Work Text:
When war began, life in Downton changed. Carson bought a large map of Europe, and, after a short search, put a flag somewhere near Liege. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore began fighting bloody battles concerning canned goods. Branson made a speech violently opposing the imperialistic war, in response to which O’Brien said that it was easy to speak when you were in the rear, while other people were risking their lives in the trenches; at which point Mrs. Patmore, who had recently suffered a temporary defeat at the Corned Beef front, enquired ironically what “other people” Miss O’Brien could possibly mean, and also made several very unjust assumptions about what those “other people” were really up to in the trenches, so the truce downstairs was not sighed till Christmas.
Edith sat herself at the piano and started to pour her soul into music. Every day during the Battle of the Frontiers Schumann and Schubert sounded forlornly from the drawing-room, sometimes yielding place to Beethoven. Daisy kept sighing and saying: “Poor Lady Edith!”
When the Great Retreat began, Mary came to her father and begged him:
“Please, make her stop, it is unbearable.”
Sir Robert shrugged.
“I hear nothing especially horrible”.
“Papa! She has neither rhythm nor ear for music, I don’t understand why she even plays!”
“Well, you have both, and yet you’ve avoided the piano since you were fifteen”.
Mary raised her voice to drown the Moonlight Sonata coming from the drawing-room.
“Because I have some aptitude for music, but no talent”.
“Nobody expected you to become a professional pianist…”
“You see, papa, that is the difference between Edith and me. I hate mediocrity, and she thrives on it. What I don’t understand is why you encourage her”.
“What do you want from me, exactly?”
“Tell her to stop playing”.
Sir Robert sighed. He suspected that the conversation with Edith would inevitably concern Sir Anthony and the inexplicable fickleness of men.
“Why don’t you talk to her yourself?”
“I cannot,” admitted Mary. “We are not on speaking terms”.
“Well, I think it is high time you were”.
The next day Lady Grantham came to Edith and said gently:
“My dear, don’t you think that your repertoire is not patriotic enough? After all, we are at war with Germany…”
In an hour the house was filled with Massenet’s Élégie.
During the Battle of the Marne Sybil came into the library and found Mary sitting on the floor, hugging Pharaoh and whining into his ear.
“What are you doing to the dog?” she asked in astonishment.
“He is always quiet,” answered Mary angrily. “I think that is unnatural”.
Sybil smiled.
“Speak, Pharaoh! Speak!”
Pharaoh gave a lazy bark.
“No,” sighed Mary, “that is wrong. I don’t want him to bark, I want him to howl”.
“Oh my goodness, why?”
“Maybe that’ll make her stop!”
Sybil shook her head.
“For Pete’s sake, what could you have possibly told her?”
“Get thee to a nunnery”, answered Mary succinctly, if not exactly truthfully.
“Be careful, she might take the hint”.
“I wish!”
“Have some pity on Granny! She already has an American daughter-in-law, do you want to heap a Catholic granddaughter on her head?”
They both laughed and went to the drawing-room where Edith had just finished tearing apart some especially sad melody.
“What is it called?” asked Sybil.
“Le Cygne – The Dying Swan by Saint-Saëns”, answered Edith without lifting her head.
Mary put two fingers to her temple and mimed blowing her brains out.
Sybil resolutely picked the sheet music from the piano.
“You know what? Why don’t we give M. Saint-Saëns a rest till someone really dies.”
The next day the drawing-room resounded with It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, Your King and Country Want You, La Madelon and Mademoiselle from Armentières. Surprisingly, it didn’t make things any better. Edith somehow managed to make the most cheerful and frivolous melodies express the pain of her broken heart.
After the Siege of Antwerp Matthew announced that he was leaving for the army. Mary, who heard it from her father, said: “Of course he is” and went for a walk in the woods. When, several hours later, she came home, with sore feet and a sore heart, she was welcomed by Marlbrough s'en va-t-en guerre. Her decision “never to talk to Edith” evaporated on the spot. She went upstairs, entered the drawing-room and said:
“What a bitch you are!”
But when will he ever come home?…
“If he... if they… if something…”
“I do not care”, answered Edith calmly. “Serves him right, for listening to you”.
Mary gasped.
“You… you are even worse that I thought! Just because he didn’t deign to fall at your feet…”
But when will he ever come home?…
“If Papa knew the things you said about Matthew…”
Edith lifted her eyes from the keyboard.
“What has Matthew got to do with it? You do not think he would have hidden behind your skirts, do you? There is a war going on, let every man do his duty”.
“Ah,” said Mary. “But…”
“Sir Anthony enlisted”.
“Oh”.
But when will he ever come home?…
Mary had to admit that her revenge had worked somewhat better than she had planned. Matthew would have left for the trenches anyway, half his peers in the county were already in uniform. But no one expected that from Sir Anthony, at his age, and if he were engaged to Edith, as he was going to be…
“Maybe he’ll come to no harm”, she said insincerely.
But when will he ever come home?…
“Maybe he’ll marry a Frenchwoman”, said Edith suddenly and slammed the lid. “Is it dry outside?”
Mary nodded silently.
“Then I’m off to the garage. I want to learn to drive before the rains set in. Remind me to tell Carson to call the tuner, this A sharp is terribly out of tune.”