Chapter One

Lady Rose MacClare sat back on the train seat in first class and watched the buildings and houses turn to fields as she headed north. It was a cold day in late 1925. Bouts of sleet interspersed with hail hit the windows of the coach with periodic rattles and gusts of wind blowing hard enough the windows of the first class coach shook in their frames. Rose checked the buttons of her coat were firmly done up and her gloves were pulled up tight. Her woolen hat covered the majority of her blonde curly hair and she was wearing the warmest short boots she had with her on her latest trip to London. She wasn't looking forward to her arrival at Downtown and the piece of news she had to tell the family and Mary in particular.

Since Rose's coming out the previous year, she had been invited to house party after house party with those who knew she had won the Prince of Wales approval. At first it had seemed like a grand time with one party after another, theatre visits and men lining up and asking friends for introductions. Slowly things had started to change. There were fewer and fewer men asking for introductions when discreet inquiries had revealed her father had lost his fortune and she had no dowry or inheritance to speak of coming her way. There had been the odd snatch of gossip here and there about her brief fling with Jack Ross but it hadn't amounted to much. Last week she had been out shopping with a long time friend when her credit had been denied. A meeting with her father's business manager the next day had revealed just how small her allowance would be from now on. The man had droned and rattled on about international banking, exchange rates and government cutbacks. In the end it all meant she had roughly half the allowance she'd had the year before.

There was something in the air everywhere you went with the working classes. You could feel it. The deference the aristocrats had once enjoyed was fading fast. Everywhere you went there were glares of resentment, service was a little slower and the porter at the train had almost dropped her case on her foot when he was stowing her luggage. The officers who attended the same dinner parties as her had mentioned the unrest with the non-commissioned solders more than once. There had been general chat amongst the men as well, but of course as always when she had ventured a comment or asked a question she'd had no reply or been cut off unceremoniously. Men like her Cousin Robert were everywhere. In his opinion women were too delicate to discuss anything political or venture an opinion on anything. Little did they know after all the years with her parents and listening to her father when he couldn't talk something that was bothering him over with her mother, she could have told them a thing or two about the international political situation. She'd held her tongue, smiled, batted her lashes and gone on to the next party or activity, all the while thinking the world could get along without her interfering or getting involved. She wasn't her mother. She didn't feel the need to be in control of everyone and everything around her. She felt no need to try to structure the world as she saw it.

Rose had always disliked her mother and her domineering attitude. Her mother had gone through periods of either paying attention in the form of bullying her youngest daughter or ignored her. There was never an in between. Rose had resented every last minute of her mother's wishy-washy attentions and never considered she was like her in the least until the last day. There was one thing she realized as she watched another burst of hail pelt the window. How to handle gossip and those starting false rumors was something she had learned in spades from her mother. If someone wanted to harm one of her inner circle of family, they would find out just how exactly like her mother she could be. All she needed at the moment was to get the family matriarchs lined up.

-0-

Tom Branson fiddled with the letter opener on the desk he had commandeered in the morning room of Downton Abbey as his own for estate business. His mother-in-law Cora preferred the drawing room through the day and Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham was partial to the library. Despite the staff cleaning and tidying the room on a daily basis hardly any of the family ever used the room.

1925 was going out like a lion. Today there was a north wind blowing turning the rain to ice pellets that rattled like dried beans in a tin can against the windows. He tapped the end of the letter opener on the blotter on the desk while he rubbed his brow with the fingers of the other hand. What to do with running the estate was a constant question. It was all a colossal juggling act and one he felt compelled to do but with what felt like an arm tied behind his back. He would come up with a solution and Robert Crawley would shoot it down with the regular statement Tom had come to expect over the last three years, "It is not how things are done."

"It may not be how things are done, but it is going to have to be how it is if you want to keep this place and your valet," Tom grumbled under his breath with no one to hear him. Commodity prices were down to the point where there was no longer any point in planting grain or vegetables unless it was to be used as livestock feed or to be diverted to one of their own operations. It meant another shift in agricultural practices yet again. Plus Robert had balked at his and Mary's plans for a motor repair works on the estate yet again. It made sense to Tom. There were more and more motorcars and delivery lorries with few repair yards in the surrounding area. It would mean steady work for the winter for the trades to build it and then steady work again for the men employed there plus a good return on the building rental, but still Robert balked.

