A/N: This was started a long, long time ago when the Anna and Mr. Bates Reading Room posted the "From the mouths of babes" challenge (I believe that was what it was called). It does not follow the challenge exactly, as BB is older than a baby (and will continue to age in coming segments), but this was definitely inspired by that.
I have stopped and started on it, and it'll take me a fair while to finish because I'm working on so many things. I wanted to post it as a oneshot, but looking at what I have planned, it looks like it's going to be 25,000+ word count wise, which I wouldn't post as a whole on FFN, so I thought I would break it down and start posting now.
Baby Bates is a girl because I started this way before we found out that Anna and John had a son, and I didn't want to have to change it (also Anna and Bates with a daughter is my fave thing). Similarly, this does not follow canon in the stories of some of the other servants, either.
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.
The Moral of the Story
She's four when her mummy and daddy take her back to Downton.
It's not for a happy affair—not that she really understands the concepts of happy and sad beyond her own feelings for the simple things in her life. Mummy tells her that the dowager countess has died, but she doesn't even know what a dowager countess is. It sounds like some kind of doggie, like the one that the postmaster owns, though Mummy tells her that the dowager was an old lady who everyone loved and feared and hated, and no one is quite sure which emotion won out the most.
Mummy fidgets all the way on the train, biting anxiously at her lip. She holds little Jack in her arms. Her brother is fast asleep for once, nestled quite contentedly in the crook of Mummy's arm. Lizzie likes her brother well enough, but his constant crying in the middle of the night is tiresome, and sometimes she wishes that he would be quiet, though she doesn't often voice the thought aloud—Daddy scolds her whenever she complains, reminding her that once she had been just like Jack, and twice as grumpy.
Now, Daddy reiterates again that he expects her to be on her best behaviour because today is going to be a sombre affair and they need to pay their proper respects. Lizzie isn't quite sure why they need to pay money to an old dowager when she is dead, but she nods dutifully. Mummy and Daddy always praise her when she is good, and sometimes she even gets a bag of sweets, a bonus. If she is on her best behaviour perhaps she will get even more than that.
Mummy expresses some concern that Jack might not be quiet throughout the whole service, knowing that his feeding times are unpredictable at best, but Daddy only smiles gently.
"If he starts to cry, I'll whisk him out of there," he says. "I'll protect your good name with Lady Mary."
"You can hardly feed him," Mummy giggles.
"And why not? We've brought some of the evaporated milk along. I'll take it along to the Grantham Arms and beg them to let me make up a bottle."
"And what a sight that would be, a grown man with a baby's bottle."
"I think my pride could just about take it."
They laugh together again, and Lizzie smiles; laughter is always rife in their house, and it makes her happy. Mummy and Daddy are always there to play dollies with her or to read to her in funny growly voices.
But when they arrive at Downton the atmosphere changes at once. Daddy puts on his stern face and Mummy fusses over the collar on her coat, smoothing it down and scrutinising her from every angle.
"There we go," she declares. "Can't have you looking ragged in front of the family."
"Master George was always covered in dirt at that age," says Daddy good-humouredly. "And Miss Sybbie was even worse. I gather she took after Lady Sybil in every sense of the word."
"Lady Sybil was only five when I came to work here," says Mummy. "She was forever getting into trouble."
Lizzie has no idea who Lady Sybil is, but Mummy was obviously very fond of her. She reaches up instinctively to pat her cheek and Mummy stirs, coming back to the present.
"Now," reiterates Daddy firmly, "you have to be on your best behaviour, Elizabeth."
Lizzie knows that it's serious when her full name is used. She's never Elizabeth unless her mummy and daddy are particularly angry with her. She nods solemnly, keen to avoid that at all costs.
"Today is a very sad affair for Lord Grantham and his family. You must treat it with the same respect. No running, and no shouting. Sit by Mummy and me and just do what we do. You can be grown up, can't you?"
"Yes, Daddy," she says in as dignified a voice as she can. This particular brand of 'grown up' sounds very boring indeed, and she doesn't see the fun in being sad, but if Mummy and Daddy need her to do it, she thinks she can.
Daddy holds her hand as they walk through the village towards the church. Lizzie is mesmerised. So many people trail in the same direction like the travellers in the book that her daddy has been reading to her.
"Where they going?" she asks, pointing at the people in front of her. They are all dressed the same, in black. Lizzie doesn't like black. She likes bright colours, like pink and yellow. She had cried when Mummy had put her into the black dress she is currently wearing.
