Chapter Text

WW1

University Days

Mary's first day at the University of Leeds was a mix of excitement and apprehension. She had dressed smartly and professionally for the occasion, a reflection of her commitment to her studies. As she made her way through the bustling campus, her nerves simmered just beneath the surface, intensified by the knowledge that Britain was at war with Germany.

The chair of the Law department had wasted no time in making announcements about the accelerated course load. It was a measure designed to allow male students to complete their studies early so they could join the armed forces and serve their country. Mary, determined as ever, had chosen to take the accelerated course as well. This decision meant longer terms and additional summer sessions, but it brought her closer to her ultimate goal. By the winter of 1916, she hoped to have completed all the necessary coursework, with only her thesis on her chosen subject standing between her and her law degree.

Tom's unwavering encouragement and support had fortified her resolve. She knew this journey would be challenging, especially with the world at war, but she was willing to endure it to achieve her dreams.

Her friend Fleur, who was studying Library Sciences, had also opted for the accelerated path. The two women had each other for company and support during these intense academic months. But Fleur's talk of volunteering for the war effort once her degree was completed weighed heavily on Mary's heart.

One evening, as they were studying together in Mary and Tom's flat, Fleur mentioned her intentions once more, and Mary couldn't help but be affected. The war was a source of deep concern for her, not only because of its impact on the world but also because of Tom's anti-war sentiments.

"Fleur," Mary began, her voice carrying a note of unease, "I understand your desire to contribute to the war effort but talk of it unsettles me. You see, my husband, Tom, he's strongly against the war, on principle. I worry about what he might do if he's ever called up to serve."

Fleur looked thoughtful, her curly brown hair framing her face as she considered Mary's words. "I can understand your concern, Mary. It's a difficult situation, especially with the differing views on the war. But we must all follow our convictions, mustn't we?"

Mary sighed, her gaze fixed on her books but her mind clearly elsewhere. "Yes, we must," she conceded, "even when it means facing difficult choices and the uncertainty of the future."

As they continued to study, the weight of the world outside their books and notes hung heavy in the air, and Mary couldn't help but wonder how the war would continue to shape their lives and the lives of those they loved.

Going Dancing

Mary and Tom had been looking forward to the charity ball for weeks, and the evening had finally arrived. Despite the ongoing war, the University was hosting this event to raise funds for the war effort, and it was one of the few social activities they had to look forward to.

Tom, dressed in his meticulously tailored old tailcoat, fiddled with his cufflinks, a bit nervously. The coat had been expertly refitted to accommodate his frame, a testament to his frugal nature. Mary couldn't help but smile as she looked at him. "I haven't seen you wear this before," she remarked, her voice low and playful. "You look very handsome tonight, positively delicious," she added, her words laced with flirtation. Tom, still blushing after all this time, was delighted that even after six months of marriage, Mary could still make him blush.

Mary, resplendent in a black dress adorned with white detailing, felt a thrill of excitement. The dress was new, a small luxury they could afford. It was almost like old times, and she relished the opportunity to get dressed up.

As they stepped into a cab, Tom offered his arm to Mary, and she took it with a smile. They arrived at the University Ball, joining a stream of elegantly dressed attendees who had also come to support the cause.

Inside, the grand ballroom was adorned with decorations, a big band played lively tunes, and couples swayed on the dance floor. Waiters moved gracefully among the guests, offering trays of drinks and refreshments.

Mary and Tom found a table and were soon joined by Fleur, who looked radiant. She was accompanied by a Captain, whom she introduced as her brother's friend, Captain Samuel Marcus. Tom shook his hand warmly, and Mary smiled pleasantly at him.

The evening was filled with dancing, laughter, and conversations with acquaintances Mary had made during her time at the University. Tom's dancing skills surprised Mary, and she couldn't help but ask about his proficiency.

"I didn't know you were such a good dancer, Tom," she said with a smile as they twirled around the dance floor.

Tom grinned back at her. "Well, I went to an all-boys preparatory school," he explained. "The only chance we got to talk to girls was during dance classes, so you bet we all signed up."

As the night wore on, Mary and Tom enjoyed each other's company, dancing and mingling with fellow attendees. It was a night of light-heartedness and escape from the grim reality of the war.

When it was finally time to head home, Mary leaned against Tom's shoulder in the cab, her fatigue slowly overcoming her. She murmured sleepily with a contented smile, "That was fun." Tom nodded in agreement, grateful for the respite from the worries of the world outside, and gently placed a kiss on her forehead as they journeyed back home.

News from the Front

Tom received letters from his friends on the front, and each letter brought a mix of emotions.

Orwell Power, a long-time friend of Tom, Bertie, and Peter, had joined up almost as soon as the war was declared. Commissioned as an officer, he had undergone rigorous training to prepare for his role. However, his letters told of a harrowing experience on the front lines. The intensity of the conflict, the horrors of trench warfare, and the toll it took on both body and mind were vividly described in Orwell's words.

Bertie's letters, on the other hand, carried a more optimistic tone. Stationed at HQ, he had a broader perspective on the overall war effort. His missives were filled with reports of strategic movements, military plans, and, at times, hints of hope. From his vantage point, it seemed that there was still progress to be made, despite the grim realities faced by those on the front lines.

Tom also received letters from old school friends, and these brought more sombre news. Some of the men he had once shared classrooms and camaraderie with had already perished in the war. Their deaths weighed heavily on Tom's conscience, intensifying his opposition to the conflict.

The moral dilemma Tom faced was a challenging one. He couldn't reconcile the loss of life and the suffering he read about in his friends' letters with the idea of joining the war effort. Yet, knowing that he hadn't been called up for service, he felt a personal responsibility to work toward improving the lives of the soldiers on the front lines.

Since 1913, Tom had been researching different motor engineers who were working on four-wheel-drive vehicles. He believed that developing such vehicles, like lorries and trucks, could greatly benefit the soldiers. These vehicles would enable easier transport of supplies, reducing the logistical challenges faced by the military. They could also serve as ambulances, providing crucial aid to the wounded.

Tom's dedication to this project was unwavering. He saw it as a way to make a meaningful contribution to the war effort without directly participating in the violence he abhorred. As he read his friends' letters and witnessed the toll the war was taking, he became even more determined to bring his vision to life, hoping to provide some relief to those enduring the hardships of the front lines.

*

Every Saturday, Mary played host to an afternoon tea for her neighbours: Brenda, Mrs. Finlay, and Fleur. Mrs. Finlay was the tenant on the first floor, sharing the flat with her formerly retired doctor husband. The Finlays' two sons-in-law had enlisted early in the war, and Brenda, Mary, and Mrs. Finlay all shared a daily anxiety whenever the postman arrived, fearing for their husbands. Both Brenda and her husband, along with Tom, were of Irish descent and held a markedly different perspective on the war compared to their English counterparts.

At these tea gatherings, there was an unspoken rule: conversation about the politics of the war was strictly prohibited. Mary viewed these teas as a means of supporting her female friends. She also invited her housekeeper, Mrs. Harris, to these impromptu gatherings, as she had three sons and two daughters, all of whom had been affected by the war in some way. Mrs. Harris considered herself fortunate that her youngest son, Jimmy, had been accidentally blinded in one eye as a child while playing with fireworks, rendering him ineligible for military service. He devoted his time to assisting his sisters and sisters-in-law, whose husbands were serving in various capacities.

The women would gather, chat, sip tea, and engage in knitting. They crafted hats, scarves, and socks for the soldiers at the front. Mary quickly picked up the skill and proved to be an exceptionally fast knitter. She liked to add a touch of fancy stitching to the ends of her scarves to make them a bit more special.

On this particular day, the women made an extra effort to support Fleur. She had received a letter from her mother earlier in the week, conveying the devastating news that her young cousin Eddie had been killed at the Somme; he was only 19 years old.

Being out of touch with her old social circle, Mary wasn't aware of how her friends from Downton, like Evelyn Napier, were faring. However, she did know from Anna that the head gardener at Downton had lost both his sons. Mary didn't interact with Burges as much as the indoor servants, but she remembered how proud he always was of his flowers and how he'd advise her and her sisters on which blooms were best for their arrangements.

Mary noticed that Fleur's knitting had become hopelessly tangled. She gently took the supposed hat from Fleur's trembling fingers and set about untangling the yarn and restoring the hat to its proper form. Brenda, understanding the need for solace, poured Fleur another cup of sweet tea.

Mrs. Finlay shared updates about her husband, who had rejoined the workforce at Leeds Hospital to help compensate for the younger doctors who had left for the army. He specialised in obstetrics and mainly worked to relieve the junior doctors so they could assist with treating wounded soldiers. His return to work meant he had more good news stories than bad. Mrs. Finlay recounted tales of healthy babies being born, sometimes crafting little bonnets and booties for them in delicate white and yellow, especially when the war's grim reality seemed overwhelming. She found that thinking about the future helped to alleviate the fear of the present.

Mary contributed her own news, sharing a quirky titbit she had learned that week. "Did you know that witchcraft is still a punishable crime in Scotland?" she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's be careful not to whip up any potions in our kitchens, ladies."

The women chuckled at Mary's playful warning, the light moment providing a brief respite from the anxieties of their time. Together, they forged bonds of friendship and support that helped carry them through the challenges of wartime England.

War Effort

Mary and Tom, deeply moved by the news of their family members and friends serving on the front lines, as well as news from Downton through Anna, felt compelled to find ways to help and support the war effort.