They had come up with an idea for a cannery on the estate as well, that Robert had disagreed with and then grudgingly accepted. The price of canned goods was soaring in the stores with almost everything imported. The demand for domestic jams, jellies and pickles was huge at the moment. There had to be a market for other items as well if they could just get the business established. It would mean a lucrative income for the estate with yet another shift in the products they were producing. Today the payments on the loans against the estate had to be paid soon but somehow Robert and even Mary his daughter who had been left in charge of a managing share couldn't see their lifestyle as drawing too heavily on the estate income. For them the lifestyle was what should be preserved for the future generation. For Tom the priority was to keep the land intact. He had given up most of his old rebel rhetoric but not all. He still believed in preserving the land for the future. Let the next generation decide how they wanted to live. He didn't think he, Robert and Mary would ever see completely eye to eye on the entire thing.

He needed to have a talk with Mary and eventually her father. The budget for the household wasn't meeting the bills with the rising price of supplies. The estate farms couldn't afford to transfer more funds. They needed to cut back on their lifestyle. Every time there was a house party and the guests trotted through the door with a string of servants in tow, it effectively doubled the number of extra mouths to feed. He was sure the news of budget shortfalls and whatever suggestions he made weren't going to go over well. As Tom saw it there were two choices, cut back on their lifestyle and live within their means or cut back on the employee's wages. The second choice he wasn't in favor of at all. He'd had a massive argument with Sarah Bunting over wages and conditions for farm workers. He wasn't in favor of cutting wages himself, but in the last few years, his job as estate manager had given him a new perspective on being the boss. Too high wages and the estate faltered, too low and the workers couldn't afford to live, but when it came down to it, you couldn't pay what you didn't have.

Sarah had been enlightening for him. He'd liked her quite a lot and even thought he had feelings for her for a time. Now he was thinking he'd liked the nostalgia of his political past she had reminded him of. The woman herself he really hadn't liked that much once he had gotten to know her better. She was opinionated, pushy, narrow minded and a down right snob in her own way. He laughed to himself slightly and shook his head when he thought of her. Had people five years ago viewed him in the same light? She had been involved in a campaign for better working conditions and guaranteed hours for farm laborers. He'd tried to tell her farming hadn't changed since the dawn of time. Everyone worked from dawn till dusk to put in the crop and then again at harvest. Sheering and lambing times were no better and he worked the same hours along with the men. He was trying his best to improve the lot of people on the estate and create work for men who would otherwise be laid off over the winter months, but Sarah hadn't wanted to hear one word. She'd only wanted to listen to her own opinions and no one else's mattered to her a wit. She'd taken a job elsewhere, packed her bags and moved on. The mutual respect, openly discussing issues and listening to the other's opinions he'd shared with Sybil hadn't existed with Sarah. They had parted on friendly terms and he'd gone by to say goodbye, but he wasn't grieving for the relationship one bit. In a way he was thankful he now recognized what he wanted in a potential second marriage and a political opinionated, bossy wife wasn't one of them.

-0-

"What news from the village, Mr. Molesly?" Mrs. Patmore the household cook asked as Mr. Molesly one of the footmen came in from his free day. He had shaken off his coat in the hall and was closing his umbrella. The servants were collected in the kitchen for their afternoon tea and break time. Miss Baxter, who worked as a ladies maid to the lady of the house had been down to see Mr. Molesly's father for the afternoon as well. Mr. Molesly and Miss Baxter were getting friendlier all the time. There wasn't any sign of an engagement yet, but everyone was expecting it. The closer Mr. Molesly and Miss Baxter got the more annoyed Mr. Thomas Barrow seemed which pleased most of the staff no end.

"It seems Miss Sarah Bunting from the local school has packed her bags and left for a post on the continent teaching at a private girls school," Mr. Molesly replied. "Otherwise the talk in the village is all about the government cutting wages in the public service. I certainly hope it doesn't happen in other areas."

"You and everyone else around here," Thomas Barrow the under butler replied in a serious tone from behind the newspaper he was reading by the fireplace. The staff was taking a few minutes to relax after their afternoon tea and hadn't headed back to work yet.

"Here, wasn't that the woman Mr. Branson was hanging about with?" Jimmy another of the footmen queried.

"The one and the same," Thomas replied. "I heard she and Mr. Branson got into it over some flyer campaign she was involved with demanding better conditions for farm workers."

"He was seen seeing her off. They couldn't have had that big a disagreement, "Molesly replied.

"Better conditions for all workers with more than a half day here and there. It would be nice," Jimmy replied thoughtfully. His mind was on his own situation. With all the talk of wages going down in the government and industry it had made him think. "I wouldn't mind more time off."

