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mary crawley

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Weather had put a damper on things, weather and other things in Tommy's private life, but as the sun returned and warmth came back to Darrow, he found himself calling on Mary Crawley. He knows, precisely, what it is about her that he finds vexing and fixating, though he feels a little bit a scoundrel to admit it to himself: she is every ounce of familiar femininity that he courted and seduced in Birmingham and London, as much Grace Brugess as May Carleton as Lizzie Stark. And she's none of them, as well, a handsome Earl's daughter out of York.

He may have done a bit of snooping on her, though snooping in Darrow is far from what it was back in England.

So there is a part of him that yearns for her merely because she is familiar, because she, as an object of his time, means something to him simply for that. But she also loves horses, he knows from their first meeting the laundry. But she also becomes slightly rigid when teased. Tommy misses, he thinks, the chase of their time. These careful dances of propriety that he could elude because he is a gangster and a bookmaker and a Gypsy.

So, with good weather and the knowledge that this is a terrible mistake waiting to happen, as most of his romantic endeavors tend to be, he catches Mary one day as she's coming out of their complex. He's leaned on a car he's rented, something flashy and far too low to the ground for his tastes, and he smiles slightly to see her.

"I believe I promised you horses, Miss Crawley."

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Not only weather, but the entire catastrophe with the Darkness hadn't helped either. Mary had spent a few days in a dank cage, unsure if she was going to be eaten or made the bride of that hideous creature. After being rescued, it had taken Mary a little while to get back into the normal routine that she had started for herself since arriving in Darrow. Perhaps she still needed to process what she had been through, but for now she would prefer to be productive. She had met a few people and was starting to make friends. She had even auditioned for a play, which is something she never would have done back home.

Today, she is going to try to look at a few job openings. Maybe she can find something in secretarial work. That would be steady pay while she worked on giving riding lessons or voice lessons. When she steps out of the building, she's surprised to find Tommy leaning against his car.

She grins upon seeing him, her mood immediately brightening. "Yes, I believe you did, Mr. Shelby. Are you going to take me on a trip to the country?"

Tommy is different from many of the men who have courted her in the past. He's definitely nouveau riche, still possibly not entirely out of the middle class. Even Henry had been related to a Peer. Things in Darrow are very different though. He's the only one here from the same year as her, which means he understands her in ways that others simply won't. Plus, he's charming and handsome. As far as she's concerned, there aren't many other people here that she'd enjoy spending time with more.

"If you're so inclined, m' lady," Tommy says, a teasing sort of tone in the affect. He stays by the car for the moment, smoking and looking rather handsome and like he knows it.

Her smile is fond and does nothing to dissuade his bit of swagger. There is something about her, which he knows has everything to do with when they're from, that makes him remember what it was like before the war. Before he had his heart burnt out. Certainly before Grace, her life and brand on his life and her death.

He steps away from the car a bit, tossing his cigarette away and opening the door he's been leaning against.

"Join me, then? I'm afraid neither of us are dressed for riding, but we can at least head out."

That ego is interesting. Mary wonders if he has anything to back it up. She's always been attracted to confident men, though ones that think too highly of themselves for no reason tend to turn her off. Of course, Darrow is an odd place. People come here stripped of their livelihoods, but their personalities remain the same. She imagines that whatever he did back home, he was a big shot at it.

She takes his hand and allows him to help her into the car. "It's a lovely day at least, and I'd be very happy to meet your charge."

"Stables, this time," Tommy corrects gently, before shutting the door once she's settled in. He comes around the the driver's side and slides in. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to how low the cars are, these days, but he does like the sleek, long lines and speed and how well everything handles.

Once he's slid in, he takes a moment before starting the car. "The charge is at private boarding, a friend of a friend, and she's a bit of a whip. Going out at the wrong time of day throws her off her rhythm. But the stables are beautiful."

Curly would love the stables, he knows. Not the dock-side stalls they use for some of the horses, and did even more in the early years, but still good and clean, with kind people.