Mary's days were consumed by her studies at the University of Leeds as she pursued her law degree. Meanwhile, Tom dedicated himself tirelessly to his work at the factory, where he was focused on developing a prototype four-wheel-drive system using stainless-steel components.

In their discussions about how they could contribute, Tom proposed a generous idea. He suggested that they extend an invitation to all his acquaintances serving in the armed forces, offering them the chance to spend their leave at their flat in Leeds. This offer would be especially meaningful for those who didn't have a home to return to or whose homes were too far away, such as his Irish friends in the army. Mary readily agreed to this idea, appreciating Tom's compassion and hospitality.

Mary also felt she could make a meaningful contribution by organising the women at the factory. She proposed the idea of making collections for the Red Cross, assembling care packages, and rolling bandages. In addition, she suggested that, a couple of evenings each week, both she and Tom could dedicate their time to writing letters to the soldiers at the front. These letters would serve as a morale booster, offering support and encouragement to those facing the hardships of war.

United in their desire to make a positive impact, Mary and Tom embraced these efforts to support their loved ones and all those affected by the war.

*

Orwell Power, the son of the Marquess of Donegal, was the first friend to take Tom and Mary up on their offer to spend leave at their flat in Leeds. Normally, Orwell would have spent his leave with his friend Peter Pelham, but Peter was in America at the time his leave was due.

Tom eagerly collected his weary friend from the station, hiring a cab for the journey back to their flat. During the ride, Orwell was unusually quiet, quieter than his already reserved demeanour would suggest. It was a contemplative journey.

When they arrived at the flat, Orwell managed to produce a semblance of normalcy upon meeting Mary. Surprisingly, Mary and Orwell had some mutual acquaintances. She even recalled dancing with Orwell's brother John at her coming-out ball.

Dinner was a quiet yet delicious affair, with Mrs Harris's culinary skills on full display. Casual conversation flowed throughout the meal. After dinner, they retired to the sitting room, where a cosy fire provided warmth against the evening chill. There, Tom and Mary tried to engage Orwell in discussions about everyday activities.

However, as the night wore on, Orwell excused himself and retired to the study, where Mrs. Harris had arranged a daybed for his stay.

Tom tended to the fire, banking it and placing a guard in front, while Mary began her nightly ablutions. Soon, Tom would join her in their room.

Mary turned off the lamp and snuggled with Tom. In a hushed tone, she inquired, "Is he always so reticent?" Her curiosity was piqued. "He wasn't much of a chatterbox, but he did have an urbane sense of humour," Tom replied, a note of concern in his voice.

As the night settled around them, they engaged in quiet conversation before drifting off to sleep, wondering about the weight that Orwell seemed to carry with him.

*

Mary suddenly opened her eyes, her heart thudding in her chest. There was a noise—a thumping sound coming from the next room. Tom, however, was in a deep slumber, and it took some vigorous shaking to rouse him.

"Tom! Tom! Wake up," Mary insisted urgently.

Half-awake and disoriented, Tom mumbled, "It's too early, I don't wanna get up."

Mary persisted, giving him another firm shake. "Tom!" she hissed.

Startled, Tom blinked awake and realised that Mary had forcefully pulled him from his slumber. "What is it?" he asked groggily.

"I heard a noise, listen," she said.

They both lay still in the bed, straining their ears to catch any further sounds. It wasn't long before Tom heard it too—a thump and perhaps a faint moan. "I heard it too," he confirmed. "I think it must be Orwell. I'll go and check on him."

Tom climbed out of bed, threw on his dressing gown over his pyjamas, and quietly slipped out of the bedroom. He made his way to the study door and tapped lightly. "Orwell, are you awake?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Listening carefully, it sounded like Orwell was talking to someone. Tom slowly opened the door, there was a slither of moonlight coming through a chink in the curtain, giving Tom just enough light to see Orwell twisting and turning. Tom entered the room, when he was closer to the bed, he could hear Orwell say, “move man, move!” repeatedly. Tom wasn’t sure what the best way to wake someone from a nightmare was.

As Tom stood at the end of the bed, he recalled a childhood memory of Mrs. Green shaking him gently by the foot when he had similar bad dreams. Drawing from this, he reached out and grabbed Orwell's foot firmly, giving it a shake while calling out his name. He repeated this process twice more until Orwell abruptly sat up in bed with a startled yell.

"Orwell, you were having a bad dream," Tom gently informed him. He could see that Orwell was bent over, breathing heavily, and his hands were trembling.

Tom gave him a few moments to recover before he spoke again. "Would you like some warm milk with nutmeg to soothe your nerves?" he asked kindly. Orwell, still visibly shaken, nodded in agreement.

Tom offered his hand to help Orwell stand, but the other man declined with a shake of his head. Tom stepped back from the bed, allowing Orwell some space to compose himself.

Leading Orwell down to the kitchen, Tom retrieved a pan and two mugs. He fetched the milk from the pantry and began to gently heat it. With a sense of quiet competence, Tom prepared the warm milk and placed the mugs on the kitchen table. He gestured toward the nutmeg shaker, indicating that Orwell could use it if he wished. Orwell, grateful for the gesture, sprinkled a bit of nutmeg into his milk.

After a few minutes of silence, Orwell slowly started to talk, “There was this private under my command, just a boy really, I don’t think he was actually 18.” Orwell took a deep shaky breath, “We were under fire one day, it was so strange, as the sky was so blue, like the perfect summers day of your youth, you know?” Tom nodded, “and I had ordered everyone to take cover and he just froze, like a rabbit caught in a beam of light. I kept yelling at him, ‘move man, move’ and he just stood there with a terrified look on his face until a bullet hit him square in the head. He just gently toppled over, with that same terrified look frozen on his face forever.” Tom just looked at Orwell with compassion. “I don’t think I will ever forget that moment. War is a terrible business, Tom.” Orwell whispered. “Stay out of it as long as you can,” he advised, “I’ll try” Tom said quietly, feeling deeply for his friend in that quiet moment.

They both sat at the table in silence, the only sound in the room being the ticking of the kitchen clock. Tom eventually reached out and gripped Orwell's shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was not alone. Together, they sat in the tranquil embrace of the night, the rhythmic ticking of the clock serving as their only companion.

*

Eventually after a week, Orwell had to return to duty and with fond farewells Tom and Mary waved their friend off. Tom wrote to his friend Peter about Orwell’s stay, to help put his mind at ease, as Orwell was a particular friend of his.

Dear Peter,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to share some news with you regarding our dear friend, Orwell Power. He recently spent a full week with Mary and me here in Leeds, and I thought you'd appreciate knowing how he fared during his stay.

Firstly, let me assure you that Orwell is in better spirits than when he arrived. The nightmares that had been haunting him seem to have lessened in intensity, and his overall demeanour is more composed. Mary and I did our best to provide a welcoming and calming atmosphere, and I believe it had a positive impact on him.

While he was with us, we tried to keep things as normal as possible. We talked about a variety of topics, from our shared memories to the everyday activities that occupied our time. I think having a break from the front lines and a change of scenery did him good.

Orwell expressed his profound gratitude to both Mary and me before he left. I know that our home may not be the same as his own, but he assured us that it was a much-needed respite. I hope that our time together has contributed in some small way to his well-being.

Please rest assured that we'll continue to support Orwell as much as we can, and I'll keep you updated on his progress. The bond of friendship remains as strong as ever, even in these challenging times.

I look forward to hearing from you soon and hope that we can all meet again when this dreadful conflict finally comes to an end.

Warm regards,

Tom

Welcome News

William Power, the Marquess of Donegal, sat in his opulent study, a room adorned with dark wood panelling and shelves lined with leather-bound books. The weight of his responsibilities as the head of one of Britain's most prominent families hung heavily upon him. His once immaculate desk now bore the scattered remnants of an afternoon's correspondence.

The Marquess had experienced tragedies that no parent should endure. His youngest son, a promising lad of just sixteen, had met a tragic end during a rugby game at school. And his eldest, Tristian, had been swept away by the war's unforgiving tide within the first two months of the conflict in 1914.

He never dreamed that he, a man of immense wealth and influence, would find himself in this position. He had watched as his sons, born of their mother, had grown. He had been proud that they had answered their country's call, that they were doing their duty. But deep down, he had never truly believed that the war would touch his precious sons. It was a bitter realisation that life's cruel hand could strike even the loftiest of hearts.

The butler, a man who had served the Donegal family for decades, entered the study with a tray bearing the day's mail. William's eyes, weary from both sorrow and the weight of his responsibilities, glanced at the stack of envelopes. There, among the pile, was a letter with distinctive handwriting, unmistakably his son Orwell's.

His heart skipped a beat as he tore open the letter, revealing Orwell's account of his recent leave. Orwell's words painted a picture of time spent with a certain Tom Branson and his young wife. Tom was William’s illegitimate son from a brief liaison with the beautiful Lady Louise Lockheed. William's eyebrows raised as he read about Tom’s wife, a "Lady Mary Branson," the daughter of the Earl of Grantham. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of his illegitimate son marrying into such aristocracy.

Memories flooded back to him, thoughts of Louise, and the bargain they had struck. He had financially supported Tom's education, all the while receiving annual reports from the solicitor they had entrusted with this secret arrangement. He had known of Tom's extraordinary intelligence, and it seemed that his son was now working on something of monumental significance. The Marquess had always felt the need to be there, pushing his sons forward, but here was Tom, proving that he could succeed without his father's direct influence.

