A/N: I do not own any of the characters of Downton Abbey. Thank you to StuckInThePast for checking my mistakes, any that remain are purely my own fault and for that I apologise. I hope you enjoy this story, I confess I'm not totally sure how it will all turn out although I do have a basic idea! :D

Mind Games – Chapter 1

The train rolls through the hills, steam billowing from the funnel in clouds of grey and black smoke as it makes its way at speed towards its final destination. On board the 11.33 train from London Kings Cross sits what one could only describe as a truly elegant woman, travelling alone (strange!) and carrying a rather elegant case.

She sits by the window in first class, clutching at her handbag with her hands clasped demurely in her lap. She wears a truly exquisite fur coat that fits perfectly around her slender elegant frame. Her hands are covered by the finest Spanish leather gloves and her silky black hair is crowned with a beautiful hat that oozes money and finery.

Her perfect flawless skin is enhanced by a dash of rose blush to her cheeks that suggests she is a woman of high fashion, a woman educated in the art of feminine decoration. Not many years ago, such attire would have suggested a woman of ill-repute, but not in these modern times. She removes an elegantly designed silver mirror from her bag and checks her reflection. She pulls out an ornate lipstick and applies a swift sweep of deep red colour across her full lips, admiring herself as she does. Oh yes, everything about this woman speaks of money, elegance, wealth and power.

The man sitting opposite her in the carriage keeps looking up from behind his newspaper to admire her. She is aware, and smiles to herself inwardly; he's attractive, in a devil-may-care way, but she has to restrain herself, no time for that today!

Opening her bag once more, she removes a neatly folded letter and opens it out, admiring the crest and beautiful sweeping handwriting. Reading it through for what seems like the hundredth time she smiles and carefully returns it into her bag. She turns her attention to the rolling countryside and settles into a reverie.

"Eliza!" Madame De Villiere calls, "Fetch me the emerald necklace with the matching earrings!"

"Of course Madame De Villiere" Eliza's voice echoes back through the dressing room. Entering the room, she smiles at the older woman sitting before her dressing table admiring her reflection. Approaching her, she carefully places the necklace around the lady's wrinkled neck. In her youth Mariah De Villiere had been stunningly beautiful, but age and drink have ravaged her once enchanting looks. Attaching the earrings, Mariah rises to her feet with a subtle wobble caused by a swift drink of whiskey. She faces her lady's maid, Eliza Davies, and smiles, showing brown teeth and thin lips dripping with too much red lipstick.

"Thank you Eliza, I shall call for you later. Once Mr De Villiere has eaten and drunk his brandy he shall no doubt want his bed. I shall hopefully get an early night," Mariah says as she staggers towards the door.

"Of course Mrs De Villiere." Eliza replies, her voicepure subservience. She gives a sly smile as the door closes behind her employer as she knows that Mrs De Villiere will not be the only one calling for her later that evening. For it has become habit within the De Villiere house for Eliza to serve not only the wife but also her husband, offering him regular relief before he falls into a drunken sleep.

Turning back to the dressing table, Eliza eyes up the small pot of rouge laid out on the table. She picks it up and pockets it, it's not stealing Eliza reasons, the woman has many of these pots and she won't miss one. Besides, servicing her husband every night on a lady's maid's salary is hardly fair payment now is it?

The memory changes suddenly….

Mr De Villiere is above her, drunkenly heaving away, whiskey-riddled breath blowing across her face, but Eliza lies still and tries to look as though she is enjoying herself. This is far from enjoyment, this is torture, but she'll make it worth her while in the end.

A scream rings out through the house,

"Monsieur! Monsieur!" The maid's voice rings out along the corridor.

"What the?" In a flash he is off her, pulling his gown around him and rushing to the door. Eliza flees the bed and scurries towards his dressing room to remain hidden.

"Monsieur! Venez vite! C'est la maîtresse! It is Madame De Villiere!" The maid cries as she arrives in the doorway, "Elle est morte! She is dead!"

In the dressing room, Eliza smiles. Suddenly her fortunes have changed, the plan is coming together.

The train slows as it reaches the station, and the woman gathers her belongings together. In a billow of steam the carriage doors are opened and she steps down onto the platform. Downton station is nothing out of the ordinary, and she pays it little attention as she makes her way towards the exit. The letter explained that the chauffeur would be waiting and sure enough, parked outside the station is a fine-looking vehicle with a young man leaning casually against the bonnet.

She drops her bags to the floor and clicks her fingers at him to gain his attention.

