There is a ghost at Downton Abbey, prowling the long gallery and Lady Grantham's rooms, dwelling in the servants' hall and casting a permanent shadow on Cora Crawley... and Phyllis Baxter. The lady's maid's first encounter with the spirit that haunts her Ladyship takes place on a rainy night just a few weeks after her arrival at Downton...
Lady Grantham is not her usual self tonight. Phyllis can tell as much as soon as she lays eyes on her. When she comes in, she finds the countess seated at her dressing table, like she often is while waiting for her, and she is immediately alerted by the slump of her shoulders, the hands tightly knotted in her lap and most of all the way her eyes peer into the mirror unseeingly.
Her Ladyship didn't move at all when Phyllis let herself in. Maybe she didn't hear the small clicking of the door opening. After all, Phyllis is discreet, even by a servant's standards – always has been and always will be. However, the countess has rung, so Phyllis still can't understand her reaction when she softly calls out to her.
"You rang, M'lady?"
She didn't mean to startle Lady Grantham, but she can't miss the way her whole body tenses upon hearing her voice. The countess slowly turns around to face her and for a second, Phyllis feels as though she hasn't really snapped out of her sad reverie, as though the dreamy blue eyes that are fixed at her aren't really seeing her, as though Lady Grantham is looking through her – no, past her – at something else entirely. But there is nothing else to look at. Then the moment is gone and Lady Grantham graces her with a tiny, weary smile.
"Yes, Baxter. I did. I'd like to go to bed now."
Phyllis doesn't even attempt to make small talk as she sets to work on the lady's hair. Truly, she has never been that talkative to start with, but there is something about Lady Grantham tonight that leaves her utterly tongue-tied. She doesn't ask what is wrong. Perhaps some other maid would in her position, but she senses instinctively that she would be doing something inappropriate. Although she has been called up, she already feels as though she is intruding somehow. There is something intimate about her Ladyship's melancholy. And ever since she came into her service, Lady Grantham has been unfailingly polite to Phyllis, but she certainly has never been intimate.
Phyllis has noticed it all too well, since it makes her 'mission' so much more difficult and Thomas so angry. Lady Grantham does not confide in her, and maybe it is for the best. After all, Phyllis can't betray secrets she knows nothing about.
She can't say however that she is unsympathetic. She may barely know Cora Crawley and be unaware of the reason of her grief – and wish it to remain so – but she is no monster. No matter what Thomas expects of her. Moreover, it is also part of a lady's maid's duties to be available to her mistress should she need an outlet of sorts. So Phyllis does try, knowing that what she can't say with words, she can still convey through subtle, appropriate gestures. It is proper and it is safe and it helps soothe her guilty conscience a bit.
Although she can hardly wait to get out of here, Phyllis lets her fingers linger slightly longer than usual at the lady's scalp, takes extra care when combing the raven locks and smoothes imaginary creases in the nightdress at her Ladyship's upper back.
The whole time the countess doesn't speak to her, doesn't even look at her, actually. Phyllis is unsettled, unable to shake off the impression that she has done something wrong, but thankfully she sees no trace of anger on Lady Grantham's face when she glances at her reflection. And her ministrations do seem to have a positive effect on her, however small. The lady's mind may be deep in grim thoughts, but by the time Phyllis is done, after a last tentative squeeze of her shoulder, her body has noticeably relaxed. Lady Grantham heaves a small sigh.
"Thank you, O'Brien," she says.
Phyllis is taken aback.
"M'lady?"
The countess has frozen and, for a split second, looks far more confused than even Phyllis, her eyes staring at her maid in the mirror as if she were seeing her for the first time. Then her hand swiftly comes up to her mouth at the same time as her cheeks unexpectedly redden.
"I-I'm very sorry! I don't know what came over me."
It feels really strange, hearing the Countess of Grantham stammer like a child, apologizing to her like she is actually an equal and not a mere servant.
"It's quite alright, Milady," she reassures her.
Tactfully, Phyllis walks to the bed, folding back the covers so that Lady Grantham will be able to slip in effortlessly. When his Lordship comes in to join her mere seconds later and Phyllis takes her leave, the slight frown on her Ladyship's face still hasn't disappeared.
On her way back downstairs, Phyllis replays in her head what has just happened. She can understand that the name of a lady's maid who had been serving Lady Grantham for nigh on twenty years might have escaped her out of habit. What puzzles her, however, is the way the name was spoken. The American's sweet voice, even sweeter than it normally would be – is such a thing even possible? – dancing on the words like a lover's caress. Her tone. A tone she can't remember hearing her use before. The blush on her pale cheeks. It was Phyllis attempting to comfort the countess, but somehow it seems that her mysterious predecessor was the one to reap the benefits. The thought has her wondering about the strong connection between her employer and her former maid – there must have been one for the lady of the house to remember her so fondly. And so, during her first month at Downton Abbey, Phyllis Baxter begins to suspect that Miss O'Brien's shoes will prove difficult to fill...