With a deep breath, he finished reading the letter, Orwell's words filled with praise for his half-brother. A sense of guilt washed over him as he pondered the secrets he had kept and the fractured relationships between his sons. He longed for them to have the brotherly bond that had been denied them. Yet, the necessity of maintaining the secrecy surrounding his long-ago affair, and the potential harm it could bring to his reputation, continued to weigh heavily on his mind.

With a resigned sigh, he ran his fingers over the letter once more before making a decision. He carefully folded the letter and placed it in a drawer, alongside the other missives that held the story of his family's complicated history.

The Dreaded Day

As May of 1915 drew to a close, the day Mary and Tom had been dreading finally arrived. Tom received a distinctive green envelope among his morning mail, a harbinger of the impending medical examination.

Mary held her breath, her anxiety palpable, as Tom opened the letter. The contents confirmed their expectations. Tom's face grew solemn as he delivered the news to Mary. "It's a letter to report for a medical in two days' time," he said, his voice steady but laden with the weight of uncertainty.

Mary's fear was tangible. "Do you know what you will do?" she inquired, her concern evident.

"My position on the war hasn't changed, Mary," Tom gently reassured her. "I think it's best to get the medical over with, and then I will talk to my solicitor to see what exactly my options are."

Mary grappled with her own fears, torn between the worry of Tom changing his mind and going to war and the potential consequences of him sticking to his principles. They both hoped that Tom might be allowed to serve in a non-combat position, as some of his university friends who were Quakers had done, serving as ambulance drivers and in similar roles.

The day of Tom's medical examination arrived, and Mary had to attend her university classes, making the separation even more agonising. Her anxiety gnawed at her throughout the day, making concentration on her studies a daunting task.

Finally, when her lectures ended for the day, Mary gave her excuses to her friend Fleur and hastened home. She called out for Tom, seeking solace in his presence. When she found him, he was absorbed in his work, examining notes and processes on the blackboard.

Mary couldn't contain her curiosity. "Well?" she eagerly inquired.

Tom turned to her, his expression a mix of relief and uncertainty. "The medical went normally, as far as I could tell," he informed her. "The clerk on duty told me they are processing results quickly at present. It could be as little as two days before I get my orders."

Overwhelmed with emotions, Mary moved to embrace her husband. Tom, understanding her need for comfort, reciprocated the embrace. They stood together, silently acknowledging that their world hung in the balance.

The dining room was softly lit, casting a warm, intimate glow over the polished mahogany table set for two. A bouquet of fresh flowers graced the centre, their fragrance mingling with the aroma of the evening's meal. Candles flickered in delicate crystal holders, casting dancing shadows on the fine china.

Tom and Mary sat across from each other, the soft glow accentuating the warm smiles on their faces. The clinking of silverware against porcelain plates filled the air as they began their meal.

Mary, her expressive eyes bright with curiosity, looked across the table at Tom. "Tom, you were telling me about the progress with the business today," she prompted, her voice laced with eagerness.

Tom, a trace of pride in his voice, leaned slightly forward, engaging in the discussion. "Indeed, Mary. We've been receiving excellent reports on the vehicles we've fitted with stainless steel exhausts. It seems the improvements are working wonders. I even received a letter from Henry today, saying that the prototypes are performing better than expected."

Mary's eyes sparkled with interest as she sipped her wine. "That's wonderful news, Tom. Your dedication to this venture is truly remarkable. I'm proud of what you've accomplished."

A genuine smile graced Tom's lips as he returned Mary's sentiment. "Your support means the world to me, Mary. It's been a challenging journey, but we're making headway."

The conversation flowed as they savoured each course. Tom mentioned the 4WD lorry prototype, now ready for testing, and Mary listened attentively, her enthusiasm evident. She admired how Tom's determination and innovation were driving their business forward.

Between bites of their meal, they shared personal updates. Mary spoke of her recent academic achievements, a glint of excitement in her eyes. "I'm not the best in the class, but I'm in the top ten, Tom," she said, her pride evident.

Tom, ever the supportive husband, beamed with pride. "That's incredible, Mary. I've never doubted your intelligence and dedication. You'll achieve great things at university."

As dessert was served, they basked in the comfort of their shared accomplishments and dreams. The soft strains of music playing in the background added a romantic undertone to their dinner, deepening their connection as husband and wife.

Amid the clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of their conversation, Tom and Mary found solace in each other's company, cherishing these moments of respite from the uncertainties of the world around them.

After spending a quiet night reading together in the sitting room, they retired for the night. The night passed with Tom and Mary seeking refuge in their shared intimacy. As they clung to each other, they found a fleeting respite from the uncertainties that loomed on the horizon.

Results

The morning of May had brought an unusually heavy rainfall, the sound of it tapping against the windows serving as a gloomy backdrop to Tom and Mary's breakfast. They sat at the dining room table, their attention divided between their porridge and the mounting tension that weighed heavily on their shoulders.

Mary's anxiety bubbled to the surface as she sought answers. "Anything from the War Office?" she inquired, her voice betraying her unease. Tom, always the calming presence, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as he responded, "No, not this morning."

His touch was meant to convey support, but Mary found the waiting unbearable. The uncertainty was tormenting her, and every moment without a resolution felt like an eternity. Tom tried to explain the bureaucratic nature of government processes, hoping to offer some comfort. "The clerk said it could be ready in two days, that might mean it was ready in two and sent on the third. You know how governments work, Mary."

Despite his efforts, the prospect of the impending decision still loomed over her. It meant another day out in the world with this uncertainty hanging like a sword of Damocles. She couldn't fathom how she would manage to focus on her university lectures under these circumstances. At least she had made plans to meet Fleur for lunch, a small distraction amidst the turmoil of waiting for news that could change their lives.

With a heavy heart, they knew there was nothing more to be done for now except to finish their breakfast and prepare to face the day, each step forward shrouded in the uncertainty of what the future held. As they parted ways, Mary made sure to give Tom a tender kiss, a silent expression of the love and support that would carry them through whatever was to come.

*

Tom had keenly observed the anxiety that gripped Mary as they awaited the results of his medical examination. He knew that his future weighed heavily on her, and he couldn't bear to see her suffer like this. So, he decided to meet her outside the gates of the University of Leeds, a small gesture of comfort and support.

As he stood there, waiting for Mary, he watched the flurry of activity around him. Young men and women in academic gowns moved about, their lives intertwined with the pursuit of knowledge. When he finally spotted Mary, her black gown billowing behind her, he couldn't help but smile. Her excitement at donning the university's official uniform always brought a sparkle to her eyes, marking her as a student of the prestigious institution.

Mary's face lit up when she saw Tom, and she rushed into his arms with unbridled delight. The couple walked arm in arm to the tram stop, reminiscing about their first tram ride together all those months ago. Mary marvelled at how much her life had changed since leaving Downton, with its newfound challenges and freedoms.

Their tram journey was a pleasant one, with two wooden seats side by side, reminiscent of their earlier adventures. They shared a fond smile, cherishing these little moments that strengthened their bond.

However, the train ride back home was less fortunate, and they had to stand in the midst of the bustling crowd. Men in uniforms and sombre-looking women surrounded them, casting disapproving glances at Tom, the civilian among them. Mary clung to her husband's arm, a protective gesture in response to those judgmental looks.

Upon their return home, it was only 5:30 pm by the clock on the mantle. Tom helped Mary out of her coat, but their domestic moment was interrupted by Maggie, the maid, bearing news of an afternoon letter.

Mary's heart sank as she feared the worst, but Tom remained composed as he broke the seal and read the letter. The weight of his words hit her as Tom confessed, "I failed the medical, the army rejected me." Mary was momentarily relieved until she read the letter herself and discovered the true reason: a heart condition. "A heart murmur?" she repeated, her voice filled with worry.

The letter provided little information, leaving them both in the dark about the implications of this diagnosis. Tom suggested they consult with Doctor Finlay when he was available, and Mary agreed.

"Why don't I ring for some tea?" Mary suggested, attempting to bring some semblance of normalcy to the moment. She rang the bell for Maggie and ordered tea.

Leading Tom to the settee, Mary sat down beside him, her hand firmly holding his. In the quietude of their home, they waited for the tea and the inevitable conversation that would follow, finding comfort in each other's presence.

Dilemma

Tom's emotions were in turmoil after receiving the news of his medical condition. He couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt and unease. The idea of receiving a free pass from the war when so many others were risking their lives on the frontlines weighed heavily on his conscience.

He knew that he had made the decision to be a conscientious objector, driven by his deep opposition to the war, but it still felt like he was avoiding a duty that many considered honourable. Tom had always believed in standing up for his principles, even when it was difficult or unpopular. This situation was no different, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

Mary, ever understanding and supportive, tried her best to empathise with Tom's conflicting emotions. To her, his medical condition was a relief in some ways, knowing that he wouldn't be sent into the horrors of the battlefield. However, she couldn't shake the worry about his health, especially since the news had come as a shock.

To gain a better understanding of his condition, they had consulted Dr. Finlay, who had patiently explained the implications of the heart murmur. He had even provided a recommendation for a heart specialist in Leeds, showing his genuine concern for Tom's well-being.