"I say, excuse me!" She calls in a crisp, clear voice. "Are you Lady Grantham's chauffeur?"

The young man stands up quickly and his jaw drops open in disbelief, "I'm picking up a lady's maid for the Dowager Countess of Grantham to interview," he replies in a thick Irish accent.

The woman raises a thin and finely shaped eyebrow, "Yes I know, I am the lady's maid in question!" she answers impatiently.

The man's eyes bulge and he glances up and down at her fine appearance. "You're….you're the lady's maid?"

She sighs in annoyance, "That is what I said! Are you deaf, boy?"

The chauffeur raises his eyebrows in offence and replies, "No need to be like that! If you don't mind me sayin' you look a little finely dressed for a lady's maid!"

She bristles slightly and smoothes out her perfect coat, "I've been trained in Paris, and the first thing a good lady's maid is taught is that one should always mimic the finery and elegance of the lady she serves."

The chauffeur looks bemused but offers no further comment, "Well hop in and I'll take yers up there!"

She coughs politely and glances at her bags before elegantly entering the car. The chauffeur sighs and picks up her bags and stows them less than elegantly on the back shelf. He gives a shake of his head as he gets into the driving seat and wonders what her Ladyshipwill make of this one.

She gazes out of the window as the car moves through the village towards the Dower House; it seems pretty and quaint, quite different from Paris, but then change is always good, keeps the soul active – or so they say.

Finally they arrive and the chauffeur calls out, "Here we are, the Dower House!" She waits for him to open the door and once again clicks to him and points to her bags. He doesn't hide the roll of his eyes and as he unloads them he speaks to her.

"If yers don't mind me sayin' yer've brought an awful lot of stuff for an interview!"

She smiles and smoothes out her coat, slightly adjusts the perfect hat and flashes him a dazzling smile, "Oh, I won't be leaving, I'm sure of that!"

The chauffeur raises his eyebrows at her confidence and lets out a low whistle. He scratches his head beneath his hat before holding out his hand. "Well I'm Branson, Lord Grantham's chauffeur. I live and work mainly up at the big house, Downton Abbey like but I occasionally take old Lady Grantham out. So what's yer name?"

She listens to his rambling with slight annoyance, she partly wants to say "Shhh!" to him but realises it might not be wise to annoy the staff right away. Instead she smiles sweetly, takes his hand and replies, "Jane, Jane Green."

"Well good luck Miss Green." Branson replies out of politeness.

"Oh, I don't need luck!" Jane smiles before turning and walking towards the door of the Dower House, where a man (probably the butler) is waiting.

Branson looks at the bags on the floor, sighs, and carries them behind her. He can't help but wonder that something is very wrong with all of this but then Jane Green seemed to have one of those personalities. You cannot deny her anything.

The Dowager Countess sits opposite Jane Green and eyes her with a mixture of suspicion and delight. Quite unlike the previous dowdy applicants, Jane Green is vibrant and elegant. When questioned about her attire, Jane Green demurely smiles and replies smoothly,

"Oh, when I was training in Paris I was taught that a lady's maid should always dress in a manner which represented the lady she serves. Just because she is a servant does not mean she should not make an effort with her own appearance. All the lady's maids in Paris are dressed like this. It costs a fortune, and takes a lot of saving, but it is worth it."

Lady Grantham considers this for a moment, eyeing up the young woman before saying, "Well…I suppose that does sound like a good idea. I often find myself cringing at the way some servants appear; they have no standards at all."

Jane Green nods in affected agreement, "Oh, I completely agree, young people today have no standards at all."

The Dowager Countess looks back down at the application form before peering back up at Jane, "So you've been working for the De Bonne family have you?"

"Yes that's right." Jane lies beautifully, but what does it matter? She has references and this doddery old lady is hardly likely to check up on her now is she?

"And you left because?" Lady Grantham peers at her over thin wire glasses.

It is a dark Parisian night and the car races through the wet streets. She sits on the back seat, dressed in fine clothes and dripping with jewels. Arnaud De Villiere is at her side, his big, fat hand sliding up and down her thigh as he leers drunkenly at her. Just another night as his mistress, this has been the norm since Mariah's suspicious death. A footman was blamed and hanged for her death; it seemed he had poisoned her with an overdose of chloral. He had been found with the bottle on his person but people did question where had a young footman got hold of chloral and why did he want her dead? He gained nothing and lost his life for it. Very strange, they mused, but he was found with it, so clearly guilty! She had even given evidence against the boy; she'd seen him holding a suspicious bottle on the night in question, or so she said, but then when your own safety is in jeopardy you'd say anything…

Jane pauses briefly, allowing the memory to disperse before replying smoothly, "Well m'lady, it seemed to me that France was quickly becoming a dangerous place to live, especially for an English woman like myself. We were worrying that a war was on the way, so I thought I should leave, return to my homeland as soon as possible. It seemed the most sensible thing to do."

