Mrs Hughes walked briskly down the corridor, it was mid-morning and the air outside had a crisp November nip to it. Inside, however, was filled with the usually bustle of activity that was day-to-day life beyond the green baize door. She passed the servant's hall, from which Thomas was emerging, looking smug, the kitchen, where Mrs Patmore was giving a sullen Daisy an incredulous talking-to, her own sitting room, mercifully quiet, she would enjoy having her tea in there later, and Mr Carson's office, where he was balancing accounts. There was no doubt about it, this was a demanding job, she often felt like the shepherd of a bunch of wayward lambs, distressed ewes and secretive rams, as well as more than one wolf in sheep's clothing. Then, of course, were those with whom she had worked smoothly for several years; firm and regal Mr Carson, her long time comrade-in-arms, blunt but effective Mrs Patmore, her friend of fifteen years, poor darling Anna, who she privately liked to think of as a cherished daughter, dear sweet Daisy, who had grown and learned so much since she had first arrived as a baby-faced and bewildered young girl, and of course devoted Mr Bates. This thought brought a furrow to her brow. Yes, she was very much… concerned… about the Bateses. She most definitely wished that she was more sure of Mr Bates' good judgment.
She had reached the door at the end of the hall. The bell rang again. "I'm coming, I'm coming" she murmured. Mrs Hughes opened the door. In rushed an eager gust of fresh and wintry air, which swirled around her as if not quite sure if it wanted to go all the way inside, into the cacophony of voices, feet, pans and all other manners of downstairs essentials. Mrs Hughes took a deep breath and examined the young girl who stood awkwardly in the doorway.
"How may I help you?" she asked, in her slight Scottish lilt. She noted that this girl was not so much awkwardly occupying the threshold as shifting nervously from foot to foot as if cautiously excited, although about what she couldn't begin to tell.
"It has come to my attention that you have a certain Mr John Bates in your employ?" The girl was thin, no older than fifteen. She had a pale, inquisitive face with traditionally handsome features; clear skin, large blue-gray eyes, a small pink mouth, reasonably high cheekbones and a good nose. She wore hair of an indistinguishable colour in a careful bun which was tucked under a neat felt hat. Her coat was of a pleasant burgundy colour which went well with her gray hat. This youngster appeared to have made quite an effort to look exceptionally tidy and, Mrs Hughes noticed, was twisting her white-gloved hands together in what seemed to be a very anxious way.
"We do, although I can't think of why it may concern you, dear." Mrs Hughes said hesitantly. Mr Bates had had quite enough problematic visitors for her liking, and the poor man had only just seemed to have gotten past wicked Mr. Green's attack on his precious Anna. Still, this girl could not be involved with the police.
"Oh, I'm so awfully sorry, I haven't introduced myself;" the girl laughed quickly. "I'm Sallie, you see, Sallie Bates."