Feeling the need to confide in someone who would truly understand, Tom decided to write to his dear friend Bertie. Bertie had enlisted voluntarily before the war had even started, and he hadn't been conscripted like so many others. Tom believed that Bertie, of all people, would be able to relate to his complex mix of emotions. In his letter to Bertie, he poured out his heart, sharing his doubts, fears, and the inner conflict he was grappling with.

*

Dear Tom,

I received your letter, and it's good to hear from you, although I wish it were under happier circumstances.

I want you to know, my dear friend, that you are not alone in this struggle.

First and foremost, I am relieved to hear that your medical condition has spared you from the horrors of the frontlines. Though I understand the weight of your conscience in receiving what some might perceive as a free pass, you must remember that your stance as a conscientious objector is rooted in your deeply held principles. It is not an escape from duty; it is a stand for your beliefs.

The world has plunged into chaos, and I have seen firsthand the devastation that this war has wrought. While I chose to enlist voluntarily, it is not a reflection of your character that you have been rejected by the army on medical grounds.  We each must follow our own path, guided by our moral compass. Your commitment to peace is commendable and noble.

It's perfectly normal to feel conflicted about your situation. The sense of guilt and the weight of our decisions often bear heavily on our hearts. Due to your moral objections to the war is born out of your deep conviction against the violence and brutality of war. Your objections haven’t been negated just because you are unable to serve.

As for your health, I hope that you will seek the advice of the heart specialist recommended by Dr. Finlay. Your well-being is of the utmost importance, not only to yourself but to those who care about you deeply, including Mary and myself. Take good care of yourself, my friend, for you have a bright future ahead, one where you can continue to advocate for the principles you hold dear.

I want you to know that I stand by your side, regardless of the path you choose. You have always been a man of integrity and honour, and I have no doubt that you will continue to be so, no matter the circumstances. If you ever need someone to talk to or simply a friend to share your burdens, know that I am here for you, now and always.

Yours in unwavering friendship,

Bertie

Heart Specialist

Tom's visit to the heart specialist, Mr. Hart, was accompanied by a mix of anxiety and relief, with Mary by his side for support. As they sat in Mr. Hart's office, the specialist conducted a thorough examination, assessing Tom's overall fitness and health. To their relief, Mr. Hart deemed Tom to be in good health. However, the heart murmur remained a concern, and Mr. Hart explained that at that time, there were no medical treatments or surgical interventions that could address the condition.

The consultation took an awkward turn when Mr. Hart began to inquire about Tom's sex life. He asked Tom about symptoms such as shortness of breath, dizziness, or pain during sexual activity. Tom answered truthfully, stating that he didn't experience any such issues, and Mary confirmed his responses. As Tom didn't exhibit symptoms like heart palpitations, dizziness, or chest pain during physical activity or intimacy, Mr. Hart concluded that it was a mild case of a heart murmur. He assured them that, with proper care and adherence to his recommendations, Tom could lead a long and successful life.

Mr. Hart outlined a series of guidelines for Tom's ongoing health and well-being:

1. Diet: Tom was advised to maintain a diet rich in vegetables, fish, fruit, and other healthy foods. He should opt for brown bread over white and avoid foods that were overly rich or high in salt.
2. Alcohol: Tom was instructed to abstain from hard liquor entirely. He could occasionally enjoy a single glass of red wine or a glass of stout, limited to two glasses per week.
3. Smoking: Under no circumstances should Tom smoke.
4. Exercise: Tom was encouraged to engage in daily exercise for at least 30 minutes. Activities like brisk walking, swimming, or cycling were recommended to help raise his heart rate and induce slight perspiration.
5. Sexual Activity: Mr. Hart assured Tom and Mary that they could continue their normal frequency of sexual intercourse.
6. Relaxation and Sleep: Tom was advised to make an effort to relax each evening and maintain a regular sleep schedule.
7. Strenuous Activities: Tom should avoid engaging in any strenuous activities, which could put undue stress on his heart. This included heavy lifting, pushing, pulling, or any task that could strain his heart.

Tom, being a man who appreciated simple, fresh food and wasn't a heavy drinker, found these recommendations quite manageable. He was willing to trade white bread for brown, and his occasional indulgence in dessert was considered acceptable. Tea with bread and jam remained a favourite, provided the bread was brown. As an active individual, ensuring a daily 30-minute brisk walk seemed feasible to him.

Overall, both Tom and Mary were content with the prognosis. Mary was determined to be vigilant in helping Tom maintain his health. Mr. Hart recommended that Tom return for an annual check-up and advised seeking an earlier appointment if he ever experienced the symptoms discussed during the consultation.

With gratitude for Mr. Hart's expertise, Tom and Mary left his office and decided to walk to the train station instead of taking the tram, enjoying the fresh air and each other's company as they moved forward with hope and optimism.

 *

As Tom and Mary left the heart specialist's office, a mixture of relief and reassurance washed over them. Mr. Hart's diagnosis was, in some ways, a validation of Tom's overall health, despite the concerning heart condition. Mary held Tom's arm as they made their way through the bustling streets of Leeds, eager to follow Mr. Hart's recommendations.

Mary had suggested they walk to the train station instead of taking the tram, eager to incorporate the recommended daily exercise into their routine. The brisk walk would also give them some quiet time to reflect on the day's revelations.

As they strolled along, Mary slipped her arm through Tom's, holding onto him as if to shield him from any worries that might linger. "We'll manage this together, Tom. I'm here for you, every step of the way."

The specialist's instructions were clear and comprehensive, and Mary made a mental note of each one, determined to support Tom's health in every way possible. As they walked, she spoke softly, her voice filled with earnestness, "We'll make sure to follow every one of his recommendations, Tom. Your health is of the utmost importance."

Tom nodded, a look of determination in his eyes. "I know, Mary. I don't want this condition to hold me back from anything, especially not from being with you." He smiled warmly, taking her hand in his. "We'll stick to those guidelines, and everything will be just fine."

Mary couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a deep sense of love and gratitude for the man beside her. "You know, the doctor did say that our... intimacy can continue as usual," she mentioned with a playful glint in her eye.

Tom chuckled, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. "Well, that's one piece of advice I'm not likely to forget."

They reached the train station, Tom squeezed her hand gently, his heart full of love for his wife. "I want to be here for you, Mary. Always." Their steps fell into a comfortable rhythm as they made their way home, ready to face the future together, heart condition and all.

Bertie Comes for a Visit

It was a sunny July morning in Leeds, and Mary Branson was bustling around her small but well-kept flat, preparing for her dear friend Bertie's visit. She had been looking forward to this day for weeks, and she wanted everything to be just right. Her sense of anticipation filled the air as she moved about the rooms.

Mary was dressed in a simple but elegant blouse and skirt, and her dark hair was neatly pinned up. She had chosen her outfit with care, wanting to make a good impression on Bertie, even though he was an old friend. She had just finished arranging a vase of fresh flowers on the dining table when there was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Mary called, and the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Harris, her housekeeper and Maggie, the maid.

"Good morning, Lady Mary," Mrs. Harris greeted her with a warm smile. "Where do you want us to start today?"

Mary returned the smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Harris, Maggie. I'm so glad you are here. I want everything to be perfect for Captain Pelham's visit."

Mrs. Harris nodded. "Of course, my lady. We're here to help in any way we can."

Mary outlined her plans for the day. "First, I'd like the day bed to be prepared in the study. Fresh linens and towels, and perhaps a small vase of flowers on the small table."

Maggie nodded. "Yes, my lady, I'll see to it right away."

"Thank you, Maggie," Mary said, grateful for the maid's efficiency. "And Mrs. Harris, if you could help me with the dining table? I want it to look inviting for dinner tonight."

"Certainly, my lady," Mrs. Harris replied. "I'll make sure everything is spotless and in its place."

With everyone clear on their tasks, they set to work. Mary and Mrs. Harris carefully arranged the dining table with elegant placemats, polished silverware, and fine china. Mary's attention to detail was evident in every aspect of her preparations.

As Mary and Mrs. Harris continued to set the dining table, Mary turned to the housekeeper with a thoughtful expression. "Mrs. Harris, I was wondering about dinner tonight. Were you able to procure any meat or fish for tonight’s dinner? I want to ensure that it is something special for Captain Pelham. Do you think we have anything for a roast, perhaps?"

Mrs. Harris considered for a moment before responding, "I'm afraid, my lady, that we don’t have any fresh meat or fish in the larder. The deliveries have been delayed this week due to the war, but we do have plenty of fresh vegetables from the garden, and I thought we could make a hearty ham and leek pie with the left-over ham."

Mary nodded appreciatively. "That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Harris. A pie can be just as delicious, and I'm sure Bertie will appreciate it. Can you ensure it is ready to be served at 7pm?"

The housekeeper smiled. "I'm glad you think so, my lady. I'll start the preparations for the pie right away. It will be a wholesome and satisfying meal. I also have some rhubarb, I know Mr Branson loves a crumble, I also have enough milk to make fresh crème anglaise."

Mary's eyes brightened with enthusiasm. "Thank you, Mrs. Harris. I know it will be perfect. Bertie always appreciates a good meal, and your cooking is the best."

Mrs. Harris blushed modestly at the compliment. "You are too kind, my lady. I shall do my best to make this dinner a memorable one."

With their plans for dinner settled, Mary felt a sense of contentment. She knew that Bertie's visit was going to be special, not because of an extravagant meal but because of the warmth of their friendship and the effort put into making him feel welcome.