"They're all going to the funeral," Daddy tells her. "Old Lady Grantham was a very popular figure here in Downton."
When they arrive at the church, they are greeted by a group of smartly dressed people. One of the ladies moves forward and embraces Mummy tightly. Jack squawks between them, flailing his chubby limbs, but the lady pays him no mind.
"Anna," she sighs.
"Hello, milady," says Mummy, pulling back slightly so she can adjust Jack on her hip.
"It's so good to see you again."
"And you."
"And who are these delightful darlings?"
Mummy nudges her in the back. Lizzie peers up at the tall woman in front of her, so stiff and formal. She reminds her of a queen.
"This is Elizabeth," says Mummy. "You remember her, of course."
Lizzie frowns at the use of her full name, especially when she isn't even in trouble.
"Of course. Hello, Elizabeth. The last time I saw you, you were a babe in arms. You've grown a lot."
Remembering Mummy's lectures on manners, Lizzie stammers, "Thank you." She doesn't know what else to say and falls quiet, her thumb instinctively going into her mouth. Both Mummy and Daddy have tried to coax her to stop doing it, but it is her safety in uncertain circumstances.
"But I certainly haven't met this little chap," says the woman, bending slightly to peer at Jack. "He's a bonny little thing."
"This is John," Mummy confirms, hitching him higher up into her arms.
"John," comes a jovial second voice, and Lizzie looks over to find an older, grizzled gentleman standing beside her daddy. "I can see why the little chap got that name. He's the spitting image of you, Bates."
"Most unfortunate for the lad, milord."
"I wouldn't say that. He's as cute as a button, aren't you, little chap?"
Lizzie furrows her brow again. In the short time that she has had a baby brother, she has never once heard Mummy and Daddy call Jack John. She knows that is his real name, but much like her, they never call him that. It didn't make much sense to her.
As if agreeing with her assessment, Jack gives an impatient whine, kicking out his legs. Daddy turns back to the older man.
"I'm very sorry for your loss, milord," he says quietly. "It saddened us all greatly."
"Mama had a good life," the man replies. "She saw many things and implemented many more. But no one lives forever." He clears his throat and looks away. He looks to Lizzie as if he's going to cry. She can't blame him for that. What would she do without her own mummy?
"I think we should go inside," says the lady, taking over smoothly. "I think everyone else is already here, and the ceremony is about to start. We've saved you seats with the rest of the servants just behind the family at the front. Please, go on ahead."
"Thank you, milady," says Mummy. Daddy tips his hat respectfully before taking hold of her hand.
"Lizzie, remember what we said," he says lowly yet again. "It's very important that you're a good girl during this, all right?"
"Yes, Daddy," she says.
The church is silent as they make their way to their seats. Mummy slips in first and Lizzie follows, sandwiched between both her parents.
"Anna, you made it," someone whispers on her mummy's left.
"We did, Mrs. Hughes."
Lizzie cranes her neck, her smile blooming. Mrs. Hughes. She vaguely remembers her face, though not her name. Mummy has told her countless stories about how kind she always was to her, though, along with the little cook who had always slipped her treats when Mummy and Daddy weren't lookign, so she instinctively likes her, even if she can't remember the details for herself.
"We did," Mummy says.
"And this is little Jack?" she presses. "What a wee lovely babe. Just like his daddy."
"No better compliment," Mummy beams, but they are prevented from saying anything else by the arrival of the family. Everyone else clambers to their feet, and then the funeral begins.
Lizzie is glad when it's over, not understanding the sheer momentousness of the ceremony. They stand outside in the graveyard in the beating sun, waiting in silence for the last goodbye. Daddy picks her up halfway through, and she snugs her head under his chin, closing her eyes.
She's jolted awake a little later by Jack's cry, blinking open woozy eyes. They are moving away now, and Mummy bounces Jack in her arms.
"Are you hungry, Jacky?" she coos. "I'm sorry, darling. Mummy's going to get you your meal. John, will you look after Lizzie for me?"
"Of course I will," he says. "What do you say, shall we go and sit over on that bench while we wait, Liz?"
She nods. It looks like a pretty place where she can look at the flowers and all of the people as they walk by. Even if all of the people look very sad.
