Disclaimer: This is a completely nonsensical story that grew out of a late-night conversation and should not be taken seriously at all.
I only wish I could draw so it could be illustrated.
For nearly three years now, the downstairs staff of Downton Abbey have been waiting for Miss Baxter and Mr Molesley to work out their feelings—blindingly obvious to everyone but the two people involved—and kiss each other at last. Thomas has been running a small betting pool on it, which has recently expanded to include Lady Violet and Mrs Isobel Crawley, and on this summer's day, it appears that Lady Violet is about to emerge as the winner. Unfortunately, not even the Dowager Countess could have foreseen that just before the reticent couple's lips finally met, a pterodactyl would swoop down from the clear blue sky with a shriek and carry Mr Molesley away.
As she watches the pterodactyl disappear over the horizon to the east, with a kicking, struggling Molesley dangling from its claws, Phyllis is horrified, but not really surprised. She's always known that as a former convict, she doesn't deserve to be happy. She just never expected happiness to be literally snatched from her arms by a giant flying predator. It seems rather excessive.
Still shaken, she goes back to the house and reports what has happened to Mrs Hughes, who asks Mr Carson if he doesn't think they ought to inform Lord Grantham.
Mr Carson harrumphs. "I don't like to bother his Lordship with this. If Molesley is gone, I think it would be much simpler just to hire another footman. It isn't as if they're hard to come by."
This makes Phyllis burst into tears, and Mrs Hughes pats her kindly on the shoulder while glaring at Mr Carson. "There, there, Miss Baxter. We'll get Mr Molesley back for you."
"Leave it to Molesley to get himself captured by a pterodactyl," Thomas says, rolling his eyes.
"Aren't pterodactyls extinct?" Daisy asks Mrs Patmore.
"If they're not now, they soon will be," Mrs Patmore says grimly. She brushes some flour from her apron, hefts her largest rolling pin, and smacks it into her free hand a couple of times as if testing its usefulness as a weapon. "Come along, Daisy. If the men won't help, we'll just have to do this ourselves."
"I don't suppose we'll be more than a few hours," Mrs Hughes says to Mr Carson. "A day or two at most. Look after things while we're gone, will you?"
"Whatever will I tell the family?"
"You could try the truth," Mrs Hughes suggests.
"What, that Mr Molesley has been abducted by a Cretaceous-era winged reptile, and you, Miss Baxter, Mrs Patmore and Daisy are off to find its nest and take him back?" Carson clutches his head as if his brain hurts. "No thank you. I'll think of something."
"You can add me to that list," Anna says, coming in from the boot room and apparently having overheard the conversation. "I'm going too, obviously."
"What? No! You're too delicate for such things, my angel." Bates, who has been absorbed in yesterday's newspaper until now, throws it down on the table and struggles to his feet without the help of his cane. "You must stay here. Molesley's a decent enough fellow, but he's not worth your safety."
"Don't be ridiculous, Mr Bates. Mr Molesley has always been kind to us. Of course we can't let him be eaten by a pterodactyl."
"No, of course not," Thomas says. Everyone turns to look at him, and he adds, "It couldn't possibly be good for the poor pterodactyl. Won't someone think of her in all this?"
"Oh, shut up, Thomas," Phyllis says through her tears, and on that note the rescue party, minus Anna, sets out to search for the dread raptor's nest.
Molesley, for his part, is lying on his back at the bottom of that nest, staring at the sky, and bemoaning how his lifelong bad luck seems to have turned fatal. There he'd been, about to kiss a woman for the first time (and maybe more than that? possibly? he thought things had been headed in that direction, at any rate) and now here he is, waiting for the moment when he becomes a pterodactyl's lunch. Or its dinner. Or something. He isn't quite certain what time it is. He could be on the menu for afternoon tea, between the tiny sandwiches and the iced cakes.
"Why me?" he groans aloud.
He finds that it feels good to vent his self-pity to the universe, and he's just about to do it again when a grappling hook comes flying over the side of the nest and embeds itself barely an inch from his leg. A moment later, Mrs Hughes' face appears, looking stern.
"Really, Mr Molesley," she says. "This is very inconvenient."
"I'll say," says Mrs Patmore, appearing beside her. "For goodness' sake, man, stop lolling about and come with us. Don't you know when you're being rescued?"
"Is he all right?" Phyllis's voice says faintly from somewhere below them, and at that, Molesley leaps up.
"Miss Baxter!"
"Well, that got him moving," Mrs Patmore says with a rather wicked chuckle. "Come on up and see for yourself, Miss Baxter. Daisy, give her a leg up, there's a good girl."
"All right," Daisy says even more faintly. "Ouch! Don't stand on my head like that, Miss Baxter, I'm not a stepladder."
Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore reach down with an arm each and haul Phyllis up until she emerges into view as well, a bit mussed and smudged with dirt, but a very welcome sight for Molesley, who until this moment was quite certain he'd never see her again. He wonders if now would be a good time to finish their interrupted kiss, but decides that Mrs Hughes probably won't allow it.
"I'm so happy to see you," he says instead.
Phyllis bestows a smile on him that warms him through and through. "I'm happy to see you too, but I think we'd better hurry up and go before the pterodactyl comes back, don't you?"
"Yes, let's," says the still-invisible Daisy, distantly.
"I suppose you're right," Molesley says. "Though I should probably mention that based on its size and wingspan, it's more likely to be a pteranodon really."
"Don't be pedantic, Mr Molesley," Mrs Hughes says. "Come on, Mrs Patmore, let's get him out. Miss Baxter, you and Daisy go down first and wait for us at the bottom of the cliff. We'll reunite you and Mr Molesley more permanently soon enough. Ugh! This nest smells terrible."
"I think it's stuck together with pterodactyl droppings," Molesley says, letting them pull him up onto the edge. Below, he sees the same hundred-foot drop that prevented him from escaping before, only now in addition to the rope and hook, there are spikes driven into the cliff face, leading up to a narrow ledge below the nest where the four women have apparently been taking turns standing.
"I hate to ask," he begins.
"But where did we get mountain-climbing equipment?" Mrs Hughes says. "And when did we learn how to use it?"
"Well, yes."
"Best just to accept it, Mr Molesley," Mrs Patmore advises him. "Careful on those spikes, now. If we don't have any accidents, we may still get back in time for dinner."
"And mind the puffins' nests as you go," Mrs Hughes adds. "They're endangered."
One at a time, they make their way down the cliff face, past the curious puffins, and to the tumbled rocks on the beach below, where Daisy and Phyllis are anxiously awaiting them. Molesley arrives last, sweating and out of breath—he really ought to take more exercise, he thinks—and is promptly pounced upon by Phyllis, who pulls his face down to hers and plants a long, thorough kiss on him.
"Well, that's me out," says Mrs Patmore to Mrs Hughes as they watch. "I had my money on Christmastime."
"Mmm," says Mrs Hughes. "It's nice to see though, isn't it? Heartwarming and all that."
"What's she doing with her tongue?" Daisy says in a scandalised voice.
"Never you mind, young lady," says Mrs Patmore. "Help me on with my rucksack. It's a long walk home."
'Hang on a minute," says Mrs Hughes, who has tipped her head back to look up at the sky. "Did you just see a shadow pass overhead?"
"No," says Mrs Patmore. She's puffing a bit under the weight of the rucksack, but unlike Molesley, thinking that she should try to put her feet up more often rather than embark on a programme of calisthenics. "Did you?"
"I did," Daisy says. "Oh—there it is again. Sort of gliding past like one of those old Wright Brothers aeroplanes."
This statement causes Phyllis to stop kissing Molesley at once and turn him loose, looking panicked.
"Not now," she says in response to his whimper of protest.
"But why?"
"Honestly, Joseph! We're standing at the base of a cliff where there's a pterodactyl nest. What do you think a shadow gliding overhead means?"
"The pterodactyl?"
"The pterodactyl," Phyllis confirms. "And I'm not having you carried off again. Once was enough."
"Perhaps it's attracted to your bald spot, Mr Molesley," Daisy suggests. "It does reflect the light a bit."
"Oh for heaven's sake," grumbles Molesley. "It's bad enough that I have to spend half an hour every morning combing the last few bits of my hair over and plastering them down. Now the top of my head is pterodactyl bait as well? It's just my luck."
"Well, I'm very fond of the top of your head," Phyllis says firmly. "But apparently so is the pterodactyl, so let's cover it up before she stops circling and makes her move."
"You can have my cap," Daisy says, unpinning it and holding it out to him. "It was clean this morning."
"Oh God," Molesley groans, but he takes the cap and puts it on, as all four women, including Phyllis, look away and try to pretend they aren't amused by the sight of it paired with his livery. "Can we go now? At this rate I'll die of humiliation before the pterodactyl has another chance at me."
"Lead the way, Mrs Hughes," Mrs Patmore says, and they turn as one and begin picking their way through the rocks to the path that leads away from the beach, Phyllis holding Molesley's hand to show him she's not bothered by the cap.
"Do you think you might kiss me again when we get back?" he whispers to her, under cover of the crashing waves and the pterodactyl's faraway shrieks.
"After a day like the one we've had, Joseph, I think a kiss is the very least you can expect to get."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Oh," says Molesley, cheering up at once. The thought of what else he might be getting keeps him smiling to himself all the way home.