As they continued with their preparations, Mary couldn't help but feel grateful for Mrs. Harris and the sense of home she had brought to her little flat in Leeds.

Meanwhile, Maggie went to the study, where she prepared the day bed, with fresh sheets, fluffed the pillows, and placed a small vase of cut flowers Lady Mary had purchased from the market yesterday on the small side table. She wanted Captain Bertie to feel comfortable and welcomed during his stay, free from the war for a short time.

As they worked together, a sense of camaraderie filled the room. Mary was grateful for the help and support of Mrs. Harris and Maggie, and they were happy to assist in making Bertie's visit special.

By the time they were finished, the flat reflected the warm and inviting space, ready to welcome an old friend. Mary stepped back to admire their handiwork and couldn't help but smile. Everything was coming together beautifully, and she couldn't wait to see Bertie's reaction when he arrived later that day.

*

Bertie arrived at 4pm, Mary welcomed him warmly into her home. “Congratulations Bertie on your promotion to Captain,” Mary said as she showed Bertie to the sitting room and orders tea for them both, “Thank you!” he said.

Bertie and Mary enjoyed a pleasant conversation in the sitting room while sipping their tea. Mary found Bertie to be a calming presence, and his visit was a welcome respite from the worries that had been plaguing Tom lately.

As they chatted, Mary couldn't help but marvel at how far they had all come since her days at Downton Abbey. She shared stories of her studies at the University of Leeds, her dedication to learning, and her desire to contribute to the war effort in her own way.

Bertie, ever the attentive friend, listened intently and offered words of encouragement. "I know you to be a determined and capable person, Mary. I have no doubt you'll excel in your studies and make a meaningful impact."

Mary smiled gratefully, appreciating Bertie's unwavering support. "Your faith in me means a great deal, Bertie."

Their conversation continued, touching on various topics from university life to the changing world around them. Mary was keen to keep Bertie engaged and help him relax after his journey.

Finally, just as the clock struck six, the sound of the front door opening announced Tom's return. Mary stood to greet him, her eyes lighting up as she saw her husband enter the room.

"Tom, you're back!" Mary exclaimed, rushing over to him and giving him a welcoming kiss.

Tom grinned, clearly pleased to be home. "I couldn't wait to return, especially with Bertie here."

Bertie and Tom exchanged warm greetings, pleased to see each other again after a long absence. The camaraderie between the three friends was palpable as they settled into the cosy sitting room.

As the evening wore on, Mary, Tom, and Bertie enjoyed a delightful dinner together, sharing stories, laughter, and the promise of a bright future, even during challenging times.

*

Mary had gone to the workroom downstairs to finish an essay due for one of her lectures, leaving the two friends alone to converse in privacy. In the dimly lit sitting room, Tom and Bertie sat in plush armchairs, the soft glow of a table lamp casting a warm ambiance around them. The room felt cosy and private, an ideal setting for their candid conversation.

Bertie took a deep breath and spoke with a tone weighed down by the gravity of his thoughts. "Tom, I must confess, my optimism about this war ending soon has faded. I've seen too many comrades fall, too many lives shattered, and it weighs heavily on me. Sometimes, I can't help but feel relieved that I'm working at Central HQ and not at the front, I feel like a coward."

Tom regarded his friend with understanding in his eyes. "Bertie, what you feel doesn't make you a coward. It makes you sensible. Anyone who's seen the horrors of the front lines would understand why a man would want to avoid it. Your work at Central HQ is valuable, and it doesn't make you any less of a patriot."

Bertie sighed, his shoulders slumping. "But I can't help feeling like I should be there, with the men, facing the same dangers they do. This guilt gnaws at me."

Tom leaned forward, his voice firm. "You would do your duty, Bertie. I've known you long enough to be certain of that. Your duty to your men, to your comrades, is just as vital as serving at the front."

Bertie nodded, appreciating Tom's reassurance. "And what about you, Tom? How do you cope with not being able to serve?"

Tom's expression grew sombre. "It's a different kind of guilt for me. I had fully committed to being a conscientious objector, driven by my moral and political beliefs. But the army rejected me on medical grounds. I'll never have to state my objection, never face the consequences like the other objectors have."

Bertie empathised with his friend's predicament. "Your health is a valid reason, Tom. If you had objected, your skills in designing more efficient vehicles would have been invaluable. Your work in the steel industry is just as vital to the war effort. I am sure the war department would have given you a waiver."

Tom nodded in agreement. "You're right, Bertie. Sometimes, I feel a different kind of duty, a duty to contribute in the best way I can, given my circumstances. It’s the political mechanism I object to, not the actual men at the front, it’s them I want to aid."

The two friends fell into a contemplative silence, their thoughts filled with memories of college days, shared laughter, and now, the sobering reality of war. Bertie broke the silence, his voice softer. "I met Peter Pelham and Orwell Power at Brancaster on my last leave. They're well, given the circumstances. Peter has been working on extending the estate farms with my father, making them more efficient, like a lot of landowners they have lost many workers to the war effort. Orwell is doing his part at the front, as you know. But I thought he looked better than the last time I saw him, not as pallid and tired. They send their regards."

Tom raised his glass of sparkling water, and Bertie followed suit, and together they toasted to the fallen and to the enduring bonds of friendship that had carried them through their shared past and an uncertain future.

*

The evening was adorned with an air of anticipation as Mary meticulously prepared for the dinner party she had planned in Bertie's honour. Determined to make it a joyous occasion, she had invited Henry, Claire Mulberry, and Fleur Flowers to be their guests. Mary wanted Bertie's visit to be memorable and filled with warmth, a respite from the grim realities of the war.

Henry had managed to secure a large chicken for the occasion, which he had delivered directly to the house. Mrs. Harris, their trusted housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen, preparing a vegetable soup with thick-cut brown bread, roast chicken and vegetables, and a delightful fruit tart to follow, using fruit from the garden.

In consideration of Tom's heart condition, this evening's table beverages consisted of ginger beer and lemonade, a far cry from the spirits they used to indulge in. Everyone was dressing for dinner, with the men donning their tails and the women adorning elegant evening gowns.

Mary's excitement was palpable, and Tom couldn't help but smile at the sight of his radiant wife. Lately, they had both been under considerable stress, with Mary juggling the pressures of university and Tom's health condition looming over them. Mary chose to wear the same green dress she had worn on their honeymoon, and Tom couldn't resist stealing a passionate kiss from her in the privacy of their bedroom. Mary playfully scolded him for "mussing my hair."

Leaving Mary to put the finishing touches on her appearance, Tom took a moment to check that everything was in order. He ensured that the other rooms were tidy and that the dining room had been impeccably set for dinner. While Tom rarely partook in alcoholic beverages anymore, he made sure that a selection of sherry, Whiskey, and brandy was available for their guests who might prefer something stronger than sparkling water.

In the sitting room, Bertie joined Tom, admiring the warm and inviting atmosphere. "Your home is lovely," he complimented Tom. "The last time I saw it, it was just a shell."

"Thanks, Bertie," Tom replied with pride, "but it was Mary who added the finishing touches that made it a home."

A ringing bell signalled the arrival of their guests, and Maggie hurried to answer the door. Soon, the feminine voices of Fleur and Claire filled the hallway, and Mary made her entrance to greet them. She introduced Fleur and Claire to Bertie, although they were already acquainted with Tom from meeting at the university with Mary.

Their introductions were cut short by the arrival of the final guest, Henry. The group engaged in light-hearted banter and friendly conversation, with Tom offering a selection of beverages. They all chose their preferred drinks, with Tom and Mary opting for sparkling water. As Tom served sherry and whiskey to the rest, Henry couldn't help but express his appreciation for the fine spirits.

"Mmm! This is good stuff," Henry remarked with a satisfied grin.

"I bought a couple of bottles back when we were in Ireland before the war," Tom explained, sharing a fond memory.

The discussion soon evolved into a spirited debate over the superiority of whiskey versus whisky, a friendly argument they had enjoyed in many an Irish pub during their student days. Tom, in his typical fashion, championed Irish whiskey, while Bertie staunchly defended Scottish whisky. Henry, however, always seemed to support the underdog, lending his voice to the side that appeared to be losing.

With Maggie's discreet signal, Mary gracefully directed her guests through the double doors into the dining room, where they would savour their meal and continue their delightful conversation.

The dinner party was in full swing, the dining room bathed in a warm, intimate glow cast by a chandelier adorned with soft, glowing bulbs. The polished silverware and fine china gleamed under the soft candlelight, lending an air of elegance to the occasion.

Mrs. Harris, with Maggie's assistance, had outdone herself. The rich aroma of vegetable soup wafted through the room, accompanied by the enticing scent of roast chicken. Bertie, Henry, Claire, Mary, and Fleur were seated around the well-set table, their evening attire adding a touch of sophistication to the gathering.

Henry leaned in, complimenting the cook. "Mrs. Harris, this chicken is truly delicious. You've outdone yourself."

Mrs. Harris, her face glowing with pride, gave a modest nod. "Thank you, Mr. Brearerly. I'm delighted you're enjoying it."

With a playful twinkle in his eye, Tom raised his glass of ginger beer, proposing a toast. "To good friends and good food. May we have many more evenings like this."

The clink of glasses and murmurs of agreement filled the air as they savoured the hearty meal. As the main course came to an end, the conversation turned to lighter topics.