Daddy settles her into his lap, over his good left knee, his right stretched out in front of him as he hooks his cane over the bench's armrest. Lizzie had learned from a young age that it was a necessary part of her daddy's life—he was a hero, and that was why he had it, Mummy had always told her. He must be the only hero in the world, because she's never seen anyone else with one quite like this. Daddy always chuckles and says he isn't a hero, but Mummy tells her not to listen to him, that heroes always say they aren't heroes so that they don't garner attention. That makes sense to her; it always seems to be so in the books Daddy reads to her.
She settles her thumb into her mouth, content to watch the world go by. Daddy drops a kiss into her hair, and she snuggles closer, breathing in his safe, familiar smell.
At least, until Daddy is approached by a group of men.
"Mr. Bates," says one in a deep, booming voice that makes her start. She recognises him as the man who was sitting beside Mrs. Hughes in the church. His grey hair is slicked back severely, dressed in a sharp grey suit that's rather tight around the middle. Even cuddlier than Daddy (that's what Mummy calls him—her big, cuddly bear).
Daddy sets her on the ground at once, standing tall and proud. "Mr. Carson."
They shake hands, with Lizzie loitering uncertainly by her daddy's trousers. The others move forward to duplicate the action, one nearly bald and rather thin, but kind-faced, the other silent. He has a cigarette poking out of his mouth. His blue eyes are watchful.
"Thomas," says Daddy.
"Mr. Barrow," he returns, which confuses her because everyone should know that her daddy is Mr. Bates, not Mr. Barrow, whoever that is.
Daddy's lips quirk a little, but he says nothing. The kind-looking man glances around.
"Where's Mrs. Bates?" he asks.
"She's in the Grantham Arms. Jack was demanding a feed."
"Oh, yes, I heard from the big house that you'd had a son. Congratulations, Mr. Bates."
"Thank you, Mr. Molesley. Anna tells me that you're teaching now?"
Mr. Molesley shuffles shyly. "That's right. I think I found my calling, if it's not too vain to say. Though I am helping out at the abbey today."
"Not at all. I'm glad for you. And how is Miss Baxter?"
"Soon to be Mrs. Molesley," the other man admits with a lopsided grin that lights up his whole face.
Daddy's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Is that so? Then congratulations are also in order for you. When are you thinking of setting a date?"
Mr. Molesley ducks his head. "Well, it's still early days. We haven't thought about it yet. But we'll certainly let you know when we have made a decision. We'd both like you and Mrs. Bates to be there. And your children, of course." He looks at Lizzie kindly, and she ducks her head, shy. She doesn't understand what any of it means, but Daddy seems to for he claps the man on the shoulders. Mr. Molesley looks surprised by the gesture.
"If Miss Baxter is anything like Mrs. Bates, then I'm sure the date will be set in no time at all," Daddy says jovially. He chuckles in wonder, shaking his head. His eyes are faraway. Lizzie knows that he's thinking hard about something when he looks like that, although she doesn't know why anyone needs to set a date for something. She just does whatever she feels like doing when she wakes. Mr. Carson looks mildly uncomfortable too.
"Mrs. Hughes wasn't so eager to set one quickly, was she?" the man with the cigarette says. He has a smile that isn't kind. "And we all know why Anna wanted to set one as quick as she did."
Lizzie cocks her head questioningly at her daddy. He isn't looking at her, his eyes fierce and angry now. Daddy very rarely looks at her like that, but if he does, she knows that she has to scurry away. Or cry, because he always seems to soften if she cries. But the other man doesn't look like he is going to cry. Worse, he looks like he's going to stand up to Daddy. Lizzie knows that that is a very Bad Thing to do.
But before things can go wrong, Mr. Carson stands in. "Not here, Mr. Barrow, for God's sake." Oh. He is Mr. Barrow. Lizzie wonders why he'd said that to Daddy, when it is his name. Mr. Carson shoots her a significant, uncomfortable look. She doesn't know why.
Mr. Barrow smirks and takes a long drag on his cigarette, not taking his eyes away from Daddy. But Daddy doesn't look away either. His voice is low and sweetly dangerous when he speaks.
"I'm surprised you're so preoccupied with dates, Mr. Barrow," he says. "A man and a woman setting the date doesn't strike me as something you'd have the least bit of interest in."
Even as young as she is, Lizzie can sense the awkward atmosphere that settles over them all. She buries her face against her daddy's trouser leg. If she can't see it, perhaps it will go away, like the frightening shapes in the middle of the night.
And then she is saved by the sweetest sound of all. Her mummy, with Jack gurgling in her arms.
"Hello," she says brightly as she comes upon them.
