Chapter 1
Carson wearily rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Taking out his well-worn diary, he wrote in neat loops:
Don't know what is wrong with me. Don't have the same energy in butlering. The fire in me has been extinguished. What should I do? Feel like a tired old man. Feels silly to say this, but almost wish Mrs. Patmore hadn't recovered. Cooking made me feel . . . Don't know. Young? Excited about life? Will think about it.
With a heavy sigh, he slid the book under his pillow. Then he was falling asleep . . . He was in the kitchen, baking a rhubarb custard with cream . . . He was adding flour and salt to the - what? A dull throb beat in his leg. Opening one eye, he let out a shout.
"Bates! Wha - what -"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," said Bates, retracting his walking stick from Carson's leg, "but I need your advice. Immediately."
Carson grunted and heaved himself out of bed. He straightened his grey-striped pyjamas and grumbled,
"Is it really so urgent? You might have waited until morning."
"I said that I was sorry, and I will say it again. But it really is very important."
Carson gestured for him to sit.
"Tell me all," he said wearily.
Chapter 2
He's losing it, thought Bates, walking in the moonlight to the cottage, he really is. Some advice. I ask him a good question: what would you do if you suspected someone of doing something bad and wanted revenge? and his reply is junk. Complete junk, I tell you. I mean me. Like, who replies with a quote? I mean, seriously? He's like, "While seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself . . . Douglas Horton". Who just randomly memorizes quotes from Douglas Horton? Crackers, I tell you. Me.
He crept into the small cottage, careful not to wake the sleeping Anna. He gazed at her tranquil face, surrounded in a halo of hair. Looking at her, he felt a sudden clutch of desperation seize him.
She mustn't think that I put that ticket in her pocket. I don't want her to think badly of me. I need revenge . . . Thomas will pay, I say! And soo
Chapter 3
Mary and Matthew sat in the library, sipping tea on the large red couches. They smiled at each other.
"I still can't believe it," sighed Mary, "I was so sure . . . "
"I know," said Matthew, "I know. Me too. But we're here, together, now. Let's put the past behind us."
There was a knock on the door. Jimmy popped his head in, announcing,
"There's a man at the door. Mr. Gillingham, I believe . . . "
He looked uncertainly at Mary. Matthew glanced at her, puzzled.
"You know him?"
Mary gulped.
"Oh, um, I suppose. An acquaintance."
Gillingham strode in and handed his hat to Jimmy, who scurried away. He rushed over to Mary and kissed her. Matthew stared.
"Mary, how about lunch?" Said Gillingham. "I've reserved a table at the Criterion. I thought you may be feeling a bit down . . . What with all those nasty rumors going about."
Suddenly Gillingham caught sight of Matthew.
"Oh, hello. Friend of Mary's?"
"No, actually," replied Matthew coldly, "I'm her husband. Those "nasty rumors" are true: I'm Matthew."
He turned to Mary.
"An acquaintance?"
Mary looked apologetic and mouthed to Gillingham, please go! He nodded and rushed out, a grimace disturbing his usually mild face.
"So." Said Matthew quietly. "So."
Mary looked defensive.
"So, what? Alright, I may have had a life after you died - that is, disappeared. Did you think I'd stay single forever?"
"Stay single . . . You don't mean that you married the -"
"No, no, no, of course not. But I've . . . made some friends."
Matthew looked hurt.
"You know, just when I think I've figured you out, you surprise me. It's like I don't know you. Only half a year after my supposed death and you go gallivanting off with some rich gentleman!"
"Oh, ho? Do you expect me to have mourned eternally? And what do you mean, figure me out? Do you think I'm sort of puzzle?"
"Actually, yes, I do. And - "
Matthew was cut off by another knock on the door. It was Jimmy again.
"Another gentleman at the door, m'lady."
In strode Blake, looking smug. He came over to Mary and took her hand, pulling her up and doing a little dance, twirling her about.
"You'll never guess, Mary, my love - I've done it! I've purchased a pig farm!"
Mary, bewildered and afraid, turned to Matthew.
"It's not what you think -"
Blake saw Matthew as if for the first time.
"Oh, hallo. Friend of Mary's?"
Matthew said through gritted teeth, "Rather not. Only her husband."
Blake let go of Mary's hand and stared.
"Pardon me? Her what?"
"Husband."
"My god. The rumors are true, then. I put them off as snarky village gossip. My god. Well . . . I'll just be going then . . . "
He sidled out the door, snatching his hat from the curious footman.
Mary bit her lip.
"It's not what you think . . . " She repeated.
"Really? Because it looks like it's exactly what I think."