Fleur, her eyes shining with excitement, couldn't contain herself. "Have any of you heard of 'The Exploits of Elaine'? It's the latest serial picture starring Pearl White, and it's simply marvellous! The daring stunts she pulls off are incredible."

Mary, her interest piqued, joined in. "We saw 'The Perils of Pauline' recently, and it was equally thrilling. I'm glad to hear 'The Exploits of Elaine' is just as good. We should all go see it together."

Claire chimed in, her enthusiasm evident. "Absolutely! Movie nights are such a delightful way to unwind."

Bertie and Tom exchanged amused glances. They had always enjoyed the spirited debates over whiskey themselves when in university, and it was heartwarming to see their friends so animated.

After a lively discussion, Mary received a signal from Maggie, indicating that dinner was ready to progress to its next stage. She gracefully directed her guests through the double doors into the adjoining sitting room, where they could relax and enjoy dessert and coffee.

Over dessert, the conversation flowed seamlessly between discussions of movies, the latest university happenings, and fond reminiscences of their college days. The camaraderie in the room was palpable, a testament to the enduring bonds of friendship that had carried them through both joyful and challenging times.

As they savoured their fruit tart and sipped coffee, it was clear that Bertie's visit was a resounding success, a moment of respite and joy in a world overshadowed by the horrors of war. Plans for their movie night formed easily, an exciting prospect that they all looked forward to.

In that cosy flat, amidst laughter and shared memories, they found solace in each other's company, a beacon of light during the darkness.

*

The night air was crisp and cool as Mary, Tom, and Bertie made their way to the Picture House near the train station in Leeds. Excitement buzzed in the atmosphere as they anticipated a night of cinematic adventure. Mary had insisted on leading the way, eager to share her newfound enthusiasm for movies with her friends.

As they strolled through the bustling streets, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, Bertie couldn't help but marvel at the lively atmosphere of the city. "Leeds is quite different from the countryside," he commented.

Mary nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "It is indeed. But it has its own charm, don't you think? There's always something happening here."

Tom, walking beside them, added, "And tonight, it's the movies. You'll enjoy it, Bertie. It's a unique experience."

Arriving at the Picture House, they spotted Fleur and Claire waiting near the entrance. Laughter and greetings filled the air as they exchanged warm hellos.

"We're in for a treat tonight," Fleur exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "The Exploits of Elaine' promises thrills and excitement."

Claire nodded in agreement. "I've heard great things about it. And I must say, Mary, your enthusiasm for these movies is infectious."

Mary beamed, delighted by their shared enthusiasm. "Well, I believe we're in for a wonderful evening."

Before heading in to see the movie, Mary couldn't resist sharing one of her local favourites with her friends. "But first, we mustn't forget the fish and chips," she said with a mischievous grin.

They made their way to a nearby chipper that Mary had frequented, where the tantalising aroma of freshly fried fish and golden chips filled the air. Laughter and chatter ensued as they placed their orders, and Mary assured them that this was an experience not to be missed.

Sitting on a park bench nearby, they enjoyed their simple yet delicious meal, the flavours dancing on their taste buds. It was a testament to the simple joys of life, a respite from the weight of the world.

With satisfied appetites, they headed back to the Picture House, where anticipation for the movie ran high. The cinema was dimly lit, and they found their seats, settling in for the thrilling adventure of 'The Exploits of Elaine.'

The film transported them to a world of daring escapades and cunning villains, where the fearless heroine faced one perilous situation after another. Gasps and cheers echoed through the theatre as they were swept up in the suspenseful narrative.

As the credits rolled, Mary turned to her friends, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Wasn't that absolutely marvellous?"

Bertie, clearly impressed, nodded vigorously. "It was incredible! I never thought a movie could be so thrilling."

Fleur and Claire shared enthusiastic agreement, their faces lit up with excitement.

The night had been a resounding success, filled with laughter, suspense, and shared joy. As they left the Picture House and headed back to Tom and Mary's flat, their spirits were high, and their hearts were light.

In the cosy warmth of their home, they reminisced about their favourite scenes from the movie, their laughter filling the room. The world outside might have been engulfed in war, but for that brief moment, they had found solace and happiness in each other's company.

It was a night they would treasure, a memory that would shine brightly during dark times.

It was a sad moment the following morning when Tom and Mary had to wave good but to Bertie, as the captain headed back to his duties.

1916

Unexpected News

The late spring sun bathed the room in a warm, comforting light as Mary, Fleur, Brenda, Mrs. Finlay, and Mrs. Harris gathered once again on a Saturday to knit for the soldiers. The women had formed a close-knit group over the months, united by their shared efforts to support the soldiers at the front lines.

However, the weight of the war hung heavily on each of them. Mrs. Finlay had tragically lost one of her sons-in-law to the war during the harsh winter months. Brenda's husband, Kieran, had finally been conscripted, and though he was assigned to the motor pool due to his mechanical skills, it still filled Brenda's heart with worry. She had taken over running the family business, now juggling the responsibilities of her growing family and the demands of the garage.

On this particular spring day, as they knitted diligently for the soldiers, the three mothers in the group couldn't help but exchange knowing glances. They had observed a subtle change in Mary since January, one that they suspected was a harbinger of a significant life event. It seemed highly likely to the three women that Mary was pregnant, though she had not spoken a word about it. They weren't certain whether Mary's reticence was due to her naturally private nature or if she herself had yet to realise the signs.

Mrs. Finlay, a compassionate soul who had experienced the deepest sorrow of losing a loved one to the war, ventured to broach the topic. "Mary dear, you are positively glowing," she began, her gaze filled with concern.

Fleur, ever gentle and observant, chimed in. "Yes, Mary, how do you feel?" she asked, her eyes filled with warmth and curiosity.

Mary, caught off guard by her friends' inquisitiveness, puzzled over their words. "I feel fine, I have been more tired than usual lately, but my coursework at the university is very intense," she replied honestly.

The three mothers exchanged triumphant smiles, encouraged by Mary's response.

"You haven’t felt nauseous at all recently?" Mrs. Finlay prodded gently, seeking to clarify their suspicions.

Mary furrowed her brow, uncertain about the direction of their questions. "I have been feeling a little sick when I go to bed at night," she admitted, recalling the occasional discomfort.

Her friends shared concerned glances but were relieved by her response.

"What’s going on?" Mary asked, her confusion growing.

"Well, do you think you might be pregnant?" Brenda ventured to ask, her tone gentle and supportive.

Mary's eyes widened in shock at her friend's direct question. Her busy schedule and the intensity of her coursework had caused her to lose track of time and her cycle. As the realisation washed over her that she hadn't menstruated since before Christmas, her face drained of colour.

Mrs. Harris, ever attentive, quickly poured Mary a cup of tea and added a heaped teaspoon of sugar, offering a soothing comfort to her distressed friend. "Mary, we didn’t mean to upset you," she said softly, hoping to assuage Mary's concerns.

"No, you are right, I might be pregnant," Mary whispered, feeling a swirl of emotions as she processed this unexpected news. Her eyes glistened with tears, and her hands trembled.

Brenda leaned in, her voice gentle. "Mary, it's alright. These things happen, especially when love is involved."

Mary took a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. "I know, it's just... it's all so sudden, and I wasn't prepared for this."

Mrs. Harris, who had been quietly knitting a small scarf for the soldiers, put her work aside and joined in. "These things have a way of arriving when we least expect them, dear. It's a blessing, truly."

Mary nodded, her mind racing. Thoughts of her husband, Tom, filled her head. She hadn't had a chance to speak to him about this possibility, and she felt a mixture of anxiety and excitement at the thought of telling him.

"Oh, my God! How will I tell Tom?" Mary exclaimed, her cheeks now flushed with anxiety. She brought her hands to her face, trying to cool the warmth that had enveloped her.

"I just hope Tom will be as thrilled as you all are," Mary admitted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Mrs. Finlay reached out and squeezed Mary's hand reassuringly. "Whatever comes, Mary, you have friends here who will support you every step of the way."

Mary smiled through her emotions, grateful for the understanding and comfort her friends offered. She knew that this unexpected turn in her life would bring challenges, but with the support of her friends and her husband, she was ready to face them, one stitch at a time.

Her friends gathered around her, offering words of comfort, support, and well-wishes for the journey ahead.

*

The sun was gently setting outside, casting a warm glow into their living room as Mary and Tom sat together on the sofa. They had just returned from a pleasant walk through the park, hand in hand, their laughter carried on the breeze. Yet, there was a weighty matter that had been lingering in Mary's mind all day, and she couldn't put it off any longer.

Mary felt a swirl of emotions as she considered the possibility of pregnancy, and her heart raced as she tried to find the right words to share her news with Tom. That evening, when they were sitting together in the cosy living room of their Leeds flat, the moment finally arrived.

"Tom," she began, her voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation, "I think... I might be pregnant."

Tom's eyes widened with surprise and then filled with an unmistakable mixture of happiness and excitement. He reached out to take her hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "Mary," he said softly, "That's wonderful news."

A smile slowly spread across Mary's face as she looked into her husband's eyes. "You're happy about this?" she asked, needing to hear his confirmation.

Tom nodded earnestly. "More than happy, Mary. I'm overjoyed. We've talked about starting a family, and now it might just be happening."

Mary's heart swelled with love for this man who had been by her side through thick and thin. She squeezed his hand in return. "I've been so worried, Tom. Worried about how we'd manage with my studies, the war, and everything else."