"Hello, Mrs. Bates," says Mr. Carson, straightening up. The relief is evident in his voice. "How's the little chap?"
"Fed and watered," Mummy says with a smile. "And I wager he's ready for a nap."
"Will you be coming back to the big house?" Mr. Molesley asks.
Mummy glances at Daddy. "I think we can come for a little while."
"We can," Daddy agrees. "Would it be possible for us to put Jack down for an hour, though? He can't miss his nap, otherwise he'll be cranky."
"I'll speak to his lordship when we get back about putting him in the nursery, but I don't think there will be a problem. Nanny Hargreaves will be more than happy to watch him, so you won't need to worry about him."
"That's very kind of you, thank you, Mr. Carson," Daddy says.
"Too kind, if you ask me," Mr. Barrow mutters, but he says no more when Mr. Carson shoots him a dark look.
"Only if you're sure," says Mummy. "We wouldn't want to be a bother."
"Not at all. Shall we go?"
The little group begins to move off. Lizzie tightens her hold on her daddy's hand, keeping close to his side as they make the journey, though her disquiet is soon forgotten as Downton Abbey comes into sight. She remembers the castle vaguely, and it enthrals her just as much this time around. From the looks on her parents' faces, they are just as pleased to be back.
They go in round the back, standing in the passage until Mr. Carson comes down and announces that Jack is free to use the nursery. Her baby brother's eyes are almost closed now, and Mummy thanks the older man.
"I'll go and put him up there now," she says.
"I'll go as well," Daddy offers. "Do you want to come with us, Lizzie?"
"Oh, leave her down here," says the round little woman that they call Mrs. Patmore. "We'll look after her. She can have some cake that I made yesterday. It's chocolate. You like chocolate cake, don't you, Lizzie?"
Lizzie brightens at that, nodding eagerly.
"But just one piece, Lizzie," Mummy warns. "We don't want to spoil your tea, do we?"
Daddy laughs, ruffling her hair as she pouts. "You know Mummy is right, Liz. I know from first-hand experience. But go on, go and get some cake. We won't be long."
Lizzie watches them go before following Mrs. Patmore into the kitchen. She's allowed to sit in the cook's very own chair, and she swings her legs idly as she watches her moving around, cutting a hefty lump and pouring a glass of milk.
"Well, your mummy didn't say how big your one slice of cake could be, did she?" Mrs. Patmore says with a conspiratorial wink.
Remembering her manners, Lizzie thanks her shyly when the plate is placed in front of her, and Mrs. Patmore smiles at her.
"I'll take you through to the servants' hall when you're done," she says. "The others will be back from sorting out the family then. And your mummy and daddy will be back too."
Lizzie nods mutely, more interested for the moment in her cake. She tunes out the sounds of Mrs. Patmore gathering pans and ingredients behind her, her little imagination dreaming up what it must have been like for her mummy and daddy, working here. She doesn't have much concept of the work, or even the process of falling in love, but she knows that Mummy and Daddy love each other very, very much, so it must have been nice here.
Until it suddenly isn't as nice.
She's sitting near the doorway, so she can hear the sounds of the other servants outside, and if she cranes her head all the way back, she can just about see through the glass panelling. She sees the man called Mr. Molesley stop outside, taking out a handkerchief to mop his forehead.
"No time for a rest, Mr. Molesley," comes a harsh voice, and then the man called Mr. Barrow appears too, scowling ferociously.
"I only stopped for a second," Mr. Molesley protests.
"Well, we haven't got a second to spare. We need to get the food up to the guests. Now hurry up."
"I'm coming," Mr. Molesley mutters, tucking his handkerchief out of sight once again. "Though I wish I didn't have to serve. It would be nice to have a catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Bates."
Lizzie's ears prick at the mention of her parents, and she peers more interestedly out of the window.
But Mr. Barrow scoffs. "I'm glad I don't. For the first time I'm happy to be serving that lot upstairs. Any second that I have to spend in Mr. Bates' company is a second wasted."
"Why can't you leave the past in the past?" Mr. Molesley protests. "You could at least be civil on their return, especially on a day like this!"
"Why, do you think Mr. Bates is civil to me?" sneers Mr. Barrow.
"I've found him to be a man who treats others the way he thinks they ought to be treated. If you respected him, he'd respect you, I'm sure of it."
"Yes, well, I'm not. You know what he is? He's a sanctimonious bastard. A complete and utter bastard."
"Mr. Barrow!" says Mr. Molesley, shocked.
