What Love Can Do
"And here's the garage, I daresay Mr. Carson has already shown you your quarters," said the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes he thought it was. The garage was rather small, but had two beautiful motors in it, and he hoped that this family would let him drive them faster than twenty miles an hour.
"We're a large house here, Mr. Branson, as you can see, and we run a tight ship around here." She led him through the downstairs past the kitchen, where he attracted stares and giggles from all the kitchen maids.
"Now," she continued with a deep breath and looking rather care worn. I think that's everything Mr. Branson, now, off you go."
He took a minute to collect himself by the kitchen door, as Mrs. Hughes walked away.
Take a deep breath, Tom, he thought to himself. Here you are, a chauffeur at a real aristocratic house in England. Remember, don't let your temper get the better of you. Whatever they say to you doesn't matter. You know that you're the one who will prevail in the end. Change is coming. Your ma needs this money, and you'll not let her down.
He walked into the spacious kitchen of Downton Abbey, still uncomfortable in his new starched and crisp chauffeur's uniform. The house was huge and rather obscene, but he wasn't surprised to see that the downstairs was much "lower class" than the little of the upstairs that he had seen. The servants looked at him as he walked by, and soon the butler, Carson came up to him and said,
"Mr. Branson, his lordship would like a word with you in the library, if you don't mind following me please."
He did as he was bidden, noticing a dark haired man and a sour looking woman eyeing him from a corner. He made a mental not to avoid them both. He headed up the stairs, following the stiff back of the butler, and was led down an over-decorated hallway to a spacious library, where he was introduced with a
"You wanted to see the new chauffer my lord."
"Yes, please send him in."
Carson stepped aside to let him through, and his jaw almost dropped at the sheer number of books in the room. They were all around the walls, in handsome wooden shelves. He had run out of books to read fairly early in his teens, because he had read all the books in the local library before he was sixteen. Never before had he seen so many books, and he longed to get his hands on them.
He stepped somewhat nervously into the room, but with his back straight and his head held high, just like his ma and pa had taught him. The lord of the house was faced away from him as he walked in, but quickly turned around from whatever he had been doing at his desk and stood up, saying that it was good to see him.
This comment and the warmth of the man's voice threw him off a little. He had always been so convinced that the master was downright unpleasant to his servant, and Lord Grantham was not unpleasant at all, on the contrary, he seemed rather likeable. This was not at all what Tom had been expecting, and it left him at ease, though he did not take his guard down entirely, still slightly unsure of the powerful man before him.
The lord expressed his wishes that the servants of the house had shown him about, and that he had received everything that he needed. It was all very strange, he thought, to be talking to one so conspicuously far above him as though he were their friend. Did he do this to all new servants?
He vaguely registered that he had asked him if he would miss Ireland.
"I'll miss Ireland, but not the job," he went on to say something about the woman he had worked for in Ireland. He tried to appear pleasant, not wanting to make a bad impression on his first day, but it was easy enough to do with this man, easier than he had expected. When he expressed that his last job had been boring (which was the understatement of the century), the lord laughed easily, as though it did not bother him in the slightest that he was talking to a servant.
Unable to contain himself any longer, he looked around and said, trying to keep any longing from his voice,
"You've got a wonderful library."
He registered the surprise on the man's face, and thought, spitefully, yes, a chauffeur can be interested in books, too, not just your kind. But Lord Grantham's next sentence drove his spite from his mind.
"You're very welcome to borrow books if you wish."
He had to suppress the joy on his face. He had never been allowed to borrow books in the library at the old house that he worked at. They were only supposed to read cookbooks, even if they didn't cook.
"Really, milord?" unable to keep the surprise from seeping into his voice.
He went on to explain about the ledger in the corner that he made everyone, even his daughters (were there three of them?) use, and that usually only Carson and Mrs. Hughes (which one was that again?) took novels from the library, but his next question caught him off guard,
"What are your interests?"
"History and politics, mainly," he said, without a moments hesitation. He had no use for novels. The lord nodded, as though approving, but before he could say anything more than, "Heavens," Carson had come back in and he continued,
"Carson, Branson is going to borrow some books, he has my permission."
Tom could have hugged him, even if he was of the idiotic aristocracy. Books were his lifeblood, and he could not do without them.
"Is that all milord?"
"It is," the man said, kindly, "Off you go, good luck."
He bowed slightly and left the room, trying not to walk too quickly.
He walked back down the stairs and passed the kitchen again, the servants hall, and out into the courtyard to get a breath of fresh air. He walked to where he could see the spacious yard, looking around at all the land these people owned. At least the lawn was green and had not been colored pink to keep up with style or something. He was looking at the driveway, leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, smelling the fresh air on his face when he saw her.
She must have been walking back from the village with her sisters. They were all talking and laughing merrily as they headed to the huge house. She was smaller and younger than the other two, but her face was not closed off as theirs were, but open and free, as though she had nothing in the world to hide. He long dark hair was in a braid down her back and her skirt blew in the breeze, just showing the tops of her gray boots. He watched her, and a strange need to protect her at all costs came over him. He gave his head a little shake, and when he looked back, they were out of sight.