Tom leaned in and gently kissed her forehead. "Mary, we'll manage. We'll manage wonderfully. I promise you that I'll support you in every way I can, during the pregnancy and after. Your studies are important, and we'll find a way to make it work. If you want to finish your degree, we'll make sure you do. This is our journey, and we'll take it together."

A sense of relief washed over Mary as Tom's words sank in. She had been concerned about how her ambitions and the war might affect their plans, but Tom's unwavering support was a source of great comfort. She knew she could count on him.

With a loving smile, Tom continued, "And just think, Mary, we're going to be parents. You'll be an amazing mother, and I can't wait to see our family grow."

Tears of joy welled up in Mary's eyes as she hugged Tom tightly. They were about to embark on a new chapter of their lives, one filled with hope, love, and the anticipation of the arrival of their child.

Spreading the News

Lady Louise had finished her dinner and was now settled by the fire in her Townhouse in London, she had moved from Dublin, her home for many years due to the civil unrest in the Irish capital, being part of the English Aristocracy, she didn’t think it was a good idea to remain in the city.

She received correspondence every day from her friends, family, acquaintances, and letters of business. But there was always one correspondent she eagerly anticipated above all others, her son Tom. She cherished his letters and kept them all as her secret treasure.

Lady Louise sat by the fire, her heart filled with joy and anticipation as she read Tom's letter. The news of impending grandparenthood had warmed her heart, even if it was a secret she had to keep. As she pondered the months ahead and how to visit Tom, Mary, and her future grandchild, she couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement.

With a sense of purpose, she retrieved her diary from the study and carefully turned to the calendar for the year 1916. Her mind raced with ideas, trying to figure out the best way to be near her family when the baby arrived. Lady Louise was determined to be a part of her grandchild's life, even if it meant some strategic planning.

She remembered her cousin Lady Jane Stuart and the charity event she was hosting at her estate near Sheffield in October. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to be in the vicinity of Leeds and to visit Tom and Mary. She made a mental note to write her cousin and offer her assistance in planning the event, a move that would provide her with a valid reason to be in the area.

As Lady Louise continued to flip through her diary, her thoughts turned to the knitting pattern she had held onto for years, the same pattern she had used to knit her own son's christening gown. It was a treasured heirloom, and she knew that passing it on to Mary as a gift would be a meaningful gesture to welcome the newest member of their family. She made a note to herself to send the pattern and the necessary wool to Mary soon.

With her plans beginning to take shape, Lady Louise felt a sense of purpose and excitement about the future. She was ready to embrace her role as a grandmother and do whatever it took to be close to her beloved family in Leeds when the time came.

Last Day

Captain Orwell Power lay amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his once immaculate uniform now caked in mud and blood. Explosions reverberated through the air, a relentless cacophony that served as a constant reminder of the grim reality he faced. He was hit, hit bad, and he knew it. The searing pain coursing through his body told him that his days were numbered.

As he lay there, the images of those he loved flickered through his mind like a series of old photographs.

He thought of Peter, his beloved, his partner in life. Regret gnawed at him, knowing he was leaving Peter alone in a world that could be cruel and unforgiving. He hoped that their dear friends, Bertie and Tom, would provide the support and comfort Peter would undoubtedly need in the days ahead. He couldn't bear the idea of Peter drowning in sorrow.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he recalled his mother's touch, her gentle hand on his brow when he was just a sick child. She used to kiss each of her son’s goodnight, a tradition they eventually outgrew. In this moment, Orwell longed for the comfort of his mother's presence. How he wished she were here with him now.

His thoughts shifted to his father, a harsh man of strength and honour. He hoped that his actions on this fateful day would make his father proud, even though they added yet another layer of sorrow to his father's life after losing Orwell's eldest and youngest brothers.

Then there was his youngest brother, the one who had left this world far too soon at the tender age of sixteen. Orwell couldn't help but smile at the memory of that cheeky grin, the one that always preceded some outrageous stunt. His fair hair, forever falling into his eyes, which was something he tried to tame with their father's pomade.

A catch in his breath and a surge of emotion gripped him as he thought of Tom, his dear friend with the same smile as his beloved brother, the way his fair hair would fall into Tom’s eyes. From the moment they met, Orwell had sensed a strange familiarity about Tom, a connection that had eluded him until now. The realisation struck him like a thunderbolt – Tom was more than a friend, he was likely another brother, a brother he would never have the chance to meet in that capacity.

With a final gaze at the sky, Orwell's breath grew shallow, his lifeblood seeping into the unforgiving earth. The battlefield sounds faded into oblivion, his vision darkening, until there was nothing but silence and an endless void.

Dreadful News

Tom sat at his desk, the early morning light filtering through the window, casting a soft glow over the room. He had just finished reading a letter from Bertie, his friend from university, when he felt a sinking feeling in his chest. The words on the page were heavy, carrying the weight of a painful truth.

Orwell Power, their close friend and former classmate, had been killed in action on the battlefield. Tom's heart sank as he reread the words, as if hoping that the message had been a cruel mistake. But there was no denying the sombre reality of the news.

Tom's thoughts were filled with memories of his dear friend Orwell, a man he had come to regard as a brother.

Tom's thoughts turned to Peter, Orwell's partner, the man Orwell had loved deeply. He knew the news would be devastating for Peter, and it weighed heavily on his heart. Peter had already endured so much loss in his life, and this would be a crushing blow.

He knew he had to act, not only for the memory of their friend but also to offer support to Peter in this trying time. Tom picked up a pen and began to write a letter to Bertie, expressing his condolences for their shared loss and offering any assistance he could provide.

*

A few days later, Tom received a telegram from Bertie, urging him to go to Brancaster Castle in Northumberland. The urgency in Bertie's message was palpable, and Tom wasted no time in making the necessary arrangements.

He spoke with Mary about the situation, explaining the circumstances and the need to be there for Peter. Mary, too, mourned the loss of the quiet and intelligent man who had stayed in their home, ever understanding and compassionate, she readily agreed to accompany him. Tom telegraphed the staff at Brancaster Castle, informing them of their impending arrival.

With their bags packed, Tom and Mary made their way to the central train station, where they would embark on the journey to Brancaster. Tom carried both their cases, mindful of Mary's condition, as he hoped to provide comfort and support to their grieving friend and to offer Peter a shoulder to lean on in his time of need.

*

Upon their arrival at Brancaster station, they were met by the estate chauffeur and motor, a welcome relief as Mary was five months pregnant and showing. Tom's concern for her well-being was paramount.

At the castle, they were received by Mr. Jervis, the Marquess's butler. Tom wasted no time in inquiring about Peter's condition. The news was disheartening. Peter had retreated to his room and hadn't left since hearing of Orwell's death.

Tom made his way to Peter's room, while Mr. Jervis escorted Mary to their quarters. Knocking gently on the door, Tom called out, announcing his presence. The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn to shut out the world.

Approaching the bed, Tom reached out, placing his hand where he believed Peter's shoulder lay beneath the covers. He sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke softly, "Peter, it's me, Tom."

Tom informed Peter that Mary had also arrived and was being shown to their room by Mr. Jervis. He gently broached the idea of Peter joining them downstairs, but all he saw was a slight movement under the covers, a silent refusal.

With nothing more to say, Tom chose to sit silently by his friend's side, offering his silent support and understanding in this time of mourning.

*

Tom and Mary sat in the drawing room of Brancaster Castle, a warm fire crackling in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The room was filled with an air of quiet sadness after the loss of Orwell, but the two of them were determined to offer what comfort they could to Peter, their dear friend.

Peter had withdrawn from the world, taking refuge in his room, his grief seemingly insurmountable. Tom and Mary had been taking turns visiting him, sitting with him in silence, offering a comforting presence.

On this particular day, they decided to broach the subject of Peter coming to stay with them in Leeds. They believed that a change of scenery might help him heal, surrounded by friends who cared deeply for him.

Tom cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. "Peter," he began gently, "we've been thinking... Mary and I, we'd like you to come and stay with us in Leeds for a while."

Peter turned his gaze from the window, where he had been staring absently, to Tom. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face bore the signs of sleepless nights and tears. "I appreciate the offer, Tom, but I don't know if I can bear to leave this place just yet. It's the place where Orwell and I were happiest."

Mary reached out and placed a comforting hand on Peter's. "We understand, Peter. We truly do. But staying here, surrounded by memories of your love... it might make it even harder for you to heal."

Tom nodded in agreement. "Leeds is a different place, far from the reminders of your loss. You can have some time away from this pain and grief, with people who care about you."

Peter's eyes welled up with tears as he considered their words. He knew they were right, but the thought of leaving Brancaster was daunting. "What about the estate, the responsibilities?" he asked.

Mary offered a reassuring smile. "Your land agent Mr Pelham and his family are more than capable of handling things here in your absence. We'll make sure everything is taken care of."

Tom leaned in closer to Peter, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Peter, we're not asking you to forget Orwell or move on. We're just asking you to take a respite, to heal in a different place, surrounded by friends who love you."

After a long moment of contemplation, Peter nodded slowly. "All right, I'll do it. I'll come to Leeds with you both."

Mary and Tom exchanged relieved glances, grateful that Peter had agreed to their proposal. They knew that healing would take time, but they were willing to be there for him every step of the way.

*

During his six-week stay with Mary and Tom in Leeds, Peter embarked on a journey of healing. Away from the haunting memories of Brancaster Castle, he found solace in the company of his friends, the bustling city, and the warm embrace of Mary and Tom.