"I may have packed a basket," he confesses with a laugh, starting the car. "I can't make a sandwich like my Aunt Pol, but there's a bit of something."

"Ah, yes, you did mention that." She's probably also going to see about work while they're out there, but doesn't say so yet. As much as she enjoys spending time with Tommy, she'd rather not give him fodder to use later when they discuss how drastically her life circumstances have changed.

Staring at the dashboard and controls of the car leave her a bit speechless. She can't help but think of Tom, who would be absolutely fascinated with all of this. "I feel as if I've sat down in some sort of rocket ship," she says.

"A basket?" Mary asks, surprised. "Goodness. It almost seems like you've prepared a proper outing for us." She's pleased, but doesn't want to seem overly so. No sense in getting anyone's hopes up.

"Would've brought a better wine, if that were the case," Tommy says, a bit of a tease, because she doesn't seem to mind the teasing one bit. He likes a girl that can give as good as she gets, and his humor can be a bit sharp, but Mary hasn't seemed put off.

The drive from the apartment, through town, and out to the country is a neat one. It doesn't take very long, mostly because the majority of it is in the city and he has to respect the speeds and all that, but once he's outside the limits, he opens up and lets the car fly a bit. It's a good little speedster, though he's not reckless in the way he drives at all. Just fast.

They reach the stables, and Tommy takes a moment to circle the property and let her see the expanse of it, the wide paddocks and long run out traces, the lunging and training rings. In the end, he parks on one of the fields near a tack shed. They're not very far away from the main building, but they're decidedly alone on their end of parking.

It's a nice day, and a nice drive. Admittedly, these modern cars seem a bit too fast and sleek. She does not feel unsafe with Tommy though. He appears to have full control of the vehicle, which sets her mind at ease.

Mary is relieved to see the country again and peers out at the stables as they pass. Lovely. She can't wait to meet some of the horses.

"Lunch or greeting the horses first?" she asks as she unfastens her seat belt.

"It may be one and the same," Tommy says, basket in hand. There's a small blanket over top of it, and in the distance there is a small noise of horses approaching. Tommy smiles and sets the basket down on the grass, approaching the paddock fence and putting a foot up.

The first toward the fence was a gray pony, tossing his head and looking proud of himself. Tommy smiles slightly, waiting for the pony to come up to him and reaching for him, murmuring sweet nothings as he ran his fingers up into his forelock.

"Oh, lovely!" With a grin, Mary joins Tommy at the fence. If she's surprised by how gentle his is with the horse, Mary doesn't say it. It almost seems out of character for him to caress the animal so lovingly.

She strokes her fingers through the horse's mane before patting his neck. Taking a step back, she takes in all of the horse again, as well as Tommy petting him. "He's beautiful."

Tommy laughs softly. Mary speaks like he's got any particular attachment or ownership to any one of them. In truth, the gray pony just reminds him most of home, that cobby body and bit of an attitude like any vaner he's ever known.

The horses linger happily at the fence as Tommy steps away and starts to set up their picnic for them. Tommy doesn't disturb Mary from standing at the fence, and the horses certainly seem happy to have her attention as well. It gives him a moment to set out their little lunch.

"Have you got any snacks?" Mary asks, leaving the horse to raid his picnic basket for a moment. She finds an apple and brings it back to the grey pony, holding it up for him.

The horse takes a bite so big that he ends up taking the entire apple out of Mary's hand. She gives a little cry of surprise, then laughs. "You aren't supposed to have all of that at once!" she teases as the horse munches away, very satisfied with his snack.

He had, and he has a feeling that even if he hadn't, a sandwich might have been sacrificed to the pony. Tommy smiles and laughs to watch her offer the apple and have it snatched away so abruptly.

"The rest will be jealous if you stand there," he warns. "I haven't got enough for all of them."

In fact, a couple of the mares have come to nose over the fence at her, definitely investigating if she has anything else. Tommy smiles, laughs, as he gets to his feet and shoos them back a bit, chastising the horses in affectionate Romany.

He offers Mary his hand to bring her back to their picnic.

