"Where did these bangers come from, Mrs. Butte?" Mrs. Patmore asked as she immerged from the pantry.

"They were delivered yesterday. Some new vendor trying to solicit our business. We probably won't switch from White's but he offered me such a good deal, I couldn't say no. They were practically free."

"Hmm. They look fresh, best serve them tonight." Mrs. Patmore commented. "It's a shame Mr. Carson isn't here; he is a great fan of bangers and mash."

-00-

That was probably the tastiest dinner Ivy ever made, Lucille smiled to herself that evening. Lucille unlocked the top drawer of her dresser and looked at her most prized possessions. Next to the glass jar that held the napkin containing the royal sweat, lay a neatly folded handkerchief with the embroidered monogram 'CC'. He had offered it to her once, when she had a cold. After she had sneezed into it, he insisted that she keep it. She had washed it immediately, but then had placed a dollop of his shaving cream in the middle of the square before folding it up. When she wanted to feel close to him, she would hold the cloth to her nose and imagine she was pressing her face against the white linen of his shirt.

Beside the handkerchief was a pair of shoes. He had put them in the donation bin three years ago as he left to return to Downton. He had taken the time to polish them before discarding them. Something in this gesture had spoken to her and she had retrieved and kept the shoes ever since.

There were other little mementos of his in her drawer; a comb, a lock of hair from when he had allowed her to trim his neck a few years ago, his favorite tea cup, which she told him had been broken and a collar he had 'lost' after a late night ball hosted at Grantham House.

To her treasure trove, she had now added a choice few of Thomas' letters. Lucille combed through Thomas' correspondence. There were some interesting letters that would need to be dealt with later, but, for now, she focused on Thomas' communications with James. Most of it was benign dribble about how Ivy wouldn't let Jimmy get past a peck on the cheek. She imagined that Mr. Barrow was about as interested in this topic as she was. Still, there were a few snippets of useful information. James was meant to be spying on Mrs. Hughes and trying to intercept any communication from Mr. Carson or Mrs. Patmore. That will never do.

A few days after poor Ivy's disappearance, Mrs. Butte sat at her desk writing James a note. It went out in the evening post. She expected it would reach him by the same time tomorrow, which gave her plenty of time to plan.

-00-

"Mrs. Butte?" He walked down the steps to join her on the tidal flat. James could not tell if the tide was coming in or going out, but he had heard that the Thames changed swiftly here. Wapping was nothing like Brighton. Instead of a sandy beach, the riverbank was lined with large rocks, ships' garbage and layers of London detritus. The smell was terrible. It seemed an odd place for a meeting. "I was expecting Mr. Barrow."

How adorable, the beautiful blond dolt is just smart enough to be suspicious. Lucille smiled her warmest smile. It sent a shiver up Jimmy's spine, though he blamed it on the cold air coming off the Thames.

"Mr. Barrow is stuck at Grantham House for a while longer, so he sent me to ask you to wait."

"He said he wanted to meet about Ivy. Has there been any news?" Jimmy had been very concerned about her since the report of her failing to meet the Levinson's at the boat had arrived at Downton. She was a dim girl, but it was not like her to just disappear.

"There has been, but it is not for me to disclose it." Mrs. Butte said enigmatically.

"Please, if you know anything, you must tell me." He begged.

"I fear it will upset you."

"I am already upset, not knowing. How can telling me make it worse?"

"When you put it like that, it makes sense." Lucille conceded. "I suppose I could tell you the little that I know. But not here."

She gestured to a nearby brick outcropping. It had been built centuries ago to support the walls along the river.

Reluctantly, Jimmy followed her to a niche in the wall. They were out of sight of everyone here. The air was even colder.

"What did Mr. Barrow tell you exactly?"

"Not much. He just sent me this letter." He handed the letter to her. She read it very carefully, though there was no need. The handwriting did look remarkably like Mr. Barrow's, but Lucille had written this note herself.

J, We must meet. It concerns Ivy. Come to London on Thursday. Tell no one. Meet me at the Pelican Stair, Wapping at 3. T

She handed him the letter back and smiled as he tucked it deeply into his pocket. "So he didn't tell you about Alfred?"

"What about Alfred?"

"Apparently, Ivy saw him while she was in London. She snuck out at night."

"What? I don't believe it. When? How?" Jimmy stammered.

"According to her, it was not very often, but then, it only takes once, as they say." Mrs. Butte pretended to be sadly disappointed in Ivy's morals.

"I don't believe it." He repeated. She had refused him, why would she accept Alfred? "Are you saying that she's in trouble?"

"Yes, she is."

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"Mr. Barrow is just looking out for you. She swears that it is Alfred's, but Mr. Barrow wanted to be sure it wasn't yours."

"Mine? As if I had the chance! She was locked up tighter than Queen Victoria's knickers when it came to me." He sank onto a stone set into the wall.

"There, there, James. I believe you and so will Mr. Barrow. But you must convince Alfred."

"What?"

"He won't have anything to do with her. He's claiming the child must be yours."

"That creep! I'll show him!" He tried to stand up, but her hand on his shoulder held him down. She was very strong for so small a woman.

"Now, James, you must be calm. I know that Mr. Barrow was going to ask you to write a note to Alfred. Something very simple." She reached into her tiny green handbag and brought out a neatly folded piece of paper and a fountain pen.

He took the writing implement from her and spread the paper over a flat rock. "What should I write?"

"The simpler, the better, I think." Lucille suggested. "Something like, 'Nothing ever happened between Ivy and me. Please don't hurt her. It was always you.'"

Jimmy scribbled the note quickly and then refolded the page carefully. He turned to hand Mrs. Butte the pen, but she was no longer in front of him. Before he could wonder at this, Mrs. Butte had slipped a garrote of fishing wire over his head. The more he fought her, the more her strength and excitement grew. Finally, his struggles ceased and the final twitches stilled. She waited a few minutes more to be sure he was dead.

Lucille picked up the freshly written note, but left the pen where it had fallen. She smiled to see that the tide was beginning to rise. Quickly, she stepped out of the niche and moved across the rocks to the steps back to the city level.

She was back at Grantham House within twenty minutes. She had come and gone without notice. She made a show of emerging from her office and joining most of the other staff in the servant's hall for tea. A few minutes after four, a red faced and flustered Mr. Barrow came bustling in the backdoor.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Barrow?" Miss Baxter asked.

"None of your bloody business." Thomas snapped.

Lucille smiled into her teacup. She had started down this path to help Mr. Carson, to prove her devotion was greater than that Scottish she devil's, but now, Lucille had to admit, she was starting to have fun.

TBC…


AN/ I hope you are having fun too. I think Imelda would just play the HELL out of this!