After taking a look, I realized that I had written about 3000 words worth of drabbles, so thought I would share them. These were all written as part of the prompt challenge over at the Downton Abbey forums, the link for which you can find in my profile. I hope all of you can pay a visit to that lovely site, where there is much DA discussion and love, plus plenty of other drabbles much better than these.
Mrs. Patmore - Sister
She'd quit her post as kitchen maid as soon as Ellen had died. Gone home to while away her time sleeping and engorging herself on sandwiches.
It was some months before she stumbled upon her late sister's diary. The years of bitter words and burning rivalry were washed away with the words she found on those pages. Admiration. Adoration. Inspiration. Love. That she considered HER the better cook, that she aspired to be like HER someday.
She went back into service that same week, a new fire in her bones amidst the ashes of tragedy. She'd told her sister she'd be the first to make cook , and when she finally did, there were no tears in her eyes.
Daisy - Breaking Something
She'd been William's first friend when he first came to Downton. They were both rather new there and took comfort in the shared inexperience and clumsiness that came with any new position.
When Daisy broke that old pitcher, the one in the back that no one ever used, it was William who helped her glue the pieces back together, consoling her all the while, and it was his long arms that placed it back on the tall shelf where no one would ever find it again.
That was months ago, and now Daisy's mind is filled with dark hair and smart smiles.
"Do your buttons up," that smile says.
"Go on then" she happily chimes back.
When she looks into William's eyes, she realizes that it's not only old pitchers that can be broken, and that some things could not be so easily fixed.
Thomas - clocks
There was a time when Thomas thought there was nothing so beautiful as the innermost parts of a clock.
When he was a young boy, he watched his father's soft and deft hands as they put the delicate pieces together, and marveled as the gears moved together so precisely.
He remembers the day when the dissatisfied Lord came in, roaring with anger and smashing his father's work to the ground. His heart thumped and his face burned. What was beauty and delicacy, to raging power and absolute authority?
Thomas watched his father silently pick up the shattered remains, and despised him.
Branson and William - scarlet
"Don't you ever miss home?"
Branson looked up from his book. It was one of the footman. William? He had just started working at Downton and was always terrible with names.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're a lot farther off than any of us. I know I couldn't be so far from family. How do you manage?"
The sun was starting to set, the purple tones and scarlet hues reflecting in William's expectant face.
"I haven't lived with my family for a while. You go where opportunity is, where you can make a better life for yourself. That's really all that matters. Besides," he added, turning back to his book, "the sun sets here in England just the same as it does in Ireland."
William sat down to watch the scarlet twilight turn to gray, the pang of homesickness that never quite left still aching within, and wondered if he would one day be able to say the same.
Rosamund to Mary - How I met your mother
Rosamund received the telegram in the early hours and was on the first train out of London. Now she was sitting in the drawing room of her old home, staring into the face of her infant niece.
"Mary," she murmured. "A pretty name, though not very strong. Well, little one. You have your mother's nose, but will you have her temper as well?"
Mary only stared in response.
"You know when I first met Cora, she all but tripped over her train and couldn't curtsy to save her life. I pitied your father then."
Rosamund looked up as Cora glided in, strong and beautiful, her labor pains of the night before all but vanished from her smiling face.
"I don't pity him anymore."
Edith and Sir Anthony - is this the end?
Edith had learned that The End could take on many forms.
Sometimes it came in utter tragedy. A beloved cousin, a future heir, drowned in the freezing waters of the Atlantic.
Usually The End was not so dramatic. A new acquaintance, an anticipated church visit, would soon give way to disinterested conversation and a passing remark about her more beautiful sister. This particular ending came more often than Edith cared to think about.
The worst way, Edith now knew, was when there should have been no end at all. When fortune was all but in her hands, and she only had to reach out and grasp it.
"Is this really The End?" Edith inwardly asked as her eyes followed Sir Anthony's retreating figure. And although Mary said no words as Edith glanced in her direction, she knew in her heart that it was.
Mary and Patrick Crawley - I thought you were dead!
Mary was beginning to grow desperate. She and Edith had gone over most of the grounds and there was still no sign of the hidden cousin they were meant to seek. At last they stumbled upon a prostrate form lying under the great oak. He was so silent and still, and his skin so pale, that at first Mary, in her childish imagination, had assumed the worst.
She hurried over and when Patrick at last opened his eyes (for he was only sleeping), Mary flung her arms around his neck and cried, "We thought you were dead!"
Eleven years later Lady Mary lies in her bed thinking of that day. She tells herself that she did not love Patrick, did not want to marry him. But she still cannot stop the tears from stinging her eyes, and despising herself for it.
She sits up and rallies. She tells herself that Patrick is not really dead, for he is only sleeping under the oak. She repeats this over and over in her head, until she feels herself again, and knows that she can finally face her father.