She greets the other horses before Tommy returns to send them back across the field. Mary turns to him and places her hand in his.

"Using a bit of your Gypsy charm?"

It's unclear whether or not she's talking about him using it on the horses or on her. Honestly, it's probably both. Mary sits carefully down on the blanket and watches as he starts to unpack the picnic basket.

"Only if it's working."

The basket has sandwiches and a thermos of tea, and some ripe red strawberries he'd been unable to turn down when he saw them in the grocery. Fresh fruit, whether in season or not, is still a luxury to him, even several years into his wealth and living in the small estate house with Grace. He's had strawberries even less commonly than he's had oranges, except for the tiny wild ones.

"Lady's choice on the sandwiches," he says, grinning a little, pulling his cigarette case out of his coat to select one. "We've got ham and watercress. I'm practically a fucking chef, excuse my French."

It's working, even if she won't say it out loud. He doesn't need the ego boost. She picks up one of the ham sandwiches and glances up at him at his use of foul language. It's not as if she's a schoolmarm, but she isn't used to such words being thrown about in conversation either. It's a reminder to her that he's rough, nouveau riche. Mary doesn't even kid herself into thinking that it will cause her to spend less time with him though.

"Better than me. I can hardly boil water." She unwraps the sandwich and watches as he lights his cigarette. Her eyes alight on the ring on his finger and she cannot hold her question any longer. "Are you married back home, Mr. Shelby?"

Tommy's quiet a moment, unwrapping his own sandwich once she's taken hers. Finally, he decides not to go the explanation of everything. Yes he is, but only because he's a windower. Yes he is, but only to care for his son. Yes he is, but not in spirit, just in memory.

"She died," he said instead of anything else. "A few months before I arrived in Darrow."

"I'm sorry," Mary replies, hoping that she hasn't ruined their picnic by bringing it up. "I only ask because..."

Why? Because she enjoys his company and doesn't want to allow herself to think of him as anything more than a companion if she knows that he's married? Because she'll feel a bit better about flirting with him despite the fact that he wears a ring?

"I am a widow," she says. "My husband died three years ago."

Tommy offers her a small, sympathetic smile. He does, after all, understand the pain of loss. Mary's face reflects it more than he knows his does. He grabs the tea and pours it into a small mug from the basket, passing it over to her.

"He was a lucky man," he said softly. "Did you have any children before he passed?"

"I was a lucky woman." That's the truth. She always counted her blessings that Matthew had chosen her. Mary's life had been perfect for a few short years.

"Yes, I have a son named George," she replies, taking a sip of her tea. "He's three."

"My Charlie's about two," Tommy says, a tenderness he hasn't shared with many people in Darrow. Come to think of it, he doesn't think he's talked about Grace or Charlie very much with anyone since he's arrived here months ago.

So he starts slowly, weaving the tale of his wife and his son. He does the best to leave out the more scandalous parts. But there's not a lot of ways to avoid scandal when it comes to Thomas Shelby.

"The woman who would be my wife was a spy," he says. "An Ulster, working for an agent of the crown. We met a year after the war, while she was working for the agent to follow me and my brothers. She left for America and was married for a few years to a banker from New York. They'd come back to London for a clinic to try and conceive."

He's quiet a moment, then sort of laughs. "It wasn't her fault. Her husband died shortly after our son was born, and we were married after she moved back to England."

Mary listens to his story, and while being moved by it, it makes her realize a few other things. Whatever Tommy does at home is not entirely on the up and up. Why else would a government spy by sent after him? Her guess is either illegal gambling, if he's a bookmaker here, or perhaps alcohol. Maybe opium or heroin. It makes her a bit uncomfortable that she's out with him, and yet, she isn't frightened of him. He's been nothing but a perfect gentleman to her.

"My husband was the heir to my father's Earldom," she says. "He was a distant cousin of mine. We had never met until we reached out to him to inform him that he was the heir. At first I quite despised him." For silly reasons. He was a middle class stranger coming in to take her home away. "But then... I fell in love with him. It took us some time to navigate everything, but I was never more happy than the day we wed. I suppose that for neither you nor I the path to love and happiness was smooth."

