August 1919

Downton, Yorkshire

Today was Beryl Patmore's day off, and she had a list of tasks to do. First off was to take care of matters related to Daisy's widow's pension. The stubborn girl refused to do anything about it, still went on and on about "being dishonest." At the same time however, she felt sad for poor Daisy. Beryl still believed that had William lived, William and Daisy would make a go of it. It was sad how such a tender-hearted lad had to die—and as for his widow—she seemed to have grown old overnight, even if appearances do deceive. Beryl momentarily shook her head to clear away sad thoughts; they only distracted one from accomplishing her tasks. She also decided that after going to the post office, she would take a bus to Easingwold to see her sister Kate, who was still cut up after the death of poor Archie.

At the post office, Beryl read the letter again. Yesterday, the War Office had written to Daisy, telling her that they had been informed that prior to his death, William Mason was wed to Daisy Robinson—and would his widow or her representative go to the nearest post office to apply for a pension claim? Daisy, she remembered, just read it, and afterwards, put the letter back into the envelope. Everybody who was there in the servants' hall thought Daisy was crazy not to take it, and the girl stormed off again.

Anna Bates shook her head. "Just give her time," she reminded Beryl.

"We've given her enough time, as it is, Anna." Beryl replied, and shook her head sadly.

"She's still devastated by his death, a year on?" Anna asked her. Beryl sighed. "I s'pose I could tell you everything now," she said.

"What do you mean?" Anna was curious. She wasn't given to gossip, but lately, she had trouble understanding the kitchen maid. Some days, Daisy was nice, other days she was cross as a wounded cat. But then again, that was a widow for you. And at such a young age, when she was supposed to be with young William at his father's farm, having his children, but instead, Daisy was a widow who refused to claim her fallen husband's pension. Poor Daisy, Anna thought.

"Y'see, when William visited Downton before he went to war, he had asked Daisy to marry him. Daisy was fond of William, but not enough to marry him. I told her that if she doesn't go along with it, we'd never see him again. So, she agreed to marry him—after the war. William was willing to wait then—I s'pose it sort of gave him something to keep his spirits up. But we all know what happened in the end, didn't we?"

Anna nodded, prompting the cook to go on. "But I do b'lieve Daisy loves him, she just didn't know it," Beryl Patmore continued. "For one thing, Daisy wouldn't be upset when William went missing with Mr. Crawley."

"And as you said the day after William died, that Daisy seemed to freeze up one day—the day he was injured." Anna reflected.

"Precisely," Beryl said. "These are signs."

"Daisy will come round, someday." Anna assured her.

"I hope she does. Otherwise, I'll shove the checks on to her."

"Ma'am?" Jimmy Salter, the postmaster's son called Beryl Patmore back into the present. He recognised the rubicund, fiery-haired lady as Beryl Patmore, Lord Grantham's cook. Jimmy wondered why was she in the post office, waiting in line for those claiming their widow's pension. Probably she had a nephew who had left a widow, and the widow was unable to go herself.

"I'm representing Mrs. William Mason," Beryl said, lifting her chin at the boy, who was stunned. He knew William Mason, the strapping farmer's son who lived near Malton. Mason worked for the Earl as the second footman, a remarkably nice fellow. Jimmy was astonished to learn that Willy Mason didn't live through the war. And he left a widow, too, and it was funny how he never heard of it. But then again, things like weddings hardly mattered in a time of war—or did they?

"William Mason's dead?" repeated Jimmy. He still found it hard to believe.

"Why would I be here if he were living?" Beryl Patmore retorted.

"Sorry ma'am, I just find it so hard to believe," Jimmy apologised. Beryl nodded sadly, acknowledging his apology. It still made her sad to think about William. Then again, all the servants felt the same about their fallen fellow-servant. "Here's the form, Mrs. P." Jimmy gave Beryl a form, which she filled up, using a new pencil from a cup, which contained other freshly sharpened pencils.