Robert - heirs
James, he imagines, had drowned. He was older than Robert and not very strong. He would not have been able to escape the pull of the boat as it sank.
Patrick was young and resourceful. Robert thinks he would have found a way to avoid being sucked into the Titanic's watery tomb. His body would be preserved by the icy waters of the Atlantic, a floating emblem of the tragedy that struck in the night.
With Matthew he can't decide. He would be buried by now, he reasons. But he doesn't know whether he would have had his own grave or been conveniently tossed into a massive pit, along with farmers, butchers, and the like.
Robert asks himself what curse must lie on the title Grantham that would require of it four heirs in as many years.
Servants - Simnel Cake
Mrs. Patmore opened the oven and beamed. It had come out perfectly, much as she expected, and her face flushed with the praise she knew she would be shortly receiving for yet another sumptuous Simnel Cake this Easter.
As she sliced the cake her eyes lingered on the sugary spheres of marzipan, a delicious, if not quite reverent, way to honor the disciples of the Lord.
"Thomas," she mused, "would certainly be Thomas. A surer doubter never existed. And Anna," she continued, her mind now buzzing, "would be Peter. That girl's both loyalty and passion in equal measure."
"Mr. Bates, well, he would be Levi, for there's no question that man is running from something. William," she sighed, "loving child, of course he's John."
"Mr. Branson - no doubt - Simon the Zealot. Always going on so passionately about what, I'll never know, and Daisy," here she stopped to laugh, "I'd call her Judas but he don't have any place on this cake."
Mrs. Patmore hurriedly laid out the slices as the sound of footsteps drew closer, and smiled as she met their happy faces. Yes, it would be another fine Easter.
Isobel and Violet - "What should we call one another?"
"Well we could always start with Mrs. Crawley and Lady Grantham!"
...
Those words rang in Isobel's ears whenever she sat down with the Dowager after dinner. Whenever they squabbled over the latest development at the hospital. Whenever they took tea and discussed the latest impediment to Matthew and Mary's courtship.
It seemed like so long ago, that strange introduction at the Abbey. Isobel considered the woman sitting next to her now. When it came to medical practices, garden shows, and women's rights, there was almost nothing they could agree on.
But when it came to the two young people, standing before them now, that they both loved so dearly, Violet and Isobel found that there was no argument or debate to be had. Their happiness was all that mattered, and both women could put aside practically anything to secure it.
As Mary and Matthew sealed their vows with a kiss, Isobel knew what she could now call the Dowager Countess of Grantham.
Friend.
Mrs. Hughes - Branson loves Sybil
Elsie had been meaning to do something about the "situation" for a while. When she saw him reading alone in the servant's hall one afternoon, she knew she had found her chance. She had tried using vinegar before; this time she would try a bit of honey.
"It's a wonder that a man like you shouldn't have someone." Elsie smiled charmingly as she sat down. "A fine young man, with a good job. Steady and educated, obviously going places in life and-," she continued, laughing lightly, "-quite handsome, if I do say so -"
"I know what you're trying to do Mrs. Hughes," Branson interrupted as he looked up from his book. His piercing gaze was a match for her iron stare. Long minutes passed as they sat that way, silently measuring each other. Branson suddenly took her hand in his.
"Believe me I am flattered, but..." here he stopped and patted her hand fondly. "I mean no offense but I'd prefer someone closer to my age." At this he rose abruptly and retrieved his coat from the back of his chair.
"Now if you'll excuse me I must be off. I'm to take Lady Sybil to Ripon."
Elsie realized this was going to be harder than she thought.
Sybil and Branson - wonderland
Sybil had been an adventurous child, and had always preferred the reality of her storybooks to the one she actually lived in. It was for this reason that she would often pretend herself Alice, and scour the vast grounds of Downton for rabbit holes that she might fall into.
Sybil is older now, and has come to realize that the world she lives in is much more adventurous than she once thought. She has even met her own Mad Hatter, but instead of taking her to tea parties he drives her to political rallies, and instead of speaking to her in riddles he explains Suffrage and Socialism.
It is not quite the Wonderland that Sybil had once dreamed about, but she wouldn't have it any other way.
Evelyn Napier – Discoveries
Evelyn stared in silence at the letter in his hand. The contents themselves were shocking enough, but it was the signature at the end that had left him speechless.
"It is from Lady Edith," he at last managed.
The Ambassador only nodded. A tumult of emotions passed through Evelyn in that moment. Anger. Regret. Confusion. But what surprised him most was the pain he felt on Mary's behalf, the ache in his heart as he thought of her troubles, and his sorrow that there was nothing he could do to remedy it. He had just been faced with one overwhelming discovery, only to be overcome by another:
He was still in love with Lady Mary Crawley
Vera and Rosamund – the Perfect Lady's maid
"I think it's time we understood each other, Vera Bates."
Vera stopped tying up the strings of her mistress' corset and stared at Mrs. Painswick's face in the mirror. She'd taken this job to get closer to that rat of a husband, and now she had been found out.
