So basically, ever since Series 5 of Downton began, I have been headcanoning things for Baxter/Molesley nonstop. This story will follow their story trajectory in the canon to a certain point. But I'm sure it'll veer off into fanon territory, especially since this is my contribution to NaNo this year. I'll try to post updates a couple of times a week. Bear with me though because I'm aiming for 50,000 words in 30 days, and my editing isn't nearly as thorough as it usually is. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts (both good & bad). And to all of the other Baxley fans out there, enjoy! :)
The brakes shrieked into place, the churning of the train's wheels shifting to a slower pace. Phyllis Baxter jerked awake from the shrill noise and the change in motion, glancing around out of slight bewilderment.
How long had she been asleep? Did she miss her stop?
She felt herself grow suddenly hot, despite the lack of heat present in the compartment. She gazed out the window, trying to find any signs or distinguishing marks that might set her nerves at ease.
To no avail, she glanced anxious to the seats across from her. And of the older couple that sat there, only the woman met her eye. Her husband appeared preoccupied with the worn book resting in his lap.
She smiled at Phyllis, and told her, "We're in Yorkshire, dear."
She could relax considerably now at this revelation. Still, she widened her eyes in disbelief, "Already?"
"Coming from a world away are you?" The woman probed curiously. "You were fast asleep for quite sometime," She explained.
Realigning their gazes, Phyllis nodded before adding politely, "London, Ma'am." She tightened her grip on her handbag, sitting on the edge of her seat while the train slowly crawled into the station.
"Oh a city girl, are ya?" She assumed knowingly.
This assumption made her a bit self-conscious, and Phyllis looked down at herself briefly. Her sandy brown coat was only a couple of years old, not yet giving off a worn appearance. And her black travelling boots, well those were new. Shined to near perfection. And her bell shaped hat, went along with the latest fashions, but it also belonged to her sister. She wasn't dressed ostentatiously for third-class car standards. At least in her mind.
She looked up at the woman and shrugged, "Not really, no."
The lady's brow furrowed and she frowned as if she didn't quite understand.
"I spent a time there. As a ladies maid, but...city life just wasn't for me." Phyllis answered plainly, glancing back out the window to see if it was safe to exit the train yet.
"Oh a ladies maid! How nice. I'm sure it was quite exciting leading such a life in a place like." She gushed, enthralled by ideas of grandeur that were associated with a big city. She then leaned forward, flicking her hand in Phyllis' direction, "I couldn't manage it of course but...you're young."
"Not that young," Phyllis replied, realizing she probably sounded more abrasive than she meant. "But...I'll thank you for the compliment if that was your intent," She inclined her head, and then stood when it felt as though the train fully came to a halt.
She pulled out her suitcase and the box that held her sewing machine from beneath her seat. Leaning forward, she unhitched the lock on the compartment door and carefully nudged open the door with her foot.
"Have a safe journey wherever you're headed," Phyllis told the couple politely before stepping down onto the platform, carefully balancing her luggage on both arms.
"Enjoy your time in the country!" The woman waved in return.
The door clicked shut and Phyllis was left standing on the platform. Her stomach knotted nervously as she glanced around, trying to determine if Thomas intended to pick her up directly or if he sent someone from the house.
She slowly walked towards the line in front of the ticket counter, watching the comings and goings of people unfold around her.
She watched families reunite happily, those returning home to loved ones and friends. And then there were those who were bidding bitter farewell to the ones they cared for, ready to get on the train as it sat in transit.
A heaviness wrought its way into her chest as she recalled her departure from London about a day ago, and how she had nothing more than a letter full of promises she was skeptical to believe in. It came with a one way ticket to Yorkshire and an overnight stop in Manchester. It was far more than she deserved. Especially from someone like Thomas Barrow.
They hadn't spoke in years, even before the whole business at Overton Square, quite some time had passed since their last letter to one another. The only strand connecting them still was his sister, Marie. And even her communication with Phyllis was spotty as of late.
She couldn't blame her though. It all came as quite a shock to her family. How could she expect her closest friend from childhood to feel differently? She couldn't.
Her lone departure from the factory house in London was welcoming in comparison to the one she experienced in Manchester that morning. Her sister's iciness was noted from the moment she received her.
Yet what other choice did Myrtle have. Phyllis was her younger sister, her family, in spite of everything. And she'd not break a promise that she made to their mother on her death bed. Look after Phyllis, when I'm gone. I worry about her. Myrtle felt compelled to remind her of this during her evening's stay on Thatchery Farm.
