Chapter Two
He always liked traveling by train. As a child, his parents often took him and his younger brothers to the sea for a day or two, and they always traveled by train. It seemed magical to him how over the course of a half-day, they could be transported from their gritty working-class neighborhood through lush green countryside that gradually transformed into sandier turf as they neared the Kent seaside.
Their parents were as excited as the boys. Each time they traveled, their mother packed a picnic lunch with their favourite treats to eat on the train on the way out, making the little third-class compartment the five of them packed into like a party on wheels. They played cards, listened to their father's stories about working on the railroads as a youth, and looked out the window.
Returning home, their father, insisting that the holiday wasn't over until they were actually home, treated them to sandwiches and sweets sold from the tea carts that rolled through each car.
Traveling to York was another matter. Unlike Dover, it was hours away, taking most of the day to reach. And he wasn't traveling with his family but with strangers who tried mightily to avoid eye contact, much less conversation. Still, it was in a train, he had his books and a full flask of whiskey, and unless more people came in the compartment, he could keep his leg comfortably stretched out.
The tea cart rolled up. He ordered a pot of tea and peppermints, his new companion. Vera had complained that he was starting to smell like whiskey. Normally he would shrug off her complaints but this time, he took them to heart. He'd noticed that some of the drunks in the pubs did in fact smell like alcohol—usually the cheaper stuff like beer—but he wasn't about to take any chances. So he started using shaving soap infused with mint and buying peppermints to refresh his breath.
It had been enough for even Vera to notice and the lady he'd met up with a couple of nights ago actually commented on how nice he smelled. "Not like these other wankers," she'd joked, jerking her head toward the usual group that crowded the far end of the bar.
He smiled at the memory. He'd actually enjoyed this lady and wouldn't mind seeing her again. She had him laughing all the way to her bed. Afterward, he started to light up a cigarette and she ordered him outside on her balcony. "No smoking in the holy of holies," she said. "I'm the only thing allowed to burn in here." Still, she was sweet. When he returned from his smoke, she was in her tiny kitchen preparing a breakfast tray for them to share, back in her bed.
Of course, if he did get a job in York, it was unlikely he'd see her again. He couldn't remember exactly where she lived—he was certain of the street but not the house—and she wasn't a regular at his usual haunt. And a job with Crawley would also mean adjusting his lifestyle. He'd have to cut back on drinking during the day, of course, and avoid getting entangled with women. These houses, he knew, could be quite strict about the conduct of their servants.
He sipped his tea and glanced out the window. Yes, he'd have to be very, very careful.
Six hours later, he disembarked at the Downton station, the sky already growing dark. He'd lost nearly an entire day in the train but to his surprise, he hadn't felt the need for more than a sip or two from his flask. Now, however, he was hungry and restless. Crawley had recommended a pub with rooms over it for him to stay the night, just a few blocks from the station. He'd be picked up late morning to join the family for luncheon and to see the house.
Right now, though, he needed food and some kind of outlet for his pent-up nerves. The pub could feed him and do more. Tonight, however, he was going to start behaving properly. Just eat, he told himself. No drink. Don't talk to any women. Act like you're a normal enough chap in for a quick visit.
The pub was nice enough with decent food. He ate alone, relieved to see that the people around him looked and behaved respectably. They didn't seem the types to drink too much or get too friendly with strangers. The less temptation, the better off he'd be.
His dinner finished, he signaled the staff for the bill. The owner came over to him. "As they say, Mr. Bates, your money is no good here," he told him, smiling. "Viscount Crawley will be taking care of all your needs here." Bates thanked him, which apparently meant permission for the man to sit down to start interrogating him about his connection to Viscount Crawley. They served together in the African war, Bates explained. "I was his batman."
The owner raised his eye, looking a little confused. This man was clearly disabled, he thought, he can't be in the Army. Then he he put it together. "Are you the batman who saved him?" he asked. Bates nodded. The man looked at him, awestruck. "You just let me know what we can do to make sure you're comfortable here," he told him. "To start, I'll make sure a hot bath is drawn for you tonight. It's a long journey from London and I'm sure you'd like to wash the train off you."
"Thank you," Bates replied. "But I really need some exercise first. Give me an hour to just walk around." The owner laughed. "You'll see the entire village six times over, but point taken. I'll have a hot bath ready for you in an hour." He paused. "Begging pardon, sir, but what you did…protecting the Viscount…this sort of thing means a lot to us here. The Crawleys are the reason there's a Downton. They're good people."
Bates mumbled something back, something about that his job meant he guarded Captain Crawley. The pub owner nodded. "I'll be quiet that you're here," he said. He paused again. "If there's anything you need, just ask." Bates thanked him. "Anything," the man repeated. "If you get lonely…anything." Bates almost laughed out loud. Was the man crazy? Did he really think that a visitor to the Crawley family was going to carouse like a drunken soldier? "There's no need for that," he answered. "I am a married man."
The pub owner was right. Ten minutes covered the entire village of Downton. Still, it was nice to walk after a day cramped on a train. He walked slowly, just enough to keep his leg comfortably stretched. After the third time around, he returned to the pub and his room.
The room was surprisingly comfortable. The bed was large and firm. He peeked into the bath down the hall and saw the tub was large enough that he could actually stretch out in it. Water was being heated in a sitting room opposite the bath. He returned to his room to do push-ups, a habit he was actively trying to get back to, to help get himself back in shape. He managed fifty. Enough. A hot bath was surely ready for him down the hall.
He was handed a message the following morning as he made his way downstairs for breakfast:
"Greetings Bates! Welcome to Downton!
Hope your journey and the room were satisfactory. Luncheon will be at 1, just us and the family. I'll have a car sent round at 11. We can talk and you can check on my library. Later I'll show you round.
Crawley"