Mr. Barrow merely snorts, brushes past the other man, and enters the kitchen. Lizzie regards him with wide eyes, but he doesn't give her a second glance. Mr. Molesley does, looking troubled. She watches them leave, then returns to her cake, but she is troubled too now, her appetite gone. She doesn't know what the words Mr. Barrow said mean, but there can be no mistaking the sheer venom in his tone, even to a child. Mr. Barrow doesn't like her daddy, and it frightens her.
Mummy and Daddy return soon afterwards, free of Jack and smiling. They come into the kitchen to fetch her, their faces scrunching in puzzlement when they see her.
"Darling, don't you want the cake?" Mummy asks, running her fingers through her little blonde locks. "Mrs. Patmore was very nice to give it to you. You shouldn't waste it. It isn't kind."
"She can wrap it up for later," says Mrs. Patmore, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "I know I gave her a lot. The poor child probably can't eat it all in one go, and we don't want her to get sick."
"Well, thank you, Mrs. Patmore," says Daddy. "That's very kind of you. I'll take it through to the servants' hall so I don't forget it when we have to go. I can put it in my pocket."
"Just make sure it doesn't melt and make a mess," says Mrs. Patmore. "Anna wouldn't thank you for that."
"I certainly wouldn't!" Mummy laughs. "Although I suppose it would be a doddle compared to scrubbing Jack's sick stains from his best suits!"
"All right, enough of that," Daddy grumbles, though his mouth twists as if he would like to laugh. "Are you coming through for some tea, Mrs. Patmore?"
"If only I could," she sighs. "Alas, there's no rest for the wicked in this kitchen. We'll be a while yet. Grief makes you hungry. I'd wager they'll be up there eatin' until midnight."
"That's a shame," says Mummy. "We'll have to come in for a few minutes before we leave, if it won't be too much of an inconvenience. I know how busy you get."
"Oh, you could never be an inconvenience. I would like that. Now, go and put your feet up while you can. You'll soon be back to the daily grindstone yourselves."
They nod, and Daddy catches her hand, tugging her along.
"Come on, Lizzie," he says. "You're going to be the star of the show. You were like royalty when you were born, let me tell you. Everyone wanted to see you and hold you."
Lizzie says nothing. She wonders if Mr. Barrow liked her. Maybe he thought she was a bastard too, because of Daddy.
"Liz? Darling, are you all right?"
Daddy is looking down at her, his dark eyes full of worry. She resists the urge to hide her face against his leg, meeting his eye with the bravery of the knights he tells her about in her bedtime stories.
"Yes," she says. Her voice cracks, and for a frightening moment she thinks she might burst into tears; her daddy blurs right in front of her eyes.
He furrows his brow, pausing. She tries to keep him moving, but he won't.
"Love," he says, so gently. He always speaks like that to her, so quiet and sweet. A bastard sounds scary. How can her daddy be that? "Love, has something happened?"
"No!" she bursts out, panicked. "Nothing, nothing, nothing!" She's working herself into a state, sniffing back an ugly sob.
"John, leave it," Mummy says firmly, and Lizzie has never loved her more. "She's all right. You're upsetting her."
"How?" Daddy protests, sounding hurt. That's even worse. She's hurting her daddy's feelings. "She's my daughter, my baby girl. Am I not supposed to look after her? Protect her?"
"Now you're being silly. Of course you are. But now is not the right time. Later."
She gives him one of those no-nonsense looks, and Daddy's shoulders slump.
"Fine," he mutters. "Let's go, then."
Lizzie's heart breaks at his tone of voice. She hates it when he's upset. He doesn't show it very often, but she can always tell when there's something troubling him. Mummy says it's a child's intuition. She has no idea what that could even mean, but when her daddy is sad, she can sense it in the very air. And his eyes go sad like a puppy's, filled with innocent wounds. And he's quiet. Mummy calls it his brooding.
He's brooding now, she knows. He joins in the conversation with the others, but when he is silent, she can see it. His mouth downturns, and he fiddles with the chain to his pocket watch as he retreats inside himself. She wishes that she could make it better. But she can't. She doesn't know how. She can't tell her daddy about what Mr. Barrow said. What if knowing that Thomas thinks he is a bastard makes him even more sad? So instead she clambers into his lap and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek sloppily.