Even though the food was meager, her lodgings basic, and the farewell brief and unfeeling, Phyllis dared not to complain. She was free. And this new work that Thomas spoke of in his letter, it was more than she could have hoped for. A position higher than she ever expected to be considered for at this stage in her life.
Still, she wrestled with being dishonest about it. Struggled with the idea of withholding the crucial piece of information that explained why she went from being a well respected ladies maid to a sewing girl in a London.
But Thomas promised her a second chance, just as swiftly as he promised he'd find someone else for the role if she didn't make up her mind in a timely fashion. Or, if she couldn't agree to the terms he made, in the event that she were hired, he'd make a point to tell Lady Grantham and her chances of ever finding work in service again would go from slim to nonexistent.
And she couldn't go back to the factory house.
It was cold, and barely the middle of autumn. She was lucky and had a coat, but she wouldn't be allowed to wear it since it didn't comply with the dress requirements. The overseer was cruel to the point of nearly abusing his employees, all of which were downtrodden women.
For once in her life, she was grateful for her plain face. Grateful he'd pass over her for such favors that the younger, prettier girls were forced to endure else they'd lose their jobs. And without receiving tips or other "benefits" these younger girls claimed in exchange for demeaning themselves, Phyllis' wages were incompatible with the grueling hours. She could barely afford to keep up with the high demands of her landlord, and keep food on her table.
But she refused to fall further in the world. She wouldn't give up her virtue, or whatever else of it remained in tact. She wouldn't sell her body to the night like some of the other girls secretly did. Just as she wouldn't give up the few precious things she had prior to her time in Holloway, no matter how scarce the money became.
So in spite of her newly restored morals, Phyllis accepted the proposition. How bad could it be? The Thomas Barrow she knew was a mischievous little boy, who cried until he got his way or gained someone's sympathy. He couldn't ask her to do anything worse than what she'd already done. Could he?
Doubt overtook the hope that once kept her spirits buoyant, but she refused to let them sink to the bottom of an ocean full of despair. She wouldn't squander this opportunity. So many women she'd met in recent years fell victim to wasted second chances at a good and meaningful life. Phyllis Baxter promised herself she'd never be one of them.
Shuffling forward in line, she fished her ticket out of her handbag and presented it to the teller. He tore it in half, giving her back an uneven piece, and she made her way out into the gravel lot full of cars, carts, and trolleys to take those arriving on their way.
Phyllis squinted against the brilliant sunlight, bringing a hand over her brow to shield her eyes while she searched for any sign of Thomas or anyone who looked just as lost as she did. She started aimlessly weaving through the parked vehicles, her head turning with each cry or shout that reached her ears. But beyond staring up into the faces of each person that made up this expansive crowd, she didn't notice anything familiar.
She took in a deep breath, trying to remain calm. She reminded herself that she only just arrived and while he assured her getting away from the house wouldn't pose a problem, something may have changed. She wouldn't let herself worry just yet. Even if the thought of being stranded in a city she knew nothing about made her stomach clench.
The sounds all blended together. The whinnying of a couple of horses who were startled by the engines of motorcars that sputtered noisily to life. The cries of children, dissatisfied or agitated for various reason were soon dispelled by the gruff scolding from their parents. And the buzz of lowly chatter. That was what she focused on. The consistency of conversation unfolding while people stepped around her.
She wondered how odd she probably looked, standing motionless against the sea of people forced to part around her. She kept her head down, arms pressed inward at her sides, attempting to keep out of everyone's way.
As the crowd began to thin out, she noticed a particular cart led by a horse resting by a stone wall. A man in a long, dark coat and matching hat, leaned into the wall, causally smoking a cigarette. She noticed his face was clean shaven, but beyond that, the distance blurred any distinguishing features. Still, his demeanor reminded her of Thomas at eleven, smoking openly in the schoolyard, much to the teachers dismay. Part of her held onto the slight hope that perhaps it was him.
Once he finished his smoke, and she watched him toss it onto the ground, effectively crushing the butt of it with the toe of his shoe. Then his face turned in her direction, squinting as if he saw something recognizable in her. She stared back at him, and he tilted his head to the side. His mouth curled into a sly grin that brought Phyllis back several years to one of the times he flung mud at her dress after Sunday Mass, and he found it was amusing.
A sense of relief washed over her, and they both walked towards one another, meeting halfway between the wall and the station office.
