A New Generation

The wedding reception was slowly winding down. 'Thank heavens,' Robert thought and struggled to weave his way through the crowd without knocking anyone's champagne from their hands. The wedding and the reception, the entire day actually, had been a marvellous affair. Still, Robert was glad that the guests were slowly starting to leave, now that Edith and Bertie had departed for their Honeymoon.

He was tired, happily so, but tired nonetheless. He just wanted to have the house to himself again, so that he could get some serious thinking done. That wretched business with Carson as well as the changes to staff that came with it was weighing heavily on Robert's mind.

Oh, it wasn't that he had seconds thoughts about taking Barrow back on, mind you. He didn't regret his decision. Quite the contrary, if he was being honest with himself. Under the circumstances Barrow was indeed the best choice. He was familiar and he was the best man for a task that had been Carson's longer than Robert could think. A task that, and that was the crux, Carson appeared to be no longer able to manage on his own.

Carson's ailment was proof of a truth Robert would rather close his eyes to: Time did not stand still for any of them. It was not 1912 anymore. People would get old and they would eventually die. Changes would come and a new generation would soon take over. A new generation of servants as well as one of Lords and Ladies.

Or, and that's what Robert secretly feared the most, the society of today with its passed-down titles and heirs would break down and vanish altogether. No more Lords, no more big houses, no more butlers or housekeepers or maids or footmen.

And what a ghastly thought was that? Robert shuddered inwardly and tried to steer his thoughts away from the gloomy direction they'd taken. He called to his mind the happy face Edith had worn today, and rightly so for she of all people deserved such happiness for a change, and he felt his spirits lift again.

Today had been a wonderful day, changes or no, and Robert was determined to let it end in such a way, too. Having thus changed his mind, instead of leaving the great hall like he'd been about to, Robert turned on the spot, rounded a pillar and looked out for his wife among the crowd.

That's when he nearly tripped over something on the ground. His gaze went down and he let out a surprised gasp. Huddled down there, his small back resting against the pillar and knees drawn up, sat his grandson.

"George! Whatever are you doing here?" The boy was dressed in nothing but his nightshirt, Robert realized. George stared up at him with wide eyes and remained silent. He merely shrugged.

"Does Nanny know you're down here?" Robert threw a desperate look around as if he hoped that someone would materialize out of thin air and take the child off his hands. But there was no one. He stared down again. "You should be in bed. Whatever's the matter?"

"I can't sleep," George shrugged again. "There's something…" He broke off and looked down at his bare feet.

Robert crouched down, his knees protesting just a bit, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What is it?"

George's shy gaze met his. "Is Mr Barrow still here? I want to say goodbye to him."

"Barrow?" Robert frowned. He'd known that George had got on well with Barrow of course. Everybody had known it. But he'd assumed that three months without the under-butler would have lessened George's attachment somewhat. Apparently he'd been mistaken. Robert searched his grandchild's face and spoke softly.

"Do you like Barrow, George?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Mr Barrow's my friend."

"And you miss him, don't you?"

George nodded again, but this time with much less enthusiasm. His lip quivered and his eyes misted, as if he was barely able to hold back tears.

"I see." Robert stood up again and, having made up his mind, held out his hand. George, eyes still wide and biting his lip, took it. Robert scooped him up and sat him on his right hip.

"What do you say? Shall we find Barrow now? I think there's something he should tell you himself."

"What?"

"You'll see," Robert gave the boy a smile and then slowly made his way back amongst the crowd. He looked around and immediately caught a glimpse of Barrow on his left. It seemed he was still managing the champagne table. Robert weaved his way through.

When Barrow noticed him, or better the boy in his arms, a small but honest smile lightened up his face before he managed to control his features again.

"My lord," he nodded. Then his gaze travelled to the boy in Robert's arms. "Hello Master George."

"Mr Barrow!" George squirmed in Robert's grip, leaned away and held out his arms expectantly. Robert had no choice but to pass the boy into a flummoxed Barrow's hands.

Barrow took him and settled him on his hip with an ease that spoke of practice and familiarity. Robert couldn't help but smile and Barrow seemed to relax a bit, seeing that he wasn't about to be told off for taking such liberties.

Robert cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I'll have to bother you again, Barrow, when you're here as a guest. But would you find Nanny and make sure that this little runaway gets tucked away in bed where he belongs?"

"Certainly, my lord." Barrow inclined his head, a small smile playing around his lips. "It's no bother."

"Good," Robert made to leave but then turned around again. "Oh, and Barrow? Perhaps you could ease the boy's mind on the way?"

"My lord?" Barrow's brows furrowed, unsure of what Robert was asking.

Robert nodded in George's direction. "Go on, tell him the good news. He's missed you terribly these past three months, Barrow. Perhaps after you've told him he'll actually manage to fall asleep in peace."

"Oh, of course," Barrow smiled. "Thank you, my lord."

"What good news?" George pouted and pulled Barrow's collar when the man failed to answer. "What news?"

Barrow still didn't react, his eyes fixed on Robert. He inclined his head again.

Robert nodded back. "Now go on, before Nanny has a heart attack or comes screaming blue murder. Or before our George here bursts with curiosity."

Barrow finally looked at the boy in his arms. "Shall we go up, Master George?"

"What. News," George pouted adoringly. "Please tell me, Mr Barrow."

"Well, Master George," Barrow hoisted the boy up and started towards the big staircase. "You see, it looks like…"

Barrow's voice got lost in the crowd but Robert's gaze stayed on him and the boy. Halfway upstairs already, he saw George's eyes suddenly grew big and an excited "Really?" drifted down. George's whole face lightened up and his tiny arms tightened around Barrow's neck, and Robert laughed out loud at the sight.

And suddenly he remembered another child and another butler, and times long past. The child in his memory was a little girl, Mary, and the butler was Carson. And once upon a time, when Mary had been three and had refused to go to sleep without Carson looking in on her first, they'd been much the same.

Robert felt something unwind inside and knew, in his heart, that he'd done right in taking Barrow back on.

Time would not stand still, and there up the stairs walked the new generation. But somehow the thought didn't seem as ghastly as before.