"I wuv you, Daddy," she says, snuggling against him, hoping that she can make him feel better like he always makes her feel better. His arms tighten around her, and she closes her eyes as he holds her close. He smells so nice. Mummy says it's called Eau de Cologne. She doesn't really know what that is, but she's seen him pat it onto his face and neck from a little bottle. It's her favourite smell in the world.
"I love you too, my darling," he murmurs into her hair.
Lizzie pays no mind to the conversation going on around her as the others around her talk. Mummy is bright, laughing and joking with the other ladies, regaling them proudly with tales of her and Jack while they coo. They ask about the business and Daddy tells them about profits and turnarounds. Which is boring, so Lizzie lays her head against his chest and closes her eyes while she listens to its beat. It soothes her.
After a while, Mummy stands.
"We said we'd catch the five o'clock train," she says. "It's almost quarter past four now. We need to get going soon if we're going to make it."
Daddy stands, setting her gently back onto the floor. "Yes, you're right. I'll fetch Jack."
But Mummy waves him away. "You've not finished your tea. I'll go. Do you want to come with me, Lizzie? There are quite a lot of stairs, but you can handle them, can't you?"
She nods, because she's a big girl now. She's four.
"Very good. Here, hold my hand. We'll be back soon, Mr. Bates." Mummy squeezes Daddy's shoulder on the way past, and Lizzie keeps close to her side as they make their way to the staircase.
There are a million stairs, Lizzie is certain of it. Mummy and Daddy have been teaching her her numbers, and she can count to twenty now all by herself. But there are lots and lots more than that here. By the time they reach the nursery, Mummy is carrying her in her arms. She tucks her head into the crook of her neck and breathes in her comforting smell, of perfume and home.
In the nursery, Mummy eases her back down to the floor. There, they find Jack wailing.
Mummy frowns, looking irritated. "Where's the nanny? She should have been in here. She should have fetched me. How long has he been crying like this?"
Lizzie doesn't know how long he's been crying, because she was downstairs too. So she says nothing.
Mummy approaches the cot that Jack has been placed in.
"Oh dear," she says. "I was hoping that he was hungry again, but apparently not. Can you bring the bag over, please? Jack needs a change before we go."
Lizzie wrinkles her nose. She hates that. And Jack always seems to need changing. Mummy and Daddy say it's because he's so little and one day he'll grow out of it, but that day seems to be taking forever to arrive. She's quite certain that she never took this long.
Still, she obeys her mummy's command, dragging the bag over and then keeping her distance. She has no wish to see that. She likes helping Mummy with Jack, but there are limitations.
Mummy doesn't seem to mind. She sweeps Jack into her arms, uncaring of the mess, and lays him down on the changing table.
"There, my sweetheart," she coos at him. "I'm going to make it all better. It's all right, love. No need to cry anymore."
She's whipped the dirty nappy off in seconds, and sets about cleaning him up swiftly. Lizzie wonders how she does it so fast. It must be a mummy thing. Daddy is good at it, but he always seems to struggle when Jack kicks out his legs, thinking that it's a great big game. Mummy simply catches them and hooks them into the new nappy with in one no-nonsense motion.
After a while, Mummy says, "Lizzie, have you got something to tell me?"
"What you mean?" she asks.
Mummy sighs, pulling Jack's little bottoms back up. "I mean that I think Daddy was right earlier when he thought that something had happened. You seemed very upset, and you've been quiet ever since. You barely said two words when Mrs. Hughes gave you her chatelaine to have a look at. Normally we can't keep you quiet. What happened?"
"Nothing!" she cries again. She won't tell. She won't.
But Mummy is giving her that soft, understanding look. "Is it something to do with Daddy?"
"No," she says, but her voice pitches dangerously.
"You know you can tell me anything," Mummy says soothingly. "Anything at all. And I promise I won't tell Daddy if you don't want me to. It can be a girls' secret. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
Lizzie stares at her mistrustfully. Mummy always tells her that she has to be honest. Wouldn't that mean that she would be honest with Daddy too? But then…she's never had a reason to doubt Mummy before. If Mummy promises something, then it always comes true. Like that time when she'd been sick, and Mummy had promised her that she'd be there in bed with her when she woke up. And she had been. So if Mummy has promised that she won't tell Daddy, that must mean she really won't.
She takes a deep breath, going with the deep instinct inside her that tells her that her mummy is the safest place in the world. "Mummy…what's a bas…bastard?"
"Elizabeth Anna Bates, fancy saying that!" Mummy yelps, dropping Jack's legs back to the changing table. His squealing is forgotten as she turns accusing eyes on her. "Don't ever let anyone hear you saying things like that! That's a very naughty word! Our name would be mud at the hotel if they thought we were allowing you to go round saying things like that, and a girl no less!"