"Well, well, well," Thomas sneered, his eyes traveling across her form as if sizing her up. "Phyllis Baxter."
Rolling back her shoulders, she returned neutrally. "Hello Thomas," Her jaw clenched as she tried to anticipate what might happen next.
"Never thought I'd see you again," He stated, reaching for the heavy suitcase that hung by her side.
"Well..." She handed over her bag to him and shrugged again, "...now you'll see a great deal of me."
"Assuming you get the job," He answered smartly, jerking his head in in the direction of the cart so she knew to follow him.
Bringing her hands together, she started picking at her leather gloves, focusing her attention forward. She wouldn't let him know that his comment rattled her, even if it did intensify her nerves.
You were once a ladies maid in a great house, you know how everything works. She remembered his words, thinking they were meant to be encouraging. How quickly he could manipulate them to mean something else entirely. This is the best and only offer you'll ever receive. I would think about it carefully before you so easily dismiss my terms. Besides, where do you get off being all high and mighty? You've fallen as far as anyone can. Your only way is up, and I can get you there.
"I expected you to back out, truth be told," He cast a glance over his shoulder at her, his eyes darkening with glee. "But it's good to know your moral compass still doesn't point at true north."
"I won't do anything illegal for you," She piped up suddenly, surprised to hear the bought of strength in her voice.
He scoffed in response, "Don't be daft. I didn't ask you here to do anything of the sort." He set her case in the back of the cart, and then turned to face her. Offering her his hand, he helped her up onto the front seat of the servant's cart, "It wouldn't be beneficial for me, for you to go back to prison."
The mention of the word itself sent a chill down her spine. But she kept a stony face while settling atop the cart. Even if it were beneficial for him to send her back to Holloway, she wouldn't do his bidding. She'd done all of that before for no real cause or purpose in the end.
She wouldn't sacrifice her freedom by making the same mistake twice. Even if he knew what made her weak, which pressure points to hit, she would never let him (or anyone for that matter) reduce her to nothing more than a common criminal ever again.
Thomas might be right about some things in regards to her character. He might yield some power over her. But if all went according to plan, she'd hold him to his word both written and spoken. He would help lift her back up in the world again. And he'd ensure that she wouldn't go back to prison. As long as she paid his asking price, she could stomach the measly deception and games he wanted her to play for his own amusement. She only hoped he wouldn't ask for too much.
When they arrived at Downton, Baxter was awestruck by the size of it all. It first appeared in the distance, on top of a hill that stretched across what she presumed to be nearly a thousand acres. A proper view of it was half obstructed by a variety of trees scattered along the many peaks and valleys in the landscape.
But she could still sense it was a grand home even then. It's enormity felt a bit overwhelming the closer the cart carried them. And while Thomas guided the horses around back, Phyllis felt insignificant in comparison, being cast in the shadow of such an enormous giant.
He instructed her to leave her things in the back of the cart, save for her handbag. They didn't want to appear too eager should it all go horribly wrong.
"Remember what I told you?" Thomas reminded under his breath while the entered through the back door. "The part about why you left The Benson's?"
She nodded, "I remember."
"Good," He waited for her to enter the servants hall before shutting the door behind them both. "Wait here," Thomas instructed plainly, "I'll fetch Mrs. Hughes."
She did as she was told. Yet part of her couldn't help but take a tentative step forward and glance at her new surroundings.
Phyllis was immediately met with the sounds of harsh scolding followed by the clanging of what sounded like metal pots, and then the hammering of wood hitting wood. She watched as people dressed all in black milled in between three open archways, carrying various objects for their own reasons.
It all seemed rather efficient. And Baxter found her lips curling up at the corners as memories from what felt like another lifetime ago came rushing back.
She heard a jingling of keys matched with a steady gait, and soon made eye contact with the woman she presumed to be Mrs. Hughes, Thomas trailing behind her.
"You must be, Ms. Baxter," She greeted cordially enough, her words tinged with a stronger accent than she anticipated. She studied Phyllis closely, waiting for her reply.
"Yes," Phyllis replied with a half smile.
"I'm Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper," She extended a hand for her to shake.
Placing her hand in Mrs. Hughes', Phyllis returned quietly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hughes."
She nodded in response, her face not aptly displaying any pleasantries or cruelties that Phyllis could pick up on.
"Why don't we have a seat in my sitting room?" She suggested, extending her hand towards the door that was half cracked open from just across the hall.
