It was Jimmy's day off. He had no real plans for the day apart from enjoying his freedom and solitude. Life at Downton Abbey was somber these days and he was glad to be away from the gloomy atmosphere for a little while. He wandered aimlessly, pleased not to be on a schedule. The morning was cold but clear, promising to be a fine day. After a time, his feet led him to the cemetery, it was peaceful here. Everyone arranged in their neat little rows, families together. The way his own family never would be. His father had died in the war and been buried on the front, and his mother was buried back home, she'd died of the flu but really it was a broken heart that had killed her.

The last time he'd been in this particular cemetery had been a few months ago for Mr. Crawley's funeral, Carson had insisted they all attend. He glanced across to the spot now, where they'd buried Mr. Crawley. He expected to see a fresh mound of dirt, covered in the bright flowers of the newly dead. And he did, but that was not all he saw. A small figure sat at the foot of the grave, huddled in a thin, white dress. It seemed a strange place for an urchin to be. Jimmy was about to leave when the person turned slightly and he recognised her face. It was Lady Mary.

Should he approach her? Should he walk away and pretend he'd never seen her? His first thought was to leave her, it was none of his business, and he was just a servant anyway. He turned to leave but there was something broken about her, her posture, her clothes, and as much as wanted to, he couldn't just leave her. He approached her quietly, not wanting to startle her.

"Lady Mary?" he said gently to let her know he was here. She made no sign that she heard him. "Lady Mary?" he tried again, taking a liberty and resting his hand on her shoulder for a moment. It wasn't something he was allowed to do, or would normally want to do, but in that moment she seemed so fragile, and so utterly human that he forgot for a moment, their situations in society. To comfort a grieving woman was his only thought. She turned and looked up at him, a strange far-away look in her eyes.

"Oh...James," she said after a long hesitation, seemingly struggling to remember his name. And now that he had the opportunity to really look at her he saw that she was not upset like he'd assumed she would be, but she had a serene almost dreamy expression on her face. "Won't you sit with Matthew and I a moment?" Lady Mary reached her trembling hand up towards him and offered him a tiny smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was a strange thing to ask, but more disconcerting, was the way she asked it. As though both herself and Mr. Crawley were extending the invitation. Looking at her outstretched hand, Jimmy was struck by the way her wrist bones protruded, making her look terribly frail. Her skin was stretched and pale, she reminded him of a china doll, so easily broken without the correct care. But beautiful too. All the more so for its fragility.

"Alright," he consented, not really comfortable with it but frightened of what she might do if he refused. He settled himself on the damp ground next to her and watched her as she made small rearrangements to the flowers on her husband's grave. She seemed content here, and though he didn't want to suggest it his sense of duty prevailed. "Maybe we should go back to the house." Apart from the impropriety of what she was wearing, or not wearing, it was much too cold for the way she was dressed.

"No. We like it outside," she said, "don't you James? It makes us feel alive." He had to agree with that, but he didn't get the chance to speak.

"Mary!" Jimmy turned towards the direction of the call. Lord Grantham himself was striding towards them. "Thank heavens you're safe," he said as he wrapped his coat around her, and then he'd whisked her away.