Beryl filled the form up, supplying information which she knew by heart. But the second to the last question was a facer. How is she related to Daisy Mason? That's a question. She didn't legally adopt Daisy, so she couldn't stand in as Daisy's mother. Ah, I've figured something out, she thought. Beryl decided on Guardian. Finally, she gave the form to Jimmy Salter. Jimmy was lucky, Beryl thought. He came back alive, with a wife to boot. A French girl, Frances Salter, Jimmy's mother told Beryl once.

"Life after the war is sad ain't it?" asked Jimmy. "People who lived through it never came back the same way as they went." He himself felt lucky—no, grateful to be alive. He may have returned with a wooden foot, but he was still alive. And he found himself a lovely wife, Genevieve, who served as a volunteer cook during the war.

"Yes, it's sad, isn't it?" Beryl was in concurrence with young Salter, who was carefully examining the form, to see if Beryl had missed anything, which she hadn't.

"So Willy married Daisy Robinson," mused Jimmy. "I was in the same Sunday School class as they were. Daisy's a shy girl, but she's quite pretty, in a way. An' she's a nice girl, when you talk to her. Poor girl. Did they have children?" he asked Beryl. She shook her head. "I'm afraid it was more a deathbed wedding. The Dowager Countess was there too."

Jimmy blinked. Willy Mason must have been that well-loved by his former employer's family, to even have the Dowager Countess at his wedding. Old Lady Grantham was a hard nut to crack, people say, but Jimmy found it quite heartening to hear that a fallen comrade commandeered such respect, especially from his former employers. Little did Jimmy Salter know that that old Lady Grantham tried very hard to save William Mason from conscription, and failed. Violet Crawley felt that the only thing left for her to do was to engineer the former second footman's wedding to his sweetheart, the kitchen maid Daisy Robinson. And she succeeded. How, the servants never knew.

"So when do we hear from the government?" asked Beryl rather pertly.

"The pension won't come in two months after application, Mrs. P. But it'll be safe to say that Daisy's going to have money by Christmas." Jimmy assured Beryl.

Just where was that letter? Daisy Mason frantically thought. She had searched every part of the Servants' Hall, and even Mrs. Patmore's work table, where she kept things like receipts, letters and bills. If only I had put the letter inside my apron pocket instead! Daisy sighed. It was really stupid of her to just leave the letter lying on the table at the servants' hall. Daisy went back to the Servants' Hall for another look, when Sarah O' Brien, Lady Grantham's lady's maid entered the hall.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked.

"Looking for a letter," Daisy said, as quickly as she could. She couldn't stand to hear Miss O' Brien asking her another slew of questions. "A letter? Who'd write to you?" Sarah asked, putting her sewing things on the table. A hook was loose on Lady Grantham's dress, and Sarah wanted to mend it as soon as possible.

"His Majesty's government. The War Office," Daisy replied.

"What about?" Sarah persisted.

"Nothing that would interest you," Daisy said shortly. She went back to the kitchen because she still had a lot of things to do; there were apples to be cored, eggs to beat, and raisins to seed. Then the parsley needed chopping, and she still had to go and run to the gardens to get some rosemary. Daisy had to do all these things if she didn't want Mrs. Patmore's dismayed shrieks ringing in her ears until she went to bed. But Daisy was able to accomplish all that with the help of the other kitchen maid, Janet. She was even able to stuff the chickens with rosemary, then rubbed butter and lemon juice and salt on the chicken skin, and do the same with the potatoes. Janet was in charge of the cabbage, and Daisy was waiting for her so she could vinegar and nutmeg in it, with a bit of salt and sugar. While waiting, Daisy beat the egg whites, the cream of tartar and sugar. And there was the custard to take care of. She took deep breaths, tried to forget about the missing letter and focused on the work ahead of her. Mrs. Patmore would be back in a few hours' time.

Janet had already laid out the table in the Servants' Hall for supper, so it was up to Daisy to see to their dinner. Irish stew and mashed potatoes, she thought, plus there's semolina for pudding. Daisy finally took out the soft meringue from the oven, and took out the custard. She felt that there was a sound of footsteps entering into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was Thomas Barrow.

"I know where the letter is," Thomas drawled.

"Oh?" Daisy looked up warily.

