This is my very first story ever, ever! Kudos to Julian Fellowes for sparking my creativity which, up until this point, was (and still is!) absolutely zilch! I'm not sure if I'll continue with this; it's something that tinkered away in the back of my mind. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea at the time. The story slightly changed from when I first thought of it, but I'm pretty chuffed with the outcome for my first attempt!
Please feel free to review if you have the time. I don't mind if it's critical. (Honest!) It's just a bit of fluff I thought I'd share. Hope you enjoy it!
P.S. I don't own any Downton characters, etc, etc. (But I wish I did!)
Lemon Drops
The morning train pulls to a stop at Downton Station. One by one the carriage doors open and people begin to file out in an orderly fashion. Some run to meet loved ones while others bow their heads and carry on, eager to begin their day.
As the crowds dither away, the very last carriage door opens and a spritely young woman steps out. She's a pretty little thing, about 20 or so with delicate blonde hair tucked under a modest hat; her enticing blue eyes shielded by her hand from the morning sun. She steps down from the train, hesitating for a moment; her light day dress on her slim frame billowing softly beneath her overcoat. Clutching her purse in one hand and a small suitcase in the other, she heads for the exit.
Suddenly, she's in the village of Downton. "It's very quaint," she speculates as she strolls past the post office and into the main square. All around her there is already the humming of people as the village comes to life. The baker is pulling a fresh batch of bread from the oven. The butcher is showing his young apprentice how to carve a perfect cut of meat. The florist is busy arranging her window display. Children are being shooed to school by their mothers with a kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of hair; their fathers waving as they meander to work.
She closes her eyes and smiles, a warm feeling enveloping her. She feels comfortable here. She could grow very used to Downton.
She stops at the corner of the lane and puts down her suitcase. She pulls a small paper bag from her coat pocket and pops a sherbet lemon drop into her mouth, before opening her purse. She takes out a piece of paper and reads it for the thousandth time. Looking up, she's not sure of which direction to take.
At that moment, the door of the pub opens and the proprietor steps out, clutching a set of chairs for an outside table. She picks up her suitcase and walks over to him. "Excuse me," she says in a soft English accent, "I'm looking for Downton Abbey. Would you please tell me if I am going in the right direction?"
"Of course, miss." The jolly man smiles down at her. "You certainly are going in the right direction. If you just carry on up that lane there," he points in the direction she was heading, "it will lead you straight to it. It's on the left. Big house, so you can't miss it!" he chuckles. She smiles and offers him a lemon drop which he gladly accepts. Nodding her thanks, she continues on her way.
Standing at the gate, she's awestruck at the magnificent building in front of her. He wasn't kidding when he said she couldn't miss it. It certainly is beautiful. She quickly looks back to see if anyone is around and takes a deep breath before walking up the driveway. She notices the gardeners tending to the lawns as she walks. She hears birds chirping in the trees surrounding the grounds. As she nears the house, she's sure she hears someone screeching a name that sounds like Daisy.
She stands for a moment at the front door, contemplating what she's about to do. Any doubts she has, she shakes off with a shrug of her shoulders. She doesn't have any choice. She needs to do this. "Now or never," she whispers inwardly. Taking another deep breath, she rings the doorbell.
She waits patiently for someone to answer. When the door opens, a tall, aging man stands before her. He ruffles his brow at her with curiosity. "Good morning," he says in a rather booming voice that catches her by surprise, "how may I help you?"
She gulps to regain her composure. "Good morning," she smiles, showing perfect white teeth. "I am very sorry to bother you so early, but I was wondering if it would be possible to speak to Lord Grantham?"
The gentleman shifts slightly, clearly miffed as to why this young woman would want to speak with His Lordship. "Do you have an appointment?"
"N-no," she stammers, "but it is very important that I speak with him. I'm only in town for today and won't take up much of him time," she promises.
The gentleman stares at her for a moment. He registers the suitcase in her hand, unsure of what to say next. She notices this. She stares back at him, the pleading in her eyes all too obvious.
"Very well," he says finally. "Follow me." She murmurs a silent prayer and follows him inside.
"May I?" he asks her, pointing at her suitcase.
"Oh, yes, thank you." She hands it to him gratefully, relieved to be rid of its weight. She steps forward, her jaw dropping in astonishment at the sight of the great hall. "Incredible," she breathes.
