Author's Note: Our story commences near the beginning of Season 1, U.K. episode 4, immediately after Branson has walked out of the library, leaving Mr. Carson and Lord Grantham alone together.
"…what happens within is much bigger than what comes out in words." – Rabindranath Tagore.
"I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy." – also Rabindranath Tagore
"From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." – Karl Marx (not to speak of Louis Blanc).
Disclaimer: I'm not even a custodian, my dears, let alone an owner. These characters and their settings are the work of others. I hope I do not offend with my homage.
"He seems a bright spark—" Branson heard his new employer say before the heavy wooden library door had closed behind him, cutting off all sound from the huge, wonderful, book-filled room. Downton Abbey's new chauffeur was grinning so broadly he thought his face would crack in half. 'Greatest. Job. Ever. Your lordship, I think I love you. You had me at "You're very welcome to borrow books, if you wish."'
"You asked to see the new chauffeur, my lady," Old Lady Grantham's butler reminded her, by way of introduction. The old woman thanked the man, and he left the two of them alone together, just as Mr. Carson had done with Lord Grantham at the big house. Branson looked around her ladyship's study, being careful not to move more than his eyes, while her ladyship took a last look at the letter she'd been reading when he and the butler came in. Finally, she laid the letter down on her desk and looked the chauffeur over.
"Your name is Branson, I'm told," she greeted him.
"That's right, your ladyship."
She glanced back momentarily at the letter on her desk. "I have a letter here from Mrs. Delderfield," she informed him.
Branson nodded his understanding. It must be the letter of reference his former employer had given him.
Oddly, the old woman seemed surprised. Her forehead creased. "Do you know what this letter says?" she asked him.
'What kind of fool gives a prospective employer a reference letter he's not read?' Branson wondered, but, "Of course, milady," was all he replied aloud.
The crease between the aged brows deepened momentarily, then smoothed itself out as much as it could on her liberally wrinkled visage. Her eyebrows rose inquiringly instead. "And do you agree with her description of you?"
'And here's the trap,' Branson thought. He sighed, 'I guess no job can be perfect.' If he agreed, she would think him conceited, yet if he denied it… "Yes, milady, I agree with it, and I'll do my best to live—"
"You agree you're like a spaniel?" the dowager interrupted, incredulous.
"Wha-?!" His letter of reference had NOT said that.
The dowager picked up the letter and read, "'He's like a friendly little cocker spaniel, and I think it would be a great pity for his cheerful high spirits to be crushed by too rough handling.'" She paused to see if he had any response, but finding the chauffeur speechless, she continued, "'Of course, he chatters like a magpie when one is alone in the car, so if you really can't stand a talkative servant, you'd better tell Robert not to hire him, but on the other hand, whenever you need a little peace you can always tell him to hush. He won't be offended, and you can start him prattling again whenever you want by asking him a question.'"
Violet looked up at the young man to gauge his reaction. He was naturally light-skinned, so his embarrassment had stained his cheeks more brightly than cochineal could have done, but yet… it seemed an amused embarrassment more than a painful one. The boy had been looking straight ahead with really an admirable dignity the dowager thought… considering. "Do you still say you agree with her, Branson?" she queried softly.
Branson lowered his gaze to meet the old woman's, while in his head he heard his grandfather's voice saying, 'This is my best dog...' The Dowager Countess of Grantham had kind eyes, Branson thought. He realized suddenly that the way he answered her was going to dictate how she treated him. He sent a brief prayer to St. Notburga to guide him. He moistened his lips. "I agree it would be a pity for my 'cheerful high spirits to be crushed by too rough handling,'" he temporized, looking for her reaction. Not good enough: she was still waiting for enlightenment. He smiled ruefully. "And I agree I won't be offended when you tell me to hush."
The dowager laughed. "Then we'll get on splendidly," she said. She made arrangements for him to take her to Ripon early the following afternoon and dismissed him. When the chauffeur had gone, she picked up the letter again. 'Be kind to him, Violet. He's a sweet boy, and I'd like to see him well placed, but at this point, I'm afraid all the help I have to give him is to send him to you.' Violet looked thoughtfully at the door through which the boy had departed before putting the letter away.