Frightened, Lizzie says, "I'm sowwy, Mummy! I'm sowwy!" Tears well and spill.
Mummy's demeanour changes at once. She sighs. "Oh, little love, don't cry. Sit on this seat here. We'll have a little chat. Just let me get Jack sorted. I can't leave him crying like this. It'll only distract us. Here, dry your tears. Take my handkerchief."
Sniffing, she takes the proffered handkerchief, expertly hooked from her mummy's sleeve, and moves over to the appointed seat. It's a huge settee that she can barely scramble onto, her little legs pinwheeling desperately behind her as she manages to reach up. She rubs at her eyes, popping her thumb into her mouth. Her comfort blanket.
Soon Mummy is done, and Jack is nestled contentedly against her shoulder. She brings him over to the settee.
"Budge up, darling," she says, and settles herself down. Lizzie watches as Jack starts to drool over Mummy's shoulder, but Mummy barely seems to notice, fixing her blue eyes on her. There's strength and power in Mummy's eyes. Like she is all-seeing and all-knowing. That makes it easier to tell. "Now, what's all this about?"
The words spill out of her in a desperate mess. "Mummy, I sitted in ve kitchen wiv Mrs. Patmore and I eated my cake and it was nice but ven I heared someone talking outside and it was vat man who hasn't got much hair left…Mr. Moses…and he was talking to vat man called Mr. Barrow, and Mr. Moses said vat it was nice to see you and Daddy but Mr. Barrow said vat it wasn't and he called Daddy that Naughty Word I just said and I don't know what it means but it sounds reawy bad and my daddy isn't bad and it was scary because he said it in not a nice way, like he wanted to hurt my daddy, like vat time on ve street at home when vose two men were fighting outside ve pub and you said vey'd had too much to drink, and—"
"All right, slow down," Mummy interrupts. "I can't follow what you're saying when you speak so quickly, my love. You're saying that Mr. Barrow called Daddy a Naughty Word? The word you said a minute ago?"
Lizzie nods enthusiastically. Thank goodness Mummy has worked it out so quickly.
"I don't like it," she says, unable to stop her bottom lip from popping out in her sadness. "It made me feel bad. Why did he say it? What does it mean?"
Mummy sighs. "Oh, love, come here."
She opens her arms, and Lizzie crawls into them gratefully. She's always felt safe in Mummy and Daddy's arms. They always make all the bad things go away. Like when she's had a scary dream, and she cries until they take her back with them, and she can snuggle between them and hold their hands and know that nothing can get her there. They will always protect her from scary monsters, they always say so.
For a few moments, they sit in silence. Mummy rocks her in her arms. She's wearing that little frown, the one that scrunches up her face. Daddy says it's her thinking face. Sometimes he says that she's really adorable when she looks like that, and he kisses her until Mummy makes a strange noise. She always pulls away then and says 'later'. Lizzie's never been around to see what later means, but Daddy always looks very pleased when Mummy says it, so it must be something good.
Eventually, Mummy says, "That Naughty Word…it can mean two things. One of them you're far too young to understand, so we won't talk about that yet, but its second meaning is someone…someone who is mean. Mr. Barrow has always thought that Daddy is a bit mean, so that's why he said it."
"But why?" she cries. "Daddy is not mean!"
"I know that and you know that. Lots of people know that. But when Daddy first started working here, Mr. Barrow was very jealous because he wanted the job that Lord Grantham gave to Daddy."
"Dressing someone else?" It's a concept Lizzie still can't get her head around. She likes to dress her dollies, but that's because they can't dress themselves. And Mummy and Daddy help to dress her. She doesn't really need it now because she is a big girl, but Mummy says it's better not to go out wearing two different coloured stockings, and she doesn't have a choice in the matter.
"Yes, that's right. It will probably make even less sense to you when you're older because I think this way of life is almost gone now, but Daddy's job was a very good one, and that's why Mr. Barrow was jealous. He was very mean to Daddy when he first arrived, so Daddy didn't like him much either. So you don't need to worry, or be upset. Daddy doesn't care what he thinks. So if Daddy doesn't care, you don't need to care, all right? You love Daddy, don't you?"