"In here," the gentleman calls, standing in a doorway. She follows his voice, eyes not leaving her astonishing surroundings.
He leads her into what she believes is the library. She has never seen so many books in one room. "Please, make yourself comfortable." The gentleman's voice cuts through her thoughts, indicating her to sit down.
"Thank you," she replies, politely sitting in a chair opposite from where he is standing.
"I'll just fetch His Lordship," he explains. "Who may I say is calling?"
"Amie. Amie Brown," she clasps her hands demurely on her lap, "on village hall business." She noticed a sign regarding the hall outside the post office on her arrival and kept it fresh in her mind.
"Very well, I shan't be long," he declares, heading for the door.
"Thank you, Mr..." she pauses.
"Carson," he interjects, "I am Mr. Carson, the butler here at Downton Abbey." He gives her a polite nod.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she beams as he leaves the room.
A few moments later, Mr. Carson returns, followed by Lord Grantham. She rises to meet them both.
"Miss. Amie Brown for you, m'Lord," Mr. Carson introduces her as Lord Grantham moves forward to greet her.
"Delighted to meet you, Miss. Brown," he grins. "Welcome to Downton."
She takes his hand and lightly shakes it. "The pleasure is all mine, Your Lordship. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me at such short notice", she chirps," And your home is beautiful," she adds, marvelling at the room.
"Not at all, dear, not at all," he waves his hand nonchalantly. "Are you new to Downton? I do not recall seeing you in the village before."
"Yes," she replies, "I've just arrived on the morning train from London."
"Goodness, you must be famished! Carson..." Lord Grantham turns and calls the butler who stands to attention. "Please bring up a breakfast tray for Miss. Brown, welcome her to Downton properly." He winks at the butler who responds by nodding his head and making his departure.
"Now, then," he signals her to sit on the sofa with him. "Carson tells me you are involved with the rejuvenation of our village hall. I do wonder what attracted you to our humble town, you being a London girl and all. But I'm always keen to hear new concepts from a fresh pair of eyes. Keeps things interesting around here, I think," he remarks with vigour. "So, what are your ideas?"
She stares at him momentarily without saying anything. "Well, I..." she begins. He sits patiently, awaiting the explanation of her visit. She's thinking of something to say but her mind is blank. Nerves engulfing her, she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
She can't do this. She knows she must, but she can't. It's wrong, it's all wrong.
Her hands begin to sweat beneath her gloves. Her fingers are wringing the handle of her purse. She looks around her, regretting coming to Downton, to this house. She's feeling faint. She has to get out of here.
Lord Grantham is staring at her, concern etched all over his face. "Miss. Brown, are you alright?" He places a hand on her arm but she doesn't feel it. Her mind is a whirlpool of thoughts but none of them make any sense.
She stands up, stumbling a little, looking for a way out. "I-I-I'm sorry," she stammers. "I shouldn't have come here."
She races for a door, any door, panic rising in her chest. He chases after her. Grabbing her arm, she tries to pull away from him. But he gently turns her to face him, holding the edge of her shoulders. "What on earth is the matter, child?" He can feel her shaking beneath his grasp. "Please tell me. If you don't mind my saying, your face has gone a ghostly shade of white."
She stares into the eyes of this man she doesn't even know. A man she met mere minutes ago who is offering her nothing but kindness. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she manages.
Lord Grantham looks at her, completely speechless. "Sorry for what, my dear? You haven't done anything wrong."
She clutches her hands to her chest. "Oh, but I have," she sobs as she rocks herself. Lord Grantham is searching her face, eager for some sort of answer to the girl's heartache. But all he can do is hold onto her in fear of her collapsing.
"I'm not Amie Brown," she continues. Her eyes are wide with fear. "I'm not here about the village hall. I- I'm not even English."
She brings her hands to her face and shakes her head. She doesn't know what to say anymore. She can't make it sound any better.
Lord Grantham stares at her in disbelief, his hands keeping a firm but protective grip of her. "I don't understand," he whispers. "Who are you?"
She drops her hands and stares at him, his worry and compassion for her all too clear to see.
Can she trust this man? Can she tell him her secret? Can he help her?
"Now or never."
She closes her eyes one more time before inhaling deeply.
"My name is Amelia." Her voice changes to a distinctive Irish accent. "John Bates is my father."