Nor was either of their happiness lasting, it seemed.

Tommy smiles, because her story at least sounds more a love story, a conventional if slightly novelic one at that. Earldoms and distant cousins, the back and forth of love. Tommy finds he rather likes that, and what it says about Mary as well. Someone passionate and desirous of a level of justice.

"I hate to say that the marriage was for Charlie," Tommy admits, and feels the truth of it. He's never talked about it, really, with anyone. Lizzie or his brothers, certainly not the Tatiana, or even Pol. His marriage had seemed quite lovely, from the day of the wedding until Grace was shot.

"He's a good boy, and I love him dearly." He was quiet a moment, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I miss him quite a lot. As I'm sure you miss your boy, too."

"Do you mean to say that you didn't love Grace?" Mary asks. "Or simply that you married her because you wanted your son to have a legitimate family?" It was the noble thing to do. Mary supposes that even thieves and criminals have a code of honor.

That brings her to asking what she knows she must and she takes a deep breath before continuing. "What is it that you did in Birmingham?" Her tone is quiet, resigned. "Horses? Cards? Bootlegging? Blackmail?" Please not opium.

She isn't going to judge him or stop spending time with him, but she has to know the sort of man that she's dealing with and how violent he might be.

"I did, once. Very much. And we both loved Charlie. We were more than pleased to make it work out for the best, for him, and the face of it all." But Tommy is a creature too used to freedom, and he thinks he might have loved May, as well. Not enough to abandon Grace to her New York husband to raise his son, but enough to be straight and honest with her.

For a moment, he's almost not sure how to answer. He was a Gypsy in Birmingham, and he is here. He was a gangster in Birmingham, which he is not here, but he is a card sharp, a dealer for the local casino, and he has designs for business and profit in this city. And she lists off things, and they're all things he's done, does, did.

"I did not trade in flesh and drugs," he says, definitively. "But I was a Bookmaker, and not always the most reputable one at that. My father was a bookmaker before me, and definitely disreputable. And his father before him, running penny deals from a barge. My mother's people were cutpurses and tinkers. We went to the Fairs. I grew up with horses and on locks, in the back alleys of Birmingham. And when I came back from the War, I decided that I would turn my father's business of thuggery into a legitimate business."

He sipped his tea and took a bite of his sandwich, looking at the horses assembled at the fence. "I'm a businessman, Mary Crawley. Simple as that."

Matthew's death hadn't stopped Mary from loving him. It's odd for her to hear Tommy say that he used to love his wife. Perhaps he's merely deflecting so that he doesn't get emotional over the loss in front of her.

"Crime being legitimized," she comments, more of a statement than a question. Mary takes a sip of her drink before speaking again. "I'm not judging you, Mr. Shelby. I needed to know, as the two of us continue to spend time together."

And now she does. Mary is glad to hear that he hasn't dabbled in drugs or prostitution, but he's still a criminal. If he's doing the same sort of things here, then he's probably dangerous. It probably means that she shouldn't be around him. Too bad she isn't going to stop.

"Oh, is that what we're doing, spending time together."

Of course they are. But it isn't all they're doing, and they both know it. Tommy's quiet a moment, giving her space to think or consider or do whatever it is great ladies do when there's a beat of silence.

He's looking at the horses when, much as he did with May, he clears his throat and boldly asks, "Do you want to fuck me, Lady Crawley?"

Unfortunately, Mary happens to be sipping some tea when Tommy drops that bombshell of a question on her. Her eyes go wide and she puts a hand to her lips so that she doesn't spit it out in shock. After swallowing and coughing for a moment, Mary sits there, still speechless as she tries to formulate a response to that.

"I-I think it's rather soon for me to decide something like that," she stammers. Her face is flushed and she glances at him for a second before looking away. The truth is that she probably does. He's handsome and charming with a mysterious and dangerous air about him. It probably makes him bad news, but that only seems to make her want it even more.

