AN: All characters and places belong to J. Fellowes.

He found the rhythmical sound of the train soothing. Since that time, when he had been forced to return to England because of his injured leg, the last part of his journey on a rickety train car full of wounded, Bates had realized that despite being utterly uncomfortable, the predictable movement and the sound accompanying it allowed him a semblance of tranquillity for the first time since leaving South Africa.

Now, as he contemplated the Yorkshire fields, he had to admit it had made some of his fears subdue. Not disappear entirely, that would be impossible, but he certainly felt a tad less unsure, a tad less inadequate than when the train had left London.

"How has life treated you, Bates?" the Earl of Grantham had asked, with a smile that indicated life had treated him well at any rate.

"Very good, sir- m'lord," Bates hastened to answer. There was nothing else he could say, even though this was a lie.

Lord Grantham displayed a reminiscent smile. "Ah, the war." He had not missed Bates' addressing him as if they still were in the military. "How strange a time that was."

"Indeed, my Lord," Bates adjusted his weight on his good leg and moved his cane a fraction of an inch. He had bumped into Lord Grantham at the entrance of one of the fanciest clubs in London, and even though he had recognized him right away, he would have passed without saying a word other than excuses, if his former Colonel had not called his name. It was not that he did not want to greet a man with whom he had lived so much in the past. It was just that now, in the middle of a London street, he was not entirely sure if it was the place of an unemployed crippled to talk to an Earl. Now, after a couple of minutes of exchanging pleasantries, his leg was starting to protest and Bates was acutely aware of the doorman and the chauffeur giving them not very conceived glances.

It seemed as if Lord Grantham had noticed it too, for he shifted towards the carriage. "I must be off," he said to the air. Then his blue eyes pierced Bates'. "It was good to meet you, here of all places."

"It was a… happy coincidence, my Lord."

"It was…" There was something in his Lordship's mind, but Bates knew better than to ask. Finally he smiled and the veteran recognised the dismissal.

Touching the brim of his hat, he bowed a little. "Good bye, my Lord."

"Good bye, Bates."

Without a second glance back, Bates continued his interrupted path, trying as hard as possible for his limp not to be noticeable. Was it pride or just self-pity, he could not say, but he was not particularly keen for his former partner in arms to see the full extent of the damage.

"Bates," he turned around. Lord Grantham had swiftly walked the few steps that separated them.

"My Lord?"

"You wouldn't want…" his lordship stopped, looking around. "No, of course you wouldn't. Silly of me to ask."

"My Lord?" Bates repeated.

Lord Grantham took a deep breath. "I am looking for a valet. The one I had recently left… and the footman that is helping me is not… adequate. I was wondering if you could possible consider the possibility of becoming one?"

This was certainly unexpected. "You valet, my Lord?"

"I understand if you have a better job, and I know there are plenty of people who would not want to go back to service, once they managed to get a better position."

"That would not be me," Bates prompted, trying hard for his eagerness not to show. A valet? Never mind that, a working position? For Lord Grantham?

It seemed it took a moment for the words to sink in.

"So… you mean you'd consider it?"

"There is no need to consider it, my Lord. As it happens I am currently… searching for a better position." Better than having none, Bates thought grimly.

"So this might come as a gift from the stars, then." Lord Grantham summarised.

A gift from the stars, indeed, Bates repeated the words in his head. Maybe.

And yet, what had touched him the most about the brief exchange had not been the possibility of starting a new life at last, not even the blind trust displayed by his lordship who had not even asked for references from his last occupations, for which Bates was both grateful and relieved. It had been something different and very silly. Lord Grantham seemed not to care at all about the fact that he was lame. Or maybe was it because he felt a little responsible for the wound. The fact remained that there had not been a single mention to the fact that Bates needed to use a cane or about his ability to manage the tasks that were expected of a valet.

Bates very much doubted the rest of the inhabitants of Downton Abbey would be as conveniently nonchalant.