Chapter 4
"M'lord?" Asked Carson, stepping into the study, "I have something rather important to say."
Lord Grantham looked up from the letter he was writing. He resignedly lay down his pen.
"Yes, Carson?"
"I would like to hand in my resignation as butler."
"What? By God!"
Lord Grantham stood up, clutching his bare head as if to hold down a hat.
"Yes, m'lord. I feel like I am no longer suited to the job. However -"
"But, Carson! You can't just do that! We rely on you, and -"
"Yes, m'Lord. I'm sure you will be quite capable of finding a suitable replacement. A young man, perhaps, full of energy and newfangled modern ideas . . . Ahem. There is one other thing. I would like to apply for a position here . . . A sous-sous chef. Sous-chef to Daisy, that is. It is my great desire, m'lord."
"But - by God! - you can't just dashed go about giving up your job! By God! And sous-sous chef? Really, Carson, I think you need to go lie down. Take the afternoon off. Read a book. I'm sure your senses will return to you."
"M'lord. I truly mean what I'm saying. It is my wish to become sous-sous chef. I am perfectly serious and have thought about the decision for many months now."
"I see."
Lord Grantham looked concerned and sat back down.
"I see. It's really want you want?"
"Quite, m'lord."
He took out a sheet of heavy cream paper with the Downton Abbey insignia heading it, and said,
"Sign here."
Chapter 5
Mr. Barrow -
Meet me at the village church tomorrow
It was no good. Bates crumpled the note and tossed it onto the growing pile of paper on the floor. Taking a fresh sheet, he wrote,
Mr. Barrow -
I've got something urgent to tell you. Meet me at the village graveyard
Now that was an idea. Graveyards would certainly appeal to Thomas' sinister nature. He finished the note.
tomorrow at midnight. Prepare for scandalous news concerning the family! I came all the way from Scotland for this, so you'd better show up!
- O'Brien
Bates wore a satisfied smile as he compared his writing with a letter of O'Brien's that he'd stolen from Thomas' desk. Forgery was such a useful skill, he thought.
Chapter 6
"I can't believe you," repeated Matthew, pacing the library, "I really can't. It's simply unforgivable."
"Like I need your forgiveness. Are you in control of my life? I don't see what's wrong with having a few friends," retorted Mary.
"Friends? Hah! I saw how they looked at you. Both of them. And don't forget: I thought you were dead, too. And I didn't go romping off with dozens of girls."
"I wasn't "romping". Or "gallivanting" either. And there's only two of them. And you were stuck in a monastery. Really, can't you be more understanding?"
"Hardly. I - I don't know what to say, Mary."
"Well, I do! I'm leaving! If you don't approve of me, then I'll go!"
"Mary - "
But Mary was already storming out of the abbey, along the gravel drive, running . . . She tripped, her impractical high-heeled shoes catching a small root, then recovered, and ran. She ran across nearly the entire drive, then, out of breath, stopped by a small grey rolls royce parked neatly under a tree. Gillingham stepped out of it.
"Ah, Mary. Is everything alright? Matthew seemed a bit, well, startled, there. Did he expect you to stay in mourning forever?"
"Exactly what I told him," said Mary mournfully, "Only he didn't seem to understand."
"I understand you, Mary. You don't still want to go for lunch, do you?"
Mary gave him a small smile.
"Of course I do."
Blake came running in from the underbrush.
"Mary? So it's true, is it? That Matthew's back?"
"It is."
"So . . . it's off with us, right?"
Mary raised an eyebrow.
"So I had thought. But I'm rather not as sure now."
Blake looked hopeful.
"Smashing. Will you pop over to my new pig -"
"Sorry, Charles, but I'm off for lunch with Tony. Ta - ta!"
Gillingham started the car, and they drove into the distance, Mary's hair streaming out like the tail of a kite in the wind. Matthew stood in the library window, watching her. He angrily brushed away a tear forming in his left eye.
It was too perfect, he thought, It had to end.
Chapter 7
It was a minute to midnight. Bates' round face gleamed in the moonlight, but the rest of his body melted into the tree behind which he was standing.
"Thomas," he whispered, then said it again, louder, "Thomas. Thomas!"
Thomas was walking nonchalantly along the graveyard's path. When he heard Bates' call he jerked around, his body tense. It was not Mrs. O'Brien.
"Over here, Thomas," murmured Bates, "Behind the tree."
As Thomas moved towards him, Bates suddenly lunged towards him, grabbing his collar and pushing him against the tree. He was breathing hard and his face was inches from Thomas'.
"You git. You put that ticket to London in my pocket, didn't you? You filthy numbskull, you'll pay."
Thomas's hair was plastered to his face with perspiration. He was trembling as he spoke.
