Older and Wiser

Or: What Should Happen in the Christmas Special.

Part 1

Jimmy stared out of the window of his new employer's vast mansion, as the rain drizzled down from the grey sky. The jeers of his colleagues in the servants' hall still rang in his ears—"Losing your looks now, pretty boy!" "Got a speck of dirt on yer clothes, Mr Proud?" He sighed.

Life after Downton hadn't been the glorious freedom he'd hoped for, or expected. He'd taken odd jobs filling in for absent footmen for so long. Now at last this permanent job, but he didn't get on as well as he did at Downton, maybe because he'd had to call in a favour to land the job and the other servants were jealous. He smiled bitterly. He hadn't exactly shined at Downton either—no promotion in the entire four years he worked there. Apart from securing the position of first footman over that oaf Alfred. Maybe he should just jump out of the window. He sighed again.

"My, that was a big one," murmured a voice, and a hand caressed his neck. He jumped as his employer laughed, breathed on his neck and laughed girlishly. "I've said that to you before, haven't I?"

Jimmy forced a smile and turned a little to look at Lady Anstruther's over made-up face, smudged round the eyes, with uneven lipstick pouting at him. He tried not to shudder.

"I hope it's not me you're trying to get away from? Or are you pining after someone?" She tittered, stroking his arm.

He cleared his throat. "Is there something you wish me to do?" Why did he have to put it like that, leaving him open to any of her suggestions?

"Naughty." She stroked his lapel. "Not tonight."

He dropped his eyes.

"But really, whatever is the matter? I can tell you aren't yourself." She bit her lip. "Tell me."

"I just—I just wish—I don't know." He sighed again.

"Oh come on, do. I don't like my little Jimmy-Wimmy to be so sad."

At nearly 30, he was a bit old to be Jimmy-Wimmy. It had been five years since he left the Abbey and it hadn't left his mind since, looming more and more as the years passed. Well, not the Abbey. A person.

"I'll get over it, my lady." He smiled tightly at her, more of a grimace.

"Jimmy Kent, really. I am your greatest friend, I insist you tell me." She stepped right up to him and gazed into his face.

He couldn't back away any further or he really would fall out of the window. Maybe that would be for the best.

"I knew it!" She peered into his eyes, far too close for comfort. "You're pining for someone. A little hussy, I bet. A kitchen maid at your last job. Are you not happy here, Jimmy-Wimmy?" Her musky perfume suffocated him.

"My lady, please! Let me alone." Oh dear. He'd snapped at her. He might as well pack his bags now.

She stepped back. "Oh. Well if it's that bad. I—er—I've always been a romantic. Now I'm married to dear Peter—I mean—Lord Elsford, I see the wonder of love. How did I never notice how much he was interested in me?"

And your fortune, thought Jimmy.

"So if I can help you with your little romance, I swear to do so." She clutched at her heart, smiling bravely and he couldn't help smiling a little.

"There! There you see! Mon ami James is happy now. Tell me about your kitchen maid. Or is it a fine lady, like moi?" She giggled.

Jimmy coughed. "My lady, you would be shocked. I can't tell you."

"Oh Jimmy, ple-e-e-ease." She fluttered her eyelashes in his face.

"Someone at Downton Abbey. Someone who always helped me and protected me—and—loved me."

"Oh, tell me more."

"No-one's really loved me before or since. Even you."

His eyes met hers and she gulped and clutched his arm.

"Sit down with me." She led him to the window seat without any more eyelash fluttering or pretence. "I really am your friend, you know."

"I don't know where to start."

"Jimmy." She looked into his eyes. "Tell me to mind my own business, but are you pining for—for—sorry if this sounds ridiculous—but the footman—the butler. The one who was your only friend."

He gasped. "How—what—why do you say that?"

"Because, my dearest James, I am not stupid. He is the one who sends you letters. He is the only one you mention from your past. Oh yes, dear James. I know your secret code. You say 'a friend of mine once said—.' 'I had a good friend once, I didn't appreciate him.' 'This friend of mine, he once told me the best way to—' My dear. It is 1928 and the modern world is upon us."

She smiled again and Jimmy slumped next to her.

"It's true. No one's ever—ever seen the best in me except him. Even you, my lady."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry—but—but he never used me like you did." He looked her straight in the eyes and she had to look away. "He helped me and looked after me. We used to take the mickey out of the other staff." He spoke in Carson's deep voice. "Well, really Mrs Hughes, I can't possibly allow that." Then Mrs Hughes's Scottish tones. "Oh, Mr Carson, I don't advise you to ever do that."

Lady Anstruther smiled. "Dear James, you are funny. That pompous butler fellow. James—I must say—I know you lost your job at Downton because of me. I'm truly sorry."

"Thank you. Well, we were both younger. And—and—I must tell you something. Thomas—the under butler—helped me get to your room that night. Despite the fact that—that he knew I'd get into trouble. He wanted—he wished—"

"—he wished it was his bed you were going to." She paused. "Well we must rectify this. We'll visit Downton. They must have forgotten our—er—liaison by now. And I have a vacancy for a valet."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

"A vacancy in the household, not in my bed!" She slapped him on the arm. "Lord Elsford will soon need a new valet because Shenton is so old, so maybe your friend could—yes! We will go to Downton and see if your man is still there."

"My man?" Jimmy grinned.

"James Kent! You are obviously pining for him so I insist I make up for my mistake and get you what you want." She stood up and breezed off.

Jimmy slumped again. Was he going mad? She had seen right through him—and for how long? It had taken him years to sort out his feelings for Thomas. He'd been horrified that night Thomas had crept into his room and kissed him in his sleep. How embarrassing that the idiot Alfred had caught him. To make up for any suggestions that he might have enjoyed the attention, he'd taken the besotted Ivy out to the pictures, but she failed to satisfy him in any way. And no other girls had ever caught his eye, let alone admired or valued him. Whereas Thomas had saved him from a beating, defended him against every criticism, helped him deal with Lady Anstruther and even kept in touch with him via letter.

He hadn't meant to keep writing to Thomas, he thought that when he'd left Downton he'd forget quickly about the place and the man. He'd imagined a glittering career ahead, moving from footman to valet to butler very quickly. But that had not been the case at all. He was still first footman at Anstruther Hall, under the indestructible Mr Stoneham. That man was as old as the hills but still kept going.

But he'd felt alone after leaving Downton, adrift in the sea of footmen looking for jobs, so sent one letter to Thomas at the familiar address, telling himself he wouldn't ever send another. Thomas had replied at once, affectionately, so he'd sent letters again and again until it settled into once a month.

At first, he'd made out his career was fantastic, going from strength to strength, but Thomas's replies had been shrewd, until Jimmy had given up pretending and told the truth. His letters had become the only place he could confess his annoyance and frustration about his lack of progression in his career, friendships, even love life. Thomas gave advice and joined him in making fun of other people in their lives, and gossiping about the other residents of Downton. Monthly letters were a relief.

What on earth was Lady Anstruther planning though? He never knew with her.