"And what would you do with yourself?" Mrs. Patmore demanded.

"Take more than two baths a week for starters," Jimmy replied quickly. "I can think of plenty to do with my time rather than picking up after that lot upstairs. Why can't they make their own beds and put away their own dirty glasses like the rest of us do?"

"You'd best not let Mr. Carson hear you talking like that," Thomas warned.

"Your going to get yourself dismissed if you keep on like that," Mrs. Patmore added.

"I'm not the only one who has had enough of the status quo," Jimmy replied with a slight nod of his head. "Just look at the labor unrest in the papers. The miners are so fed up there have been riots and in the factory areas as well. They can't lower people's wages and keep adding hours."

"All I know is the prices in the shops are sky high at the moment," Mrs. Patmore said. "They can't keep the budget the same and expect the same quality meals. The money isn't going as far these days."

"Higher prices and lower wages. Something's got to give," Thomas said thoughtfully.

"What do you think of all this Miss Baxter," Molesly asked her suddenly.

"I…" she started and then faltered when all eyes in the room turned to her. "I'm grateful for my post but…" she replied. She didn't hear Mr. Carson enter the room behind her Molesly and Jimmy.

"But?" Jimmy prompted her.

"I would like my hours laid out," she said hesitantly. "There are some very late nights even when Lady Grantham isn't entertaining."

"Miss O'Brien mentioned something along the same lines when she was here although not so eloquently," Thomas said. He hadn't lowered his paper and hadn't spotted Mr. Carson either.

"I wasn't aware you were unhappy with your hours, Miss Baxter," Mr. Carson said with a frown.

Everyone turned with a start at the sound of Mr. Carson's voice.

"I…" she started and then faltered.

"Miss Baxter was only commenting on the worker demands for better conditions in the papers," Molesly defended. "Set out hours for a post is not an unreasonable request."

"It's not how things have been done in the past," Mr. Carson replied still frowning.

"As I've often told you things are changing and along with change comes electric clocks with alarms to tell me when it's time for all of you to get back to work," Mrs. Hughes stated as she came bustling into the servant's hall.

"I best go up and change before Lady Grantham needs me for dressing," Miss Baxter said quietly while trying to divert the attention off herself. The others had all gotten up and were filing out of the servant's hall.

"Not so fast," Mr. Carson said to her. "If you have a serious complaint about your employment here, I would like to hear it."

Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything.

"I only meant that most positions have set out hours where the employees know when they are working and have time off," Miss Baxter replied averting her gaze. "At my last post I was off at ten every evening unless the lady of the house had made special arrangements for the evenings she attended parties."

"That isn't the case here?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

"Lady Cora often asks for laundry or other special sewing, Mrs. Hughes," Miss Baxter replied quietly. "I've missed my afternoon free more than once." She was shaking slightly from nervousness. She didn't want to be dismissed for insolence.

"I wasn't aware it was a problem," Mrs. Hughes said. "Anna and Mr. Bates are always off as soon as the servants' meal if done. You've given me something to think about, Miss Baxter."

"I didn't mean to complain. I'm grateful for my post, really," Miss Baxter said quickly.

"No one would think you are complaining for the sake of complaining unlike others in these parts," Mr. Carson assured her. He had spotted Jimmy hanging about in the hall attempting to eavesdrop. "James, I'm sure Mr. Barrow is in need of assistance in the dining room. Are all of your pre dinner tasks completed?"

"No Mr. Carson, I'll get right on it," Jimmy replied. He headed for the stairs.

"Mrs. Hughes and I will talk over the situation and let you know what we come up with," Mr. Carson said turning back to Miss Baxter.

"Thank you Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," Miss Baxter said slipping out of the room as quickly as she could.

"If that had come from anyone else…" Mrs. Hughes said. She didn't need to finish her sentence.

"Labor troubles are all around us," Mr. Carson replied. "It seems the unrest has reached our door as well."

"Miss Baxter's point wasn't out of line," Mrs. Hughes said. "This isn't a work house, although I believe even in those miserable establishments the inmates have regular hours to rest."

"Point well taken, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson's eyebrows were in a straight line as he frowned. "I don't know what to make of all these changes young people want. No one seems happy with their lot in life anymore."

"Young people have had enough with the war and the falling wages," she said. "The world isn't the same as it was."

"No it certainly isn't," Mr. Carson replied before he headed off to supervise the dinner preparations.