This piece is not to be taken outstandingly seriously, because if you do you will think I'm out of my tree. Probably AU, multi chapter, if you'd like. Inspired by a suggestion of the utmost genius from someone in the Dame Allan's drama department, and the brilliance of Penelope Wilton, who made me really want to write something with Mrs Crawley in it.

-Prologue-

Isobel Crawley was sitting so still on the drawing room couch that at first Elsie completely failed to notice her. It must be nice to be calm enough, she briefly thought. She was very grateful that she did notice her though, otherwise she'd have probably dusted her along with the rest of the furnishings. Fortunately, the woman did not seem to notice her presence either. She jumped a little as Elsie bid her good morning.

"Good morning, Mrs Hughes," she replied, smiling over her shoulder at the housekeeper.

"Has something happened?" Elsie enquired, dusting the sideboard. Ten o'clock in the morning was dreadfully early to have someone pay a call, but given that Mrs Crawley was strictly speaking family she might well be called upon in an emergency. It was not, however, an emergency that Elsie had as yet come to hear of.

"You might well ask," was the reply, offered with rather a wry smile, "I received a note in this morning's post. Cousin Cora has had a splendid idea, apparently, and I was to come at once."

Heaven help us all, Elsie thought; in her humble opinion the year was amply full of Lady Grantham's splendid ideas after the garden party and flower show. It evidently showed in her expression; Mrs Crawley smiled slyly at the rather sceptical look on her face.

"I don't think it can be anything too serious," Mrs Crawley continued in a lightly amused tone, "I didn't see any smelling salt being ferried around when I came in so it's nothing critical."

Elsie raised her eyebrows a little at that. It was only Lady Violet who went mad on those, and if she did show up as well because of this "splendid idea", given that Mrs Crawley was here, she had the feeling that they would have to batten down the hatches, as Mrs Patmore would have it put.

"Sometimes," she continued, sounding supremely unperturbed by it, "I feel as if Cousin Violet is right and I really don't belong here."

The implication of course, Elsie thought, being that that is because you have a modicum of sanity.

"I often think the same about myself, Mrs Crawley," she told her, with a barely disguised grin.

Mrs Crawley returned the smile before the door opened, and they were advanced upon by the exuberant remainder of the household.

-Chapter 1-

Elsie, unable to remain in the room without staring in disbelief or rolling her eyes more frequently than was polite, had taken to listening from the drawing room door, where her face was free to act as flippantly as it wished.

"You want to put on a play?" Lady Mary asked her mother for what had to be the third time. Normally, Elsie might have assumed that the girl had become hard of hearing, but she too could not quite comprehend what on earth Lady Grantham thought she was playing at.

"Why?"

"I've already told you, dear," she heard Lady Grantham's voice from the other side of the door, "I think it would bring the village, and the household, together. The servants could join it. "

"Yes," came Lady Violet's unmistakable tones, "Bringing them all together by the unanimous opinion that our putting on a play is a thoroughly ridiculous idea."

Well said, Elsie thought. She'd never thought she would agree with Lady Violet on any topic, but it seemed she had been wrong.

"I thought that was what the flower show was for," Lady Edith sounded bored rather than perturbed or astonished, "And the village fête, and the bring and buy sale..."

"But this would be different!" her Ladyship insisted, "And that's why it would be so effective."

Her voice had the distinctive quality of an enthusiastic child who was used to getting their own way and couldn't quite understand why they weren't this time.

"What kind of a play, Mama?" Lady Sybil asked.

There was no reply; apparently her Ladyship's fit of brilliance had not extended quite that far.

"Something from Shakespeare?" Mrs Crawley suggested helpfully.

"Rather predictable, isn't it?" Lady Violet asked.

No one paid attention to the Dowager, electing not to offend Mrs Crawley any more than was necessary of a Monday morning. Anyway, Elsie thought rather ruefully, in her experience what was predictable was very often the most manageable.

"A romantic comedy," Sybil suggested enthusiastically.

Typical, from what she had heard, Lady Sybil's life was enough of one of those without having to act in one too.

"A tragedy," Edith offered, with an air of melodrama.

"A history," Lady Mary completed the set.

"No, I think we should do a tragedy," her Ladyship took a decisive tone, then, sounding a little out of her depth- appealed to the others for assistance-, "Which one?"

"Romeo and Juliet," came Lady Edith's voice immediately.

"Gosh, no!" Elsie was grateful for Lady Sybil stepping in; from what she'd heard of that particular work, she wasn't sure just how much of that she could stand, "It has to be Macbeth!"

There was a murmur around the room.

"I should think," Lady Violet remarked- Elsie could almost see the disapproving look she threw at her youngest granddaughter-, "That we were a little more civilised than that."

But Sybil was not to be put off that easily.

"Oh, Granny," she pleaded, "It was a Thane doing all of the murdering. It doesn't get much more civilised than that."

Lady Violet was apparently too thrown by the lunacy of the remark to respond audibly.

"So Macbeth, then," her Ladyship concluded.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Miss O'Brien's voice issued from behind the door- what on earth was she doing joining in the conversation? Elsie thought-, "Isn't that the one with the mad Scottish woman in it?"

Elsie had a horrible feeling that she knew where this was going.

"Yes it is, Miss O'Brien," Lady Edith replied.

"I see. Thank you, my Lady."

There was a pause for a moment.

"Why, Miss O'Brien, do you look so amused?" Lady Violet's voice asked.

Elsie could not quite credit the sheer nerve of the lady's maid, until she remembered that Miss O'Brien probably didn't know that she was hovering behind the door, listening to every word being said.

"Well," she began in a strained polite tone, "I was just thinking, my Lady, that Mrs Hughes would make a wonderful mad Scotswoman."

Sarah O'Brien, Elsie thought, you don't know how right you are: I will murder you!

There was a moment of shocked realisation around the room.

"Goodness me," came Lady Grantham's voice, "Sybil dear, go and find Mrs Hughes at once and tell her we have a proposition to put to her!"

Elsie considered that she could run for it, but didn't; and was carted into the room as few seconds later by an enthusiastic Lady Sybil.

Please tell me what you think!