Author's Note: Apollo888 had commented that this premise is really more reminiscent of the great sci-fi movie Frequency with Jim Caviezel and Dennis Quaid (check it out if you haven't seen it), and he's right. So consider this story an homage to that. I don't own the Downton characters, but for the modern ones, I am entirely to blame!
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The attic at Downton Abbey. Friday, October 21, 1921.
"Helloooo…is anybody there? Isobel? Sybil? Helloooo?"
Anna and Mary, the latter cradling an infant George, were waiting excitedly on the old settee opposite Matthew's gramophone. The afternoon sun shone through the skylight, casting a golden glow over the dusty floorboards.
"I hope they saw your note, milady," said Anna. "I think Mr. Matthew's idea of hiding it in the library was very smart, if you don't mind my saying so."
"It was," Mary agreed, "but whether the girls remembered where to look for it is another question."
"It ought to have been safe under the window seat cushion, don't you think, milady? I can't think the maids clean under there very often," said Anna.
"No idea. What a shame they can't leave us notes in return."
"I don't suppose that would work, would it, milady?"
"No, because they would have to travel back in time to read them," Mary pointed out. "We are at a distinct disadvantage in that regard. Oh, I wish they would come! Perhaps they're otherwise engaged with…well, whatever unmarried girls find to do with themselves in 1966."
"I can't imagine," mused Anna, who couldn't imagine.
"Maybe we can get them to tell us about it," Mary said eagerly. "I would love to know what they're wearing. And how they wear their hair. And I do so want to thank them and introduce them to George. Imagine if they hadn't been able to warn us."
"Mr. Matthew would be-"
Mary shuddered. "It's too terrible even to think about." Anna nodded in agreement. "Has it gone three o'clock yet?"
"I think so, milady." Anna shook her head ruefully and said to herself, "This is so very odd."
Mary sighed. "Well, perhaps they're not coming. We could leave them anoth—" She was interrupted by the welcome sound of static issuing through the speaker horn, followed by:
"Grandmama?"
"Isobel!" exclaimed Mary.
"You can call me Izzy, Grandmama. How are things in good old 1921?"
"Very well, Iso—Izzy. Anna is here, too, and we've brought you a visitor."
"Hello, Anna!" called Izzy cheerfully.
Mary and Anna heard footsteps followed by another female voice, slightly out of breath: "Grandmama? It's Syb! Lovely to talk to you! Is Grandpapa Matthew there, too?"
"No, he's been out on the estate all day but should be back soon. He'll want to talk to you girls, I'm sure. I'm so glad you found our note."
"Yeah, although one of the maids almost tossed it. We might have to think of a better hiding place. Maybe in a book or something."
"So," asked Izzy slyly. "who's your visitor? Because we brought you one, too."
Mary grinned. "I wish you could see this, girls, but I'm holding your father George! He's one month old today. The birth came off just as you said it would."
Syb giggled. "That's fab, Grandmama! Now don't freak out, because have we got a surprise for you!" There was a pause, and she announced grandly, "George…meet George!"
A man's deep voice issued from the gramophone. "Mama? Is it really you?"
Mary and Anna gaped at each other. Mary looked down at her son and then up at the gramophone, gobsmacked. "George? I can't believe this!"
Nervous laughter from all of them. George answered, "Neither can I! When Izzy and Syb told me, I have to confess I didn't believe them! But I would recognize your voice anywhere."
"You sound like your father. But here you're still mostly crying and fussing. And yes, – I'm holding you in my lap right now…you're in a little white gown and a nappy, and you're wrapped in a beautiful antique crocheted shawl, a gift from your granny Isobel."
George was amused. "That's hard to imagine - I'm a grown man, so no nappy on this end. You're really talking to me from 1921? God, I wish Cousin Sybbie was here – she'd love this!"
"Oh, Sybbie! What has she gotten up to? How is her father?"
"Um, Sybbie's fine. She's a doctor at the hospital in York. In obstetrics."
"She delivers babies?" Mary smiled, a little sadly. "How fitting…and how marvelous."
"Isn't it? You know she always was really smart."
"Well, here she's only a little over a year old, so I shall have to take your word for that."
George laughed. "She turns out well, I promise. We see her and her husband for dinner a couple of times a month."
Mary and Anna glanced at each other. It wasn't lost on either of them that George had not answered her question about Tom.
After an awkward pause, George observed, "Mama, your voice sounds so young."
"I suppose it would. And am I alive where you are, George?"
Izzy cut in, "Grandmama, are you sure you want to know these things?"
"Maybe not everything, Izzy," conceded Mary. "But we certainly benefitted from you and Syb warning us about your grandpapa's 'accident' ahead of time, didn't we?"
"Undeniably," Syb concurred.
"So…perhaps…just tell me nice things, that are helpful."
"All right, Mama." said George, "This one's easy: given the longevity of most of the women in this family, it probably won't surprise you to learn that yes, you are alive here - you're only 74, after all."
"That's wonderful news," sighed Mary in relief. "Unless of course I'm completely feeble, in which case perhaps not."
George, Syb, and Izzy laughed knowingly. "Oh, no." George assured her. "Far from it. You're quite formidable. And as beautiful as ever!"
Mary snorted, "Now I know you take after your father! At any rate, it's nice to know that I turn out just like my own Granny." Anna smiled at that.
Matthew's voice was heard calling from the stairwell. "Darling? Are you up here?"
