
“If I'm right, then no, he won't,” Doctor Clarkson answered. Before anyone could say anything, he continued. “I know this comes as a shock to you. You must be allowed to grieve. I will say though, that he will gain his health. He is young and strong. He will not lose his life.”
Mary had finally found her voice in all of this. “Just the start of a different life.” Poor Matthew! she thought, to survive the war only for this to be his fate. But he was home, and alive, and that was what mattered.
The doctor nodded in response, then pulled Lord Grantham aside to talk with him privately.
As Mary watched Clarkson and her father talk, she began to think more about what they had all learned. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. Matthew, young, strong, Matthew would never walk again. Her thoughts were interrupted by Lavinia asking if she had a handkerchief. Mary rummaged in her handbag for a few brief seconds, before pulling one out and handing it to Lavinia, who took it in gratitude. Once Lavinia had dried her tears, she straightened her back and walked towards Matthew's bed. Mary was about to follow her, but was stopped by her father placing his hand on her shoulder. "Give them a moment together," he said quietly.
She turned to her father and asked “What did Dr. Clarkson need?”
Robert sighed and answered, “Nothing to worry you about,” but it was clear from his expression that whatever had been said was yet another shock. What other gastly details were to be learned?
Mary waited outside of the curtains for a time, just standing there with her thoughts. She couldn't even wrap her mind around the news she had just heard and dreaded what Matthew's thoughts would be when he found out. She knew that he hadn't been told yet, he was much too weak to know and wouldn’t be able to comprehend it just yet. A few minutes later, Lavinia came out, dapping her eyes once again with the handkerchief.
"He's fallen asleep," she said. "C-Can you stay with him while I go and unpack?"
“Of course,” Mary answered gently. “I'll do anything to help Matthew … and you.” It was difficult to describe her relationship with Lavinia. The girl was very sweet, but she was also Matthew’s fiancée. Of course, she could never hold it against Lavinia. It was entirely her fault that she wasn’t married to Matthew. If only she had told him her dark secret all those years ago, things might be completely different.
“Thank you,” Lavinia responded, breaking Mary out of her thoughts, and she hurried away.
Mary slowly sat down on the chair next to Matthew’s bed. There was nothing they could do. There wasn't anything anyone could do to help him, not yet anyway. How could the world, nay, how could God be so cruel, as to take away the lives and health of so many young men in such a horrific manner? A few minutes later, Sybil came by. “How is he?” she asked quietly.
Mary looked at her sister, unable to say the news. She felt that if no one said anything, they'd all wake up and it would be a bad dream. They'd be back in the garden at the party without any thought of there being war, but she knew that what was going on was reality. There was no way around it.
“Mary?” Sybil asked again. “Does Doctor Clarkson know?”
Mary swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump that had been in her throat ever since the doctor had told them. “It is spinal damage,” she finally managed to croak out. “Doctor Clarkson thinks that the spinal cord has been transected.”
“Oh,” Sybil gasped, as she gripped the railing at the end of the bed, unable to say anything. “And there's nothing that can be done?”
Mary shook her head. "Not that he knew of anyway."
Sybil gently placed her hand on her eldest sister's shoulder. "He's here and alive," she said gently. "We mustn't forget that." Mary nodded curtly and Sybil squeezed her shoulder as she hurried off to another part of the hospital, to either find the quietest corner to weep or the busiest corner to keep her mind off of things.
“Oh, Matthew, whatever are we going to do?” Mary sighed as she looked at the sleeping figure. Their lives, and the lives of everyone at Downton were forever changed. She didn't yet know whether they would be changed for the better or the worse.
A short while later, Sybil returned, carrying with her a contraption.
“Dr. Clarkson requested that I insert a catheter,” she explained to Mary. “If Matthew’s spinal cord truly has been broken, he is no longer able to relieve himself, thus this must do it for him.” If Matthew was to survive for any length of time, renal failure needed to be prevented. There had been dozens, perhaps hundreds, of cases of paralysis during this awful war, and nearly all were dead because of bladder infections.
Mary stared at the item in horror. That must have been what Clarkson had explained to her father. Once again, she looked at the still figure lying on the bed. What other consequences of his injury were there? It was clearly far more than the inability to walk.
While Mary averted her eyes, Sybil inserted the catheter, with a sigh and a silent prayer, hoping that Matthew would be one of the lucky ones who didn’t develop an infection. He needed to live, for all their sakes. She knew her sister loved him, but had never been able to figure out why the two of them had never gotten married. And now both were engaged to another. Lavinia was a sweet girl, but that Carlisle … Sybil quickly shook off those thoughts. Mary and Matthew were a thing of the past, but hopefully they could at least regain their close friendship.
Once the blanket was returned to its position, Mary once again faced the man lying on the bed. She took his hand in hers, raised it to her lips, and gently kissed the scarred knuckles. “Oh, Matthew,” she murmured, “what is going to happen to us?”