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Lady Mary stepped out alone. Even new brides need time for themselves and she decided to walk. The day was bright. She liked the way she looked in her new chic, fox collared coat. Shop windows made perfect mirrors. It was that kind of day. Everyone was left to their own devices. Her parents took the children to a matinee of Peter Pan. 'The boys' made the rounds of all the top drawer automobile showrooms... a perfect opportunity for a little innocent self indulgence. Perhaps a jaunt down to Selfriges for a tiny bit of 'war paint,' as her father called it. Maybe she'd visit the salon and have her 'doo' sharpened up? London in the 20's... what could be better?
The young man fell in behind her. He'd been watching the townhouse for days. At first he considered approaching the countess. He'd heard see was American. Maybe an American would be more accepting? Everyone supposed that's how they were. Who could tell. Britain was changing too. Every tabloid and magazine shrieked about the Lady Vera Cathcart scandal. My God, the American's even denied her entrance... questionable morals and all that. But he had to share what he knew. So he zig-zagged through the throng (almost skipping at times) and caught up.
She was looking at a display of smart, stylish handbags when he came up behind her. She saw his reflection in the window, right behind a snappy, little Coach number .
He spoke. He said - Excuse me, but are you Lady Mary Crawley? Forgive me, but I've seen pictures.... She said - No, I am not.... for since her marriage, the 'title' was more or less only a social courtesy... And some people did stroll the district in hopes of meeting 'posh' types... Some even asked for autographs. He seemed well behaved and polite. Probably a visitor from the colonies.
He spied the lie, but had to press on and said - Please, I have something to show you, a photograph..... Another blackmailer? - she thought. That business with the hotel maid was supposed to be over and she told him so... He said - No, I'm not (he looked hurt), but, if you would, kindly look at these.... He took two photographs from his pocket and held them out so she could see.... One was of himself. The other amazingly enough was of her father, taken when he was about the same age. They almost matched. Save for the skin tone, everything else was nearly identical.... even the smile.
She said - Who are you? What is this?.... Struck by the immediacy of it all, he responded in a still, small voice and said - I believe we may be related.
They spoke for a bit. He left... Lady Mary just walked. She teared up, but she walked... Composure it everything... at least on the outside....
That's how she met Lucas...
<more Downton Abbey next time>
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