Baxter crossed the corridor, stepping inside. Mrs. Hughes followed, shutting the door behind her and leaving Thomas on the other side.
"I'd like to have a chat before you meet her Ladyship," She stated, gesturing for Baxter to sit down.
"Of course," Baxter complied.
"Would you like some tea?" She placed a hand on the floral teapot that rested on a tray between both chairs.
"If you're having some, then yes, please."
"Very good," Mrs. Hughes bobbed her head, and began pouring the tea in two tiny cups of a similar pattern to her pot. She paused, glancing up to ask, "Milk or sugar?"
"Milk please, no sugar."
She passed her the cup and saucer, and Baxter took a slow, careful sip of the warm drink. Mrs. Hughes then settled down in the chair opposite her, and did the same. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke up again.
"So you've known Mr. Barrow for quite some time?"
"We grew up together," Phyllis explained briefly.
"Oh," This peaked Mrs. Hughes' interest. A wry smile tugged at her mouth, "I bet you have some tales."
Baxter laughed quietly, lowering her gaze back into her teacup.
"He speaks very highly of your skills when you worked for a Mrs. Benton?" She wondered.
This forced Baxter to glance up at her again. She smiled and nodded, "I enjoyed working there very much. She was a good, kind woman, and the household was well respected."
There was a pause while Mrs. Hughes considered her words. Arching a brow, she probed curiously, "Then why leave?"
Baxter inhaled and then released a steady breath, "It was me mother. She fell ill and..." She glanced off to the side for dramatic effect, "...she needed looked after. My sister couldn't do it, so the task fell to me." Her eyes found Mrs. Hughes once more, and she could see the empathy etched in the other woman's visage.
"Oh, I am sorry to hear that."
The sincerity in her words, made Baxter feel a bit uneasy. She didn't like the dishonesty, even if it were only by omission as Thomas put it whenever they worked out the story. Her Mother did fall ill, and she was left to care for her, only she couldn't.
Thinking back on it all was too painful for her to face now. She didn't wish to come across as too familiar after only just meeting Mrs. Hughes. So Baxter blinked several times, and shook her head slightly as if to dust away the emotional cobwebs.
"That's how I ended up in the sewing house," She explained whenever the strength in her voice propelled her forward, "I had to work, still. And I couldn't stay on as a ladies maid, and care for my Mother."
"I see," Mrs. Hughes tilted her head to the side.
"But I...I didn't let it change me," Phyllis insisted proudly, not wanting Mrs. Hughes to get the wrong idea on the type of person she was. "I know those places are viewed as less than...well, respectable. But I...I never once did anything dishonorable while I worked..."
"You don't have to explain yourself, Ms. Baxter," She held up a hand, forcing Baxter to swallow her words. "The decision doesn't lie with me, but with Lady Grantham. She'll never know what you and I discussed. Unless of course, she asks you herself."
"Yes, of course," Baxter nodded, taking another sip of tea to steady herself. She didn't want to change Mrs. Hughes' mind about keeping their talk confidential, and risk anymore unnecessary words spilling out of her mouth.
"I just thought you should know that..." Mrs. Hughes began, pausing to consider what might be an appropriate method of finishing her thoughts, "...her Ladyship requires a dependable maid. One who can be trusted, and who is reliable. She's not been lucky enough to find one with either quality as of late. That's why you're here," She told her plainly.
"Under normal circumstances there would be a formal interview process," Mrs. Hughes continued with a heavy sigh, implying that this wasn't their usual way of doing things at Downton, and she didn't quite approve of this. "But as it is, her Ladyship trusts Mr. Barrow's judgment when it comes to members of this staff. So she's willing to give you a chance to prove yourself useful."
Baxter eyes widened out of surprise she wasn't quite sure she heard her correctly, "You mean...I...I have the job?"
"A trial period," Mrs. Hughes corrected. "That's all I can offer. The rest is up to you and her Ladyship."
Baxter inclined her head, and gushed excitedly, "Well I'm mighty grateful to at least have a chance to show my skills. It means a great deal to me, Mrs. Hughes."
"Well that's settled then," Mrs. Hughes placed her teacup down beside her, and then announced. "I'll go up, and see if her Ladyship's ready to meet you now."
"Thank you," She couldn't stop her mouth from curling into a pleased grin.
When Mrs. Hughes left her alone Ms. Baxter exhaled the lofty breath she'd been holding in, and leaned back more comfortably in the chair. For the first time in a long while, she felt at ease.