In the first few days, Peter spent most of his time quietly, often sitting by the window in their cosy flat, staring out at the unfamiliar cityscape. Tom and Mary allowed him the space he needed, understanding the weight of his grief.

Slowly, they encouraged him to join them on short walks, exploring the parks and streets of Leeds. They visited local shops and cafes, introducing Peter to the vibrant life of the city. Mary's pregnancy was progressing steadily, and Peter couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope as he witnessed the anticipation of new life.

As the weeks passed, Tom and Mary invited friends and acquaintances over for small gatherings, carefully selecting those who could provide comfort and support to Peter. Fleur, Henry, and Claire, who had accompanied them to the picture house, became regular visitors. Their shared laughter and conversations eased Peter's heartache, reminding him that life could still hold moments of joy.

Tom also involved Peter in his work with the steel industry, sharing the exciting developments and innovations happening in the field. It was during these discussions that Peter found a renewed sense of purpose and interest, slowly rekindling his intellectual curiosity.

Mary, with her warm and nurturing nature, ensured Peter's physical and emotional needs were met. She had the housekeeper prepare nutritious meals, encouraged him to talk about his feelings, and often sat with him, knitting and sharing stories. Peter discovered that Mary had a knack for storytelling, and her tales of her own trials and triumphs at university provided inspiration.

By the end of the six weeks, Peter had made significant progress in his healing journey. While the pain of Orwell's loss would never truly vanish, he felt more capable of carrying that burden. Tom and Mary knew it was time for Peter to return to Brancaster, and they could see in his eyes that he was ready.

On the day of his departure, they packed his belongings and saw him off at the train station. Mary's belly had grown, a visible sign of the life they were eagerly anticipating. They exchanged heartfelt goodbyes, promising to stay in touch and visit each other whenever possible.

Peter returned to Brancaster Castle with newfound strength and resilience. His cousin, Mr. Pelham, had managed the estate admirably in his absence, and Peter felt grateful for the support of his family and friends. As he settled back into the familiar surroundings of his ancestral home, he carried with him the memories of his time in Leeds, a place where he had found healing, hope, and the enduring friendship of Mary and Tom.

Condolences

As Lord William Power sat alone in his study, tears welled in his eyes, and he found himself weeping into his whiskey glass. The weight of grief bore heavily upon him. His third son, Orwell, a quiet and sensible man, had met his untimely end. The tragedy was profound, and he never imagined he would see the day when he wept in such a manner.

Across the estate, Lady Margaret, his wife, was likewise devastated. She had retreated to her room, allowing only her ladies' maid to enter. Grief had gripped her heart to the point where even the comforting presence of her husband could not console her.

Lord Power's desk was strewn with letters and cards of condolences from friends, acquaintances, and well-wishers. He had delegated the task of replying to most of these to his man of business, for the sheer volume of correspondence was overwhelming. Only the closest of friends and family received his personal responses.

Amid the sea of condolences, Lord Power's gaze fell upon an unfamiliar postmark from Leeds. His heart quickened as he recognised the sender's return address: Tom Branson. Tom was his illegitimate son, and though he had kept this secret for years, he knew that his son, Orwell, had been friends with Tom through Orwell’s correspondence with his father.

With trembling hands, Lord Power opened the envelope and read the letter from Tom. Tom's words were filled with kindness, offering heartfelt condolences for the loss of Orwell. He spoke of Orwell's virtues, how he had looked up to him, and how Orwell had often spoken of his brothers and his father with pride.

As Lord Power finished reading the letter, a profound realisation washed over him. His son, Orwell, had spoken of him to Tom. Tom knew of him through Orwell's perspective, and apparently, it had been a positive one. This revelation brought a glimmer of hope to Lord Power's grieving heart.

The thought that he had another son, one who was not directly involved in the war, lifted Lord Power's spirits. It kindled a desire for reconnection and reconciliation. Lord Power contemplated reaching out to his estranged lover, Louise, reconsidering their long-standing agreement for secrecy. The losses he had endured during the war had changed him, and he was willing to endure some public embarrassment if it meant having his youngest son and family back in his life. At his age, he cared more for family and love than the judgments of society.

Prototype

Mary watched from a distance as the Red Cross lorry, the product of months of hard work and dedication, was being loaded with essential supplies for the front lines. The prototype for the 4WD lorry had undergone extensive testing and was now ready for its real-world mission. Tom had discussed a plan with Attercliffe Motors Ltd to donate the vehicle to the Red Cross, recognising the potential benefits for both parties. It was a gesture that could not only serve a noble cause but also potentially generate future orders and goodwill for the company.

Mary had been instrumental in organising collections at the Steel Mill, rallying the support of the workers to contribute to the cause. The idea of combining their efforts with the Red Cross had resonated with many, and the prospect of positive publicity for both the mill and the company was enticing.

However, the primary challenge lay in finding skilled drivers who could make full use of the 4WD capabilities of the new lorry. Tom, always one to lead by example, volunteered his services to drive the vehicle. A couple of other men who had been part of the testing process also stepped forward, offering to drive until the Red Cross could provide their own drivers and suitable training.

Mary, now six months pregnant, had her reservations. She understood Tom's commitment to helping the soldiers at the front, especially after the loss of their friend Orwell. However, she couldn't shake the fear that Tom might take unnecessary risks in his eagerness to support the cause.

The day finally arrived when the lorry was ready to depart. Mary stood stoically, her hand resting protectively over her growing belly, as she watched Tom prepare to leave. She had agreed to his volunteering, knowing how vital this project was to him and how much good it could do for those in need. Still, it was difficult to hide her concern and the worry that gnawed at her as she waved him off on that August day.

Unexpected Meeting

October in 1916 found Lady Mary Branson amidst the hustle and bustle of the Barlow Steel Mill, a place that had become a significant part of her life due to her husband's investments before the war. The mill thrived, thanks to Tom's shrewd improvements in process control. As the autumn chill set in, Mary found herself overseeing the loading of a Red Cross lorry, a crucial mission that involved delivering much-needed supplies to France.

Mary, now over seven months pregnant, couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and responsibility in her role. She was no stranger to hard work, and even though she wasn't doing the heavy lifting herself, the job often got dirty. She had asked Tom to procure her some work clothes, realising that her usual business attire, the kind she wore to university, was wholly unsuitable for this task, especially as her options for comfortable clothing had dwindled, with her growing belly.

Dressed practically in work trousers, sturdy boots, and a man's work coat cinched around her growing belly, Mary blended in with the factory workers. A smudge of dirt marked her face, and her hair was hastily tied in a sweaty plait. Her attire was a stark contrast to her pre-war fashion, but she had adapted to her new role with determination.

Amidst the organised chaos of supply loading, Mary heard her name called. She turned around and was taken aback by the sight of her cousin Isobel. It had been over three years since Mary had seen anyone from her family, after her father unjustly exiled her from the family estate. Mary waved and walked over to her cousin, offering a warm greeting.

"Cousin Isobel," Mary said with a smile, genuinely surprised by the unexpected encounter. "What a surprise to meet you here."

Isobel explained that she had just attended a hospital board meeting, which was fitting given her dedication to war work. Mary nodded in acknowledgment and gestured to the activity around her. "As you can see, I am loading a Red Cross lorry. I organised the collection of the supplies at this factory."

Their conversation flowed naturally, catching up on family matters and life at Downton Abbey. Isobel shared that everyone was well, highlighting Matthew's new rank as a Captain in the Army. The mention of Matthew stirred a mix of pride and worry in Mary, who expressed her hopes for his safety. They also discussed Sybil's marriage to Matthew, a topic that carried both joy and a hint of sorrow.

Before the conversation could become too emotionally charged, Tom Branson joined them. Mary introduced her husband, and Isobel observed their interaction with a warm smile. Tom, dressed in practical work attire, had an air of earnestness as he greeted Mrs. Crawley. Mary watched their interaction closely, thankful for the moments of connection amidst the chaos of wartime.

As Tom informed Mary that the lorry was ready, his wistful smile didn't go unnoticed. Mary knew that her husband was about to embark on a long and potentially dangerous journey to France to deliver the Red Cross supplies. She made sure to give him a proper kiss goodbye, not caring that Isobel was there to witness their affection.

"The lorry is ready now, I’ll have to be off, love," Tom told her, and Mary watched with a sense of longing as he climbed into the cab, ready to drive off into the unknown.

"Tom volunteers to drive the Red Cross lorry to France," Mary explained to Isobel, her voice filled with both pride and concern for her husband's safety.

With Tom's departure imminent, Mary knew she had to go. One of her friends and fellow volunteers, Brenda, called her name. Mary waved to Isobel one final time before turning to walk towards Brenda.

"Who was that?" Brenda inquired as Mary joined her.

"My cousin Isobel," Mary replied, still processing the unexpected encounter. "I haven't seen anyone from my family in three years."

Brenda, who had become privy to the full story of how Mary and Tom came to be married, gently asked, "How do you feel?"

Mary sighed softly, her hand instinctively resting on her rounded belly. "I feel like I miss them," she admitted, a hint of melancholy in her voice.

"Maybe it's time to mend fences?" Brenda suggested, her words carrying a sense of hope.

"Maybe," Mary replied, her thoughts a mix of uncertainty and the undeniable desire to reconnect with her family, especially now with a child on the way.

End