"Oh, Matthew, come up!" called Mary.
Matthew appeared in the doorway. "Nanny told me George was with you…and yes, there he is!" With what Mary had come to recognize as his special "George smile," Matthew sat down next to her, kissed her with relish and chucked his baby son under the chin. He glanced up and added, "Hello, Anna."
"Darling," said Mary, gesturing, "we have company."
Grinning, Matthew turned to face the gramophone. "Hello! Izzy? Syb? So you found our note?"
Instead of the female voices he was expecting, Matthew heard, "Hello, Papa!" He gasped in surprise and turned to Mary, who looked meaningfully down at their son and back up at him, nodding. "Papa? Are you there?" George repeated.
"George? Is that you?" asked Matthew in awe.
Everyone laughed, and George answered, "Yes, it's me, Papa! I can't believe-oh, it's so wonderful to talk to you again!"
"This is…not possible," said Matthew in wonder, glancing back and forth from his son to the gramophone.
"Evidently, Papa…somehow, it is. I'm so-it's great, isn't it?"
"Yes. I've given up trying to understand it. So…are you well? You're…how old?"
"I'm forty-five," George replied.
Matthew shook his head. "Forty-five. So, that must mean you survived that terrible second World War we learned of from Izzy and Syb."
"Yes, I did, and more or less unscathed, too, thank God. And yes, it was…I…well, there are no words really," remembered George with a shudder. "You actually told them about that?" he asked his daughters reprovingly.
"It sort of slipped out," confessed Syb. "Sorry."
"Oh, no," countered Matthew. "It was good to know what to expect, even if it was disappointing. World War One was supposed to be 'the war to end all wars,' but clearly it wasn't. So I take it you enlisted?"
"Well, of course," said George. "I was eighteen and studying at Cambridge, and all of my friends were enlisting, so…"
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's bad enough that I had to. I won't ask you any more about it, or bore you with my war experiences, either," said Matthew.
George chuckled. "It's all right, Papa…you already did…I mean, you didn't bore us, but you did tell us about it."
"Who is 'us', George?" interjected Mary.
"Well…the other children, of course. My brothers and sisters."
Matthew and Mary grinned at each other in delight. "And who might they be?"
"Tell us!" demanded Mary.
"Grandmama, don't you want to be surprised at all?" asked Izzy.
"No," Mary stated firmly. "I hate surprises."
"I can vouch for that," Matthew confirmed, with a sly grin at Mary. Mary, with a fond eyeroll, swatted his arm.
"Before I go on with that," said George, "there's something else. Is Anna still there?"
"Yes, I'm here, Master George," replied Anna, a little taken aback.
"Master George! Nobody's called me that in years. I'm the great Earl of Grantham, you know," George said, a little smugly.
"I'm not even the Earl of Grantham yet," Matthew told him.
"No, but you're also nine years younger than I am."
"I'm nine years younger than my own son." Matthew shook his head as if to clear it.
"Matthew," Mary said gently, "again, don't try to make sense of it."
Matthew shrugged, then straightened as an unwelcome thought struck him. "Wait," he said. "If you're the Earl of Grantham, that means that I…" He and Mary exchanged a significant glance. He sighed, put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Never mind. Don't tell us any more about that."
"Understood, Papa." George cleared his throat. "Just do me a favor?"
"What's that?"
"If at some point when you're, say, seventy-two, you get the urge to climb up a ladder in the library to retrieve all seven volumes of Proust's Remembrance of Things Past…"
"Yes?" Matthew prompted him.
"Don't. Resist that temptation and summon a footman. All right? And while I'm on the subject: no more cigars. Promise?"
"George, when you get older…or…um…younger…or…oh, I don't know!" Matthew threw up his hands in confusion. "You'll see that I only smoked cigars with your grandfather after dinner and never really was much of a—"
"I know, Papa, but it can't hurt…and it can only help. Now, promise, please."
Matthew looked at Mary and smiled, shaking his head. "All right, I promise."
Anna leaned forward. "Master George, you had something to say to me?"
"Yes. We grew up with two other children, a bit younger than us, who lived in one of the cottages on the property. Peter and Eleanor Bates-but we called her Ellie."
Anna gasped. "Oh, my goodness!"
"Yes, you're their mother. You know, I remember you pretty well – slight and blonde and usually in black, right? And your husband – his name was John – he was stocky and a bit older with a kind face, and sometimes used a cane?"
"Yes! That's my Mr. Bates! Oh…!" Tears had formed in Anna's eyes. "So…we…have…ohhh!" She started to laugh and cry at the same time.
Matthew quickly produced a handkerchief and handed it to Anna, as Mary patted her arm comfortingly. Anna wiped her eyes, overcome with joy. "How wonderful, Anna!" Mary said happily. "Perhaps you'd like to go and tell Mr. Bates?"
Anna rose quickly. "Yes, milady, I think—I think I would. Yes. Would you please excuse me?"
"Of course," said Matthew.
"Thank you ever so much, Master George!" Anna said, as she scurried out of the room.
"You're welcome!" George called after her.
"I expect she's in a hurry to get started on that," said Matthew to Mary, who burst out laughing.
"Grandpapa!" cried Syb, scandalized but also rather impressed. Maybe her Grandpapa Matthew wasn't such a square after all.
"Now," continued Mary, looking at Matthew. "About our children…your siblings. You must tell us."
There was a pause, and then George sighed. "Okay, here goes…"