The sputter is even more than May gave him when he asked her the same question, but the answer is even more earnest than May's avoidance had been. Tommy hums vaguely, glancing over her with those sharp ice-shard eyes. Then he looks away, admiring the horses with studious conviction. If he's smirking, it's a small thing.

"But you've thought of it," he points out. "You just haven't decided one way or another. You haven't decided if you like thinking about it."

Because she shouldn't, should she? Not by their standards. Except she, like May, is a widow and a mother. If she chose to entertain someone, it would be a gossip point but eventually passed over, even as the daughter of an Earl.

They aren't at home, though. Neither of them. They can do whatever they like in Darrow.

Looking at the horses seems like a good idea, because then she isn't looking at him. Tommy's completely right about her line of thought though. She has thought about it. And she knows that the very nature of being here makes the answer somewhat different than it might have been back home. There isn't anyone here to judge her or gossip about them. Sleeping with him wouldn't cause a scandal. Mary could do it simply because she wanted to.

There's a moment of silence between them as Mary gathers her composure again. "Is that how you court women, Mr. Shelby? By asking such blunt questions? Or is this-" She gestures around them, to their picnic in the grass "-all your way of trying to get me into bed with you?"

"Only if I don't know what they want," Tommy says, smiling a little for the pure echo. He asked not quite the same question with Grace as well, when they met up again, her married and mad at him for implying she might still be a spy, him silently resentful and furious when she told him why was was in London, though she never knew, not even when she told him of the pregnancy.

"And only if it's working. Otherwise it's a lovely afternoon with some horses and the country air."

"Do you want to- sleep with me?"

She turns the question back onto him, curious now what his answer is. Mary can assume that it's yes, but that's fairly standard and typical of most men. Of course they want to have sex. A better question probably would have been if he had any intentions on more than sex, or if he just wanted to bed her.

The idea of it just being sex isn't one that repels her, admittedly. They could do that here and get away with it.

"I may have thought about it."

He's more than thought about it, actually, but there's no reason to make it sound like he thinks she's fast. He doesn't, after all. But he does think she's interested in him, and he's interested in her. There's a certain freedom to all of this as well, that they both understand and appreciate in their own ways.

Tommy looks at Mary, smile soft and small.

"Now you're going to be coy?" she asks with a sniff. That smile is cute and predatory at the same time. He's right though. She's interested in him. He's managed to draw her in, whether with gypsy wiles or not. Now she's curious and attracted to him. Perhaps it's danger or perhaps it's loneliness.

"It doesn't seem to suit you, Mr. Shelby."

"Who is? Hardly." He laughs a little bit. Not coy, but cautious maybe. He's had rather terrible luck with women in his past, of finding love and then losing it through his own design or others. Well, fucking isn't love so he's not so concerned about that. But he does have a bit of an unlucky streak.

"I'm giving you something to think about." He's quiet a moment, and nods. "And it will be your decision."

Mary hums in her throat, looking down at her sandwich. "Certainly. Though I must say... I may be a modern woman, but I still enjoy when a man makes the first move." Her gaze turns back up to his, meeting his beautiful but icy eyes. "What if I give you some sort of sign?"

A sign that she's ready to advance what they have to the next level.

Tommy's more than happy to make the first move, but there must be a move to make. Every woman is different, what she likes, what she's willing to do or deal with. Mary is a lady, some of the gentry, and Tommy thinks there might be slightly different rules afoot than there even were with May.

He hums and nods, a barely brief consideration.

"I tend to be quite good with subtlety."

"Good. Women are, in general, quite subtle."

Or men are quite obtuse. She thinks it's probably more the latter, but she's being kind today and not mentioning it. Maybe Tommy's bold pronunciation that he'd like to have sex with her had thrown her off a bit. Mary wouldn't be surprised.

Tommy lets her have that one, because she isn't wrong. His brothers, for example, are fantastical idiots. He likes to think he isn't one, but he has been known to be swayed too far by some feminine wiles. The fact that women even have wiles probably proves that men are idiots.

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