Lady Grantham nods in agreement, "Quite right, a woman should not be alone in such a place, amongst foreigners! No, you made a very sensible decision my dear. Best to remain where it is safe, and there is nowhere safer than England."

"My thoughts exactly!" Jane purrs, "So when I saw your advertisement I applied. I hope you got my references?"

Once again the Dowager Countess studies the application and the two references she had been sent, both full of high praise for this fashionable lady's maid. "Yes, Lady De Bonne and Lady Carter sent exemplary references."

Jane smiles demurely and offers a silent thanks to Mme Elodie, the local whorehouse owner in a suburb of Paris, who could write fluently in English and change her handwriting enough to produce some excellent but completely made up references.

"I learnt all I know from those fine ladies, I was trained to the highest standard and know all the latest fashions. I still have friends within Paris who have promised to send me all the latest advancements….should I be fortunate as to get this post." Jane explains, smiling at her use of 'friends', thieving whores more like! And 'fine ladies?' She learnt everything and more from Mme Elodie!

The Dowager Countess looks suitably impressed. "Well you'll live here with me of course, I do occasionally spend the night at my son's home, Downtonbut very rarely, I prefer to return here on a night. I expect you to come whenever I call and I expect you to be prompt and polite. I run a tight house here Miss Green and you'll be expected to slip in without any problems."

"You can rely upon me m'lady! I am the model employee and incredibly discreet." Jane responds, excitement building.

"Hmmm. Well discreet with things regarding me, yes. Anything else you may hear with regards to anyone else, then please no need for discretion with me!" Lady Grantham muses with a sly smile.

Jane returns the smile, "But of course m'lady!"

Lady Grantham rises and Jane follows, "Well, welcome to your new home! I'm exceedingly pleased to have you as my lady's maid!"

"The honour is all mine!" Jane bobs a curtsey and fizzes inside with delight. Once again she has succeeded and this house, well this seems like the perfect place. The son is perhaps a slight annoyance, but hopefully he'll be too busy Lording it to worry about his mother. No, Jane believes that this is perfection!

Later that night, she stands in her little bedroom and admires the space that is now hers. Smaller than what she has been used to in Paris (especially when she was living in Lady De Villiere's bedroom for all those months!) this is still better than anything else she has had in life. She admires the many bottles lining her small dressing table. She sighs happily at the sight of all the dresses hanging perfectly in the small wardrobe and slowly walks towards the mirror on the chest of drawers. As she admires her reflection, another memory floods back.

"S'arrêter cette femme! Stop that woman!"

She races along the street, the bags cutting her hands, her feet screaming in the heels but she won't stop, not until she is safe.

"Voleur! Voleur! THIEF!"

The voices are getting closer but still she runs, hair tumbling down and breath coming hard. She rounds the corner and races down the narrow cobbled street, adrenaline pumping as she nears her destination. Banging on the door it eventually opens and she tumbles inside.

"Jesus! You took your bloody time!" she pants.

"Mon Cherie! Where's the fun if it isn't close? Welcome back you filthy slut!" The woman in front of her laughs as she drops the bags and kicks off her shoes.

"Less of the filthy Elodie!" She laughs as relief floods every vein.

"So then, what's next?" Mme Elodie asks, lighting a cigarette.

"I'll wait here a bit and then as soon as I can, I'll get passage to England." She replies.

Mme Elodie shakes her head, "Always on the run!"

She grins, "Isn't that the best way?"

Mme Elodie laughs, "Of course!"

The memory ends and Jane looks once more at her image in the mirror. Surrounded by all these fine things, beautiful and ornate things, one could almost believe her to be a lady of aristocracy. But Jane Green is anything but that. Jane Green isn't even her name. In the past she has had many names, Eliza Davies, Jane Green, Mary Mitchell and Hannah King to name a few. Not one of those names is really hers; in fact nothing about her is real. She owns nothing; it's all stolen, taken from rich women and their drunken husbands. Lady of the night, whore, slut, thief, devil…call her any of these for they're all true but the name which rings out the most truth about this woman is simple.

Vera Bates.

Tonight, though, she is unknowingly sleeping within the same village as her husband.