"I - I dunno what you're saying. I never put a ticket in your pocket - "
"You snivelling snitch," growled Bates, a murderous gleam in his eyes, "You did, don't lie."
He tightened his grip. Thomas' eyes were bulging with fear and he tried to wriggle out of Bate's iron grasp, to no avail.
"I swear it! I swear! I didn't do it!"
Bates let him go. He realized that Thomas was truly telling the truth - he could see it in his eyes.
"You don't know anything?"
"I don't, I swear I don't," sobbed Thomas.
"Very well. Not a word about this to anyone, Thomas. Or you'll be sorry."
Chapter 8
Love the new job. Feel like life has a new meaning now. Baked three onion soufflées with olive tapenade, as well as a large peach pie. Ate some (shh!), so I know it's good. Ummmm. Think this job will require larger trousers! Oh, yes. New butler was appointed. Young-ish but strict. Will do well, I think. Those people need a good firm hand to lead them in the right direction! Hard to get used to them not standing up for me every time I enter the room, though. Feel so . . . unimportant! Nice change, really.
- "Charlie"
Chapter 9
Mary was beginning to regret accepting Gillingham. His proposal had been unexpected - a heartfelt speech given over dessert at the Criterion - but Mary had felt so angry at Matthew that she had accepted him. Now, two days later, Mary was beginning to miss Matthew. Gillingham was kind, and only a little unintelligent, but . . . He could never be Matthew. Her anger faded with every day and she longed to see him.
She was sitting in Gillingham's stately parlour in his London home. It was overly decorated with Elizabethan items that made Mary's nose inch upwards.
With Matthew I could live at Downton, she thought longingly.
Gillingham walked in, grinning at her.
"Hello, my wife. Have you been to the lawyers to, erm, arrange things yet? I can't marry a married woman. Ha, ha!"
"No, I haven't. And, well, I'm not sure I want to."
"What?" Asked Gillingham, frowning, "You haven't changed your mind?"
"I haven't done anything yet. But I have been thinking. And I suppose I miss Matthew. It simply doesn't seem right to just leave him. After half a year of mourning, I was so glad to see him, back from the dead almost, and It's not like I don't love him anymore. It was just an argument, really. Over -"
"Over me." Said Gillingham quietly.
He looked at his feet.
"Mary, I think I should apologize. I was being selfish. Of course you should marry Matthew - he's who you're meant to be with. Not me. It was a silly dream. Please go. I won't be angry at you if you take back your word."
Mary looked at him for a moment.
"Thank you, Tony, for being so understanding. And I was being selfish too. And mean to Matthew. I think I'd better go apologize."
Gillingham smiled.
"I'll drive you over."
Chapter 10
"Anna - it wasn't Thomas."
"Wasn't Thomas what?"
"The ticket ordeal. I mean, it wasn't Thomas who put it there."
"Then who? And how can you be so sure? He's a sly one, I tell you."
"I . . . had a little talk with him. I really don't think he did it."
Ding! Ding! The bell labeled "Lord's room" rang.
"That'll be Lord Grantham," sighed Bates, "I'd better go. I'll tell you more later."
Bates climbed the staircase to the main house, wincing whenever he put weight on his bad foot. Was it getting worse, or was he just imagining it?
"M'lord, I'm here," said Bates, entering the cavernous room. He helped Lord Grantham on with his overcoat.
"M'lord," began Bates, after several moments of silence, "I was wondering if you might help me out."
"Yes?" Asked Lord Grantham, concerned.
"I don't suppose that - well, this is a bit awkward - um, that you knew that a ticket to London on the day Greene was murd- erm, died, was found in my coat pocket recently."
Lord Grantham grew pale.
"It's not what you think," said Bates hurriedly, "I wasn't in London then. Someone put it there. The ticket. And I was wondering if maybe you knew?"
"By God, Bates," muttered Lord Grantham, sitting down, "It was your coat pocket. By God."
"M'lord?"
"Oh dear. I suppose I'd better explain. You see, I was downstairs talking to Carson about some matter or another, and I happened to come across the ticket, lying on the floor by the kitchen. So I picked it up, and unthinkingly popped it into the pocket of a coat hanging on the wall - the nearest one to me. I hadn't thought about it since. But it must have been your coat. I'm ever so sorry, Bates."
"It's fine, M'lord. I'm glad that's what happened, really, it's a relief to know who did it. But . . . it also means that on the day Greene died, one of the staff was in London."
"Surely it's a coincidence, though? Mrs. Patmore doing some shopping or something?"
A shadow crossed Bates' face.
"I'm not so sure. But I plan on finding out."
The end.