Downton Abbey Birthday gift

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Mary had told everyone she didn't want to celebrate her birthday: no gifts, no parties, just a simple dinner with her family, without strangers or outsiders, just the people she loved.

On that afternoon Mary was in the library, alone, when Mr. Carson stepped in silently, with a worried expression on his face and a little packet in his right hand.

"Milady." The butler broke the silent.

Mary raised her eyes from the paper she was reading, "Carson."

"May I have a word, milady?"

"Of course."

"Well actually… I don't know where to start from…"

She smiled at him. "You may start from the beginning." She teased him a little because he seemed to be in a spot.

He sighed loudly, "I've just received this with the evening post, milady…" and showed her the little packet he was carrying. "…It comes from Mr. Digby's shop in York and it's addressed to…The late Mr. Crawley."

The man gave Mary the little wrapped box and immediately she recognized that particular kind of wrapping. "Mr. Crawley used to buy his personal toilet articles there…", she nodded, trying to hide her growing emotion.

"Yes milady, and they used to deliver everything here. Of course we have cancelled all the orders after Mr. Crawley's departure. This is obviously a mistake, but … I thought maybe you could… Conserve it. If you could not, you just have to tell me and, I assure you, I'll send it straight back."

"Thank you Carson, I'll think about it."

"Very well." The butler started to walk out the room.

"Carson?"

"Yes, milady?" Mr. Carson turned towards her.

"What do you think? Should I keep it?"

The butler smiled at her. "Not if it hurts you too much, milady, but you're the one and only who knows it. Just… Follow your heart."

Mary nodded and smiled at him again, this time with gratitude.

"If there's anything else I can do for you, milady?"

"No, Carson, I'll ring for tea later."

"As you wish."

Mary watched him until he left the room and then stared at the little box in her hands, not completely sure about what to do with it. A part of her wanted to keep that little box as a physical presence of his husband, as if he was still with her. Another part of her just wanted to tell Carson to send it back. It really hurt a bit.

The little handwritten label said:

_Mr. Matthew Crawley_

_ Downton Abbey_

_ Downton_

_ Yorkshire _

Mary moved her fingers on it, forwards and backwards, several times. She wasn't just caressing his name; she was caressing him.

Finally she decided. She tore the wrapping carefully while her lips began to tremble, then she opened the box and removed the tissue paper: a little glass bottle of toilet water was lying inside the box. Her eyes were filled with tears now and she covered her mouth with a hand.

Matthew had always used that particular fragrance, sweet and discreet as he was.

Mary could remember very well the first time she had smelt it, a few moments before their first kiss, many years before, in the empty and silent dining room. It had become a light scent at that time of night, but being so close to him, she noticed it. She was quite surprised and impressed by the refinement of his choice at that time. She had never really forgotten that scent through the years, and then, during the war, at the train station, she could smell it again. The perfume was stronger that morning. She placed a quick kiss on his smooth cool cheek, wishing him good luck, and once again that scent filled her nostrils; just for a moment, but it had been enough. Enough to make her sure about her feelings, enough to keep hoping and praying to be so close to him again. And then an evening, some other years later, when she hadn't expected it anymore, it happened once again; and that time it lasted longer. That same scent was still around her, while he was whispering in her ear, while their faces were getting closer. And then nothing more, until that cold night she understood she could have smelt it every day.

Some voices coming from the hall made her come back to the present. She gathered the papers and reached her room as faster as she could, the little precious box tight in her hands. Once in there she closed the door, sat at her dressing table and placed everything on it. In front of her, both Matthew's picture and her stuffed dog seemed to look at her with infinite love and tenderness.

She looked at the black and white photograph while a few silent tears dropped from her eyes on the handwritten label she had caressed with endless love a few minutes before. She took the little bottle from the box and removed the small stopper. She sniffed, taking a deep breath and closing her wet eyes, leaving the perfume brought her back in time to the day she had last smelt it. She could still remember the joy in his husband's eyes, the excitement in his voice and the gentle touch of his fingers under her chin. She could still feel his nose against her cheek, his lips on hers, the warmth of his skin, his perfume. Right that perfume inside that little bottle she was holding in her hands as the dearest gift she had ever received.

She smiled tenderly at those wonderful but painful memories, her eyes still closed, until she heard the gong: Anna would have arrived in a few minutes.

She replaced the stopper on the little bottle and put that unexpected and precious gift into a drawer. She dried her eyes with a hand and, in the silent room, she seemed to hear Matthew murmuring with his warm voice: "Happy birthday my darling."

_Thank for reading._


End file.

Downton Abbey, Hurt-Comfort, Romance