"It's with Mrs. Patmore." Again, that silky drawl that Daisy had come to detest over the past four years drifted into her ears.

"What would she do with it?" Daisy was suspicious. "She knows plain as day that I don't to do anything about William's pension."

"I wouldn't know," said Thomas. "Don't be so daft, Daisy. Take the money, your husband would want you to be taken care of."

That had given Daisy food for thought. But she still felt she couldn't take it. She didn't love William the way he loved her. It would be false. She couldn't do that. She was fond of William—he was her best friend, but when it came down to it, would she have married him under normal circumstances, had his children? She didn't bloody know. Then again, she knew her own views of love and affection were suspect, since she hadn't known love. Daisy knew Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes cared for her, but that was all. Little did Daisy know that Mrs. Patmore loved her like she was her own daughter.

Oh, and William of course. Ah, love can be so bloody confusing.

Daisy went back to the meringue and custard roll. She had set it on the long platter Thomas had set on the kitchen table, and she tucked it safely on the cold larder so it would stay cold until dinner time. The roll would be for the upstairs dinner. Daisy now placed the chickens and potatoes into the oven, and there was the gravy to make. There was the broth of course, and flour, and salt. Daisy was stirring the gravy in the saucepan when Mrs. Patmore arrived.

"All ready for dinner, I see," Mrs. Patmore said in greeting.

"Yes Mrs. Patmore," Daisy said, in deep concentration over the gravy. She finally succeeded in getting it smooth. She removed the saucepan from the stove, and ladled the gravy into the gravy boat. "Janet's got the cabbage done, Mrs. Patmore. And the chicken and potatoes are in the oven. The dinner rolls are in the server. They'll keep warm."

"Good, then. Let me get changed in a bit, and I'll see to the chickens." Beryl Patmore said as she surveyed the two kitchen maids' work. Daisy, Beryl marvelled, did an amazing job of taking charge in her absence. A little more training and Daisy should be up for a promotion. As assistant cook, maybe—yes, that would be it. She should speak to Mrs. Hughes about it so she could tell her ladyship.

The dinner upstairs and in the servants' hall being over, Daisy finally got the nerve to ask Mrs. Patmore about the letter.

"I...left it in the servants' hall table. I...I shouldn't have. But I need to find it." Daisy stuttered.

"Well, well. Have you decided yet?" Mrs. Patmore demanded.

"N-not exactly. But...but I've been thinking of seeing Mr. Mason and ask if he thinks I should have it."

"Why shouldn't you? You're William's widow." Mrs. Patmore asked Daisy.

"I don't think it's right—you know—William." Daisy said.

"Of course you silly monkey. He would want you to have it. Wasn't that one of the reasons why he married you?"

"But—but..."

Beryl Patmore's patience seemed to have worn thin. "But what, Daisy? All right. I'll tell you. The letter's wi' me. I applied for the pension on your behalf since you're so stubborn and someone has to take action."

"You didn't!" Daisy was flabbergasted.

"Yes I have. About time, I must say." Beryl retorted.

"I need time to think about it!" Daisy wailed.

"Time! Time, you say!" Beryl thumped her fist loudly on the table that everybody in the servants' hall looked at both Daisy and Mrs. Patmore. "You haven't got all the time in the world, Daisy. You will either take the money, or let Lloyd George take it for his use. But the money's yours by right. William wanted you to be taken care of and that's that. If you've any respect for your husband's memory, that's what you're supposed to do."

Something stirred within Daisy, that Beryl Patmore got the reaction she didn't expect. "That's the problem with you lot! All of you think that I'm too young to make my own mind. Maybe I can't decide for the pension—but with other things. I—I'm not sixteen anymore! Go ahead, push me around some more!" Then Daisy burst into tears. Why was everyone telling her to do this and to do that? If she had any respect for her husband's memory, she wouldn't touch the pension. Other widows in her shoes would have taken it, and to hell with William's memory. But she couldn't. It was unfair to William.

Suddenly, Mrs. Hughes was on their side of the table. "May I know what's going on?" she asked in a calm, rather ominous voice.

"Daisy—" Beryl began.

"In my sitting room, Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. Some things are best discussed in private."