Vera quickly considered her options. From the look on Rosamund's face she was not best pleased at being deceived. Vera began doing up the corset strings again, tighter and tighter as she went along.
"What's that ma'am?" she said. "You'd like it done up tighter?"
"No…no. That's….that's quite tight enough," Rosamund gasped. "Please…too tight…you must loosen them," was all she managed before her vision swam black and she collapsed to the floor.
Vera looked cooly down at her late mistress. She knew she would never be blamed. Mrs. Painswick was notorious for favoring a slender silhouette, and the perfect lady's maid always did what she was told.
Sybil and Branson – wishing on a star
Branson knew that if he wanted his dreams (and oh how he had them) to come true, it would take effort and determination. He'd worked his way up in service, read as often as he could, and even left his native shores of Ireland in pursuit of his goals. Now he was the chauffeur for a grand Earl, and though it was further than where he started, it still wasn't where he wanted to end.
Lady Sybil had found this all quite wonderful when he explained it to her, and had told him that, "When I was younger, I used to think that to get what I wanted I had only to wait till midnight and make a wish on the brightest star I could find." She looked away suddenly, obviously embarrassed at the admission. "But I suppose you'll think me very childish and silly."
The truth was that he did often find her childish, but the less rational part of his brain also found her charming and beautiful and enchanting, and as time went on he increasingly felt himself to be in danger. He knew he should confirm her suspicions, but instead what came out was, "Not at all, m'lady. Sometimes we all need a little help making our dreams come true."
It wasn't at all what he really thought or believed, but when she turned her eyes back on him and smiled, Branson knew that he was going to spend a late night staring up at the sky.
Mrs. Hughes – maternal instinct
Ordinarily, a single woman wasn't allowed anywhere near a bachelor's room, but this was no ordinary day, and Elsie felt she could make an exception. By the time she had reached the small cottage, he was nearly finished packing his things.
"Come to tell me how foolish I've been, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked when he answered her knock. Elsie wouldn't take the bait. He'd have enough chastisement from other quarters and she wasn't here for that.
"What will you do now?" she asked instead.
"I've some friends in London. They'll help me get another job. Of course I won't ever be a chauffeur again." He sat on the bed and held his head between his hands. He looked so tired and worn and pitiful then, that Elsie's maternal instincts won her over, and she felt compelled to sit beside him.
"There, there, lad. It'll be all right in the end," she said, placing a comforting hand on his back. "I did try to warn you, that you'd end up with no job and a broken heart." Elsie couldn't see his face, but she felt his shoulders tremble gently at the mention of her warning, so many months ago.
Her heart wrenched and went out to the poor lad. She longed for nothing more than to take him in her arms, brush away his tears, assure him that it was all for the best, that time would heal everything, that -
Her motherly train of thought was abruptly broken when she saw that it was laughter, not sorrow, which had overtaken him. He looked up at her with a smile, mirth dancing in his bright blue eyes.
"Now who said anything about a broken heart?"
Violet - Embarrassed
The Countess of Grantham sneered as her son led his fiancé into the ballroom. Of course he would have her, despite all the protestations. She may have connections and good breeding aplenty, but what of her dowry, what of her pecuniary contribution that the estate so desperately needed?
So insignificant as to be almost negligible.
She stood by his side, her frock worn and outdated, the dull jewels adorning her neck obvious copies. Violet seemed oblivious to the smiles and snickers of the exquisitely attired guests.
"How embarrassing," Lady Grantham muttered under her breath.
...
The Countess of Grantham scowled as her son led his new wife into the drawing room. Of course her would have her, despite all the protestations. She may possess the money they so desperately needed, but what of her family, her connections?
What of love?
She stood by his side, bungling her courtesy and laughing in that obnoxious way peculiar to Americans. Cora seemed oblivious to the horrified looks and long side-glances of the well-bred guests.
"How embarrassing," Lady Grantham muttered under her breath.
Anna and Gwen – kaleidoscope
Her first day, when the house had seemed so large as to almost swallow her, and Anna had taken her by the hand and shown her around, room by room.
Holding the letter telling her Richard had died, and Anna had held her close, letting her sob unabashedly for her baby brother.
Sweeping the broken fragments of the vase she knocked over, and Anna had rushed over to help hide the evidence and promised not to tell.
Sitting on a bed, overwhelmed with the knowledge that she would never achieve her goal and leave this place, and Anna had comforted her and sworn that she would.
A kaleidoscope of memories dances before her eyes; each scene blends brightly and beautifully into the other. A bittersweet mosaic of her colleague, her friend, her sister, while Mr. Bromage's car sits idling in the drive.
"I suppose it's time to be off," she says, and Anna hugs her tightly.
"I'll miss you."
Hope you enjoyed :). And if you are so inclined please visit us all on the forum!