The question of "what if Baxley had children?" came up a few times in my asks, so I wrote it.
Something highly irregular was occurring. Perched on two chairs beside one another, in the male side of the servants' quarters, Mr Molesley and Mr Carson sat, waiting, in diverse states of agitation. They seemed to have been there for days.
What was more irregular still was the door which separated them from the female servants' rooms stood unlocked, slightly ajar. When the commotion had broken, it had been Mrs Carson who acted so quickly, and led Mrs Molesley upstairs to the room she'd inhabited when she was still Miss Baxter, which somehow stood immaculately ready.
All of a sudden, the door opened fully and Joseph got to his feet immediately, Mr Carson doing the same beside him. Isobel Crawley stood before him, wearing a white apron over her evening dress. Her hair was a little out of place, and she looked tired but apart from that nothing about her appearance indicated that anything was wrong. Still, he looked at her expectantly.
Her face broke into a smile.
"Congratulations, Mr Molesley," she told him, extendedly her hand a little to shake his, "A little girl."
He looked at her dumbfounded, barely able to believe it.
"A girl?" he asked, his voice trembling a little.
"Yes," she replied, the smile broadening on her face.
He could barely form his words properly, he was strangely overcome and simply let Mr Carson shake his hand now, barely registering it.
"And they're both alright?" he asked Mrs Crawley a moment later.
"Yes," she assured him, again, "Go in and see for yourself."
He preceded them both through the door and down the corridor to the room that had been Phyllis's. Mrs Carson stood by the chest of drawers, attending to the old bedlinen and towels. She turned towards the door, smiling herself as she saw him come in.
"Congratulations, Mr Molesley," she told him, making her way towards the door with the used linen.
His eyes settled on the bed in the middle of the room, and on Phyllis sitting up in bed and on the little bundle of white blanket in her arms. Mrs Carson must have helped her into a clean night gown and her hair was pulled gently away from her face.
"Oh, my love," he murmured, taking a step towards her, to them both, "Are you alright?"
"Just about," she replied, a touch ruefully, "At the moment I'm very glad it wasn't twins."
He smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"What have we got here, then?" he asked softly, leaning over a little to peer into the blanket, "Oh, Phyllis," he murmured softly, "She's gorgeous."
She was. A tuft of very dark hair was already visible atop her head. Her features were tiny beyond belief, immaculately formed, perfect beyond words. Her eyes were closed and she lay in a state of complete peacefulness. Phyllis stroked one of her fingers along the side of their daughter's cheek, caressing her softly so that she did not wake up.
"She is, isn't she?" she agreed quietly, "Would you like to hold her?"
He nodded, and, very carefully, she handed her over to him.
"Oh, Phyllis-…" he said again.
He could barely see the child now, his eyes were so full of tears. Her hand settled gently on his arm.
"I know," she replied simply, "I know."
"I love you so much," he murmured, looking down at the baby, "I love you both so much."
She watched him tenderly.
"I love you too," she replied.
They were quiet for a moment.
"Do you still like Maisy?" she asked him.
"What?" he asked her, having been absorbed in tracing the line of that perfect tiny face.
"As a name?" she asked him, "Masiy?"
"Yes," he replied, "But I thought you didn't?"
"It grew on me," she replied, "And I think it suits her."
"Yes, it does," he agreed.
"And maybe Elsie as a middle name," she suggested, because Mrs Carson was such a help.
"I think she'd like that," he told her.
She smiled.
"Good," she replied.
End.
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