"More van anyfing ever!" she shouts indignantly. How can Mummy even think she doesn't? Daddy reads her bedtime stories and puts on funny voices, Daddy sneaks her biscuits when Mummy isn't looking even if Mummy has said she can't have any, Daddy always smells so nice, and he always has kisses and cuddles for her.
But Mummy is smiling. "Exactly. The only thing Daddy cares about is being loved by me, and you, and Jack. If we love him, then he is happy. And we do. So he is happy. All right?"
Lizzie nods uncertainly, burrowing closer to her mummy's side. Mummy strokes her fingers through her hair.
"I know it's hard to understand," she says. "You shouldn't have to worry about this kind of thing yet. But there will always be people who like you and people who don't like you. And one day you will find someone who you don't like either. You don't have to be mean to people, but it's the way of the world. Just…don't worry about Mr. Barrow. We won't see him much anyway, so his opinion doesn't matter. Now, I think we've been long enough. How about we go back downstairs and find Daddy so we can catch the train back home?"
Lizzie nods, hopping back to her feet. The trip down the stairs is better than the one up, and soon they are back in the servants' hall. Daddy looks up as soon as they enter.
"Is everything all right?" he says cautiously. Lizzie runs to him, throwing her arms around his middle.
"Wuv you, Daddy," she says contentedly, burying her face into his jacket so she can smell his nice smell. People say aww around her, she isn't sure why, and Daddy's big hand pats her on the back. He eases her onto his knee, nuzzles his nose against her cheek.
"I love you too, my darling," he murmurs in her ear again.
"Mr. Bates, it's time to go," Mummy says.
He pulls away. He helps her off her knee and she shadows him back to where Mummy is still standing. They go into the kitchen for a few minutes to talk to Mrs. Patmore, and then they go and get their coats on, with the other servants following behind. She is a big girl now and can do her own, but Mummy and Daddy need to switch Jack between them while he gurgles. Then Daddy is shaking hands with the men, and Mummy is hugging the women, and everyone is chucking Jack under the chin while he kicks out his legs and squeals, and Mrs. Patmore pushes another ginormous slab of cake into her hands, and then it is time to go. Looking back, Lizzie catches one last glimpse of Mr. Barrow's face. He looks angry. Then the door closes and the disquiet fades as Daddy braces himself and lifts her up into his left arm.
"John," Mummy says reprovingly.
"What?" he shoots back defensively. "I'm all right. No knee trouble. She's as light as a feather, aren't you, Liz?"
"Well, don't blame me if it starts to seize up on you later."
"And here was me thinking you might rub it better."
"John," Mummy repeats severely. Lizzie doesn't know why. It seems like a perfectly reasonable request to her. Mummy always rubs her knees and her elbows better if she falls down and scrapes them.
"All right," Daddy relents. "Let's just get back to the train. It's been a long day. I'll be glad to get home."
"Me too," says Mummy. "Especially given the circumstances today."
"Old Lady Grantham will be missed sorely," Daddy muses. "Downton won't be the same without her."
"I don't like to talk about it."
"You're right. Let's change the subject. How about it, Lizzie? I'll fetch us food from the hotel so that Mummy doesn't have to cook, and then I'll read you another chapter of your book. It'll be an early night tonight." He shoots Mummy a look. "For all of us, I think."
"John!" Mummy scolds for the third time, but there is a giddiness about her tone that doesn't make sense. Her mummy and daddy are very hard to understand at times. Shrugging to herself, Lizzie turns herself back into Daddy's shoulder. It isn't always worth trying.
On the train, Lizzie runs over to the seat and clambers on, pressing her nose against the glass. It's her favourite part, watching the fields flash by with the little cotton sheep. Jack is still in Mummy's arms and, turning her head slightly, Lizzie finds Mummy in Daddy's. She has her head leaning against his shoulder, and as Lizzie watches, Daddy bends his head and presses a kiss to Mummy's forehead. It is a tender, sweet action that even now, Lizzie can comprehend.
Daddy loves them all so much. He would do anything for them, fight all the scary dragons, rescue the princesses. He's a knight and a prince rolled into one, her hero.
Mr. Barrow might think that Mr. Bates is a Naughty Word, but Lizzie knows him. And her daddy is nothing like the image that the mean man has in his head. Mr. Barrow doesn't know him like Lizzie does. He doesn't see the way he baths Jack or the way he buys her bags of boiled sweets from the shop when they go for a walk along the seafront, or the way he sweeps Mummy into his arms and kisses her while she laughs.
Lizzie's version of her daddy is the real one, not Mr. Barrow's.