As promised (sort of), chapter two! This chapter kept getting away from me - I don't think either of them wanted me to end it (definitely blaming the characters and not my absolute lack of self control). Thank you for the reviews - it's always wonderful to hear that people are enjoying it!
As the children cut out intricate snowflake designs from sheets of tissue paper, Joseph Molesley stared out of the window of the schoolroom. Recently he'd found himself doing that more often than he'd have liked. There was no reason to feel guilty, really. It was Christmas after all, and the children were far ahead of where they needed to be for the school certificate. They had worked very hard the past term and apart from a few troublemakers, they deserved an afternoon off. Anyway, the snowflakes would look wonderful decorating the windows of the school.
Still, he was not being paid to stare at the snow settling on the windowsill.
The bell rang and the children began to pile out of the classroom, dropping their completed snowflakes onto his desk as they rushed to get home before any more snow fell. As the final pair of boots raced out of the room followed by the whispers of a lingering "thanks sir", he breathed a deep sigh and shook his head, trying to focus himself on the task of decorating the classroom. As he did so, the snowflakes fluttered slightly in the breeze and a few balanced precariously slipped free and fell to the floor. Rushing to save them from the trails of mud trooped in by his students, he knocked a few more in his haste and quickly found himself surrounded by a pile of rapidly wilting snowflakes. Desperately scooping them up, he indecorously shovelled them back onto his desk before accidentally putting his foot on a particularly slippery streak of mud. His legs shot out from underneath him and he crash landed, breathlessly slumped on the floor with his back banging painfully against the desk. Grimacing for a second, he slumped against the desk, eyes closed and wincing at the pain. This is ridiculous, he thought. I am ridiculous. What is wrong with me?
A small cough from the direction of the door brought him back down to earth. Ah, he thought. That would be it.
"Miss Baxter! I was just – uh – "
She wrinkled her nose in amusement and tilted her head slightly. He supposed he must look utterly stupid in her eyes, and the realisation made him wilt in embarrassment. Phyllis Baxter watched in alarm as he seemed to crumple in on himself and quickly rushed to his side to salvage the situation.
"Mr Molesley – Joseph – I don't know what you've been doing but I think you could use some assistance. Am I right?"
He nodded, still refusing to meet her eyes.
"Here, let me help you up. You must have had a nasty fall if that noise I heard was you – no wonder with all this mud everywhere! An occupational hazard, I presume?"
He nodded again, before realising that the hand in front of his face was hers. Finally looking up, he was met not with disgust – as expected – but with a frank kindness he should have realised was entirely typical of her. Reaching up he clasped her hand, and both froze for a moment at the contact. She was wearing gloves, true, but they both felt the spark. Shaking his head to clear it, he braced himself, trying to put at little pressure on her as possible, and stood. For a second they were there, standing together with his hand still clasping hers and her head tilted up to his. The world went quiet and, unaware, he took a half step towards her – and promptly slipped again, this time pulling her towards him and threatening to unbalance them both. Without thinking, he reached out to grab her by the arms to steady them, bracing both against the desk.
The silence seemed to intensify as they stood there, closer than ever. Neither of them knew what to do and Joseph could feel the blood rushing to his head. Every heartbeat sounded like a drum beat, urging him on. Her eyes were wide below him. A tendril of hair had come loose, and unconsciously he reached forward to tuck it behind her ear. At the feeling of his finger on her cheek, she gasped and her eyes flickered shut. Her mouth was slightly open and summoning up his courage, he stroked along her jaw again and leant in.
The banging door to the school snapped them out of their reverie, and he swung around to scoop up the tissue shapes from his desk as quickly as she took a step backwards. By the time Mr Dawes walked in they were standing a respectable distance apart. The only clues to their respective distresses were Mr Molesley's vice like grip on the tissue snowflakes (which had already caused one, unnoticed, tear) and Miss Baxter's white knuckles (hidden under sensible woollen gloves).
"Well hello Miss Baxter." Boomed the headteacher. "I wasn't expecting to find you here?"
Phyllis blushed slightly, noticed only by Joseph. "No – well Mr Dawes, I came down to the village to give Mr Molesley his Christmas present and noticed he was still here when I walked past. I was offering decorative assistance just as you arrived."
"She was!" Mr Molesley interjected, a touch too loudly. "I was just about to start sticking these snowflakes on the windows."
Mr Dawes looked them both over – the slightly flustered looks on their faces, the bedraggled clutch of tissue in Mr Molesley's hands, and the slip marks of mud between them – and kept his observations to himself.
"Very good. Assistance is always appreciated, I'm sure. I just wanted to stop by and congratulate you on a very successful first term Mr Molesley. I consider myself to have a gift in finding unrealised potential and I am very happy to have found yours. I hope you are finding your new career equally rewarding?"
Mr Molesley nodded as though his head were steam powered. "Sir – Mr Dawes – I could never have dreamed of an opportunity such as this. I'm very grateful, and very fortunate."
The headteacher nodded slowly, smiling. "I rather think we are the fortunate ones Mr Molesley. Have a very merry Christmas – and you too, Miss Baxter. I hope we see much more of you in the village."
Noting the reprisal of their blushes at this comment, he smirked slightly to himself and nodded again.
The pair stood facing each other, frozen in indecision until they heard the door slam shut once again. Miss Baxter was the first to break, a thread of laughter weaving itself into her smile until her shoulders were shaking and she had to lean against a desk.
"Oh Mr Molesley. Who would have thought?"
Confused, he tilted his head as she had earlier. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand?"
"Oh, it's only – " she stopped to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye – "we do seem to be interrupted at the most inconvenient of times."
Realising, he too began to laugh, and soon both were leaning against desks, reliving the moment Mr Dawes had walked in.
"I'm rather afraid he wasn't taken in." Mr Molesley reflected, with a touch of worry. It would not do to make a bad impression on his new employer, and he certainly wouldn't want him to think he was courting women at the school. Was that what he was doing? Courting? The thought of courting Phyllis Baxter sent a jolt through him. He very much hoped he was.
"Well," she said, breaking his train of thought, "I wasn't entirely lying. I really do have your Christmas present with me. Here – I'll help you put up those snowflakes and then I can present it to you as intended. At least you'll have proof to corroborate the story if interrogated."
Snorting at the idea of Mr Dawes interrogating him, he handed her the slightly less damaged half of snowflakes – and there, again, was that spark as their fingers met – and set to work sticking them in the windows. The children had gone rather overboard and fortunately there were plenty, which made it somewhat easier to hide the damage. Any that were too far gone they discretely crumpled for the bin. The children were unlikely to remember exactly which ones were theirs and they really did have a lot, he rationalised – although he made sure to hide them under other rubbish so as not to crush any spirits. By the time they were finished the room looked wonderful, the windows white on the inside and quickly becoming obscured on the outside as well.
"It's a beautiful classroom, Mr Molesley." Phyllis said quietly next to him. "You must be very proud."
"Beautiful with your help, Miss Baxter."
Smiling, she shook her head. "It's the passion that makes it beautiful, Joseph. Your passion for education – it shows in the books, in the effort that the children make. It shows in your pride in decorating the room for Christmas."
Her apparently accidental slip of the tongue did not go unnoticed by him. "I have a surprise for you as well." He murmured, unwilling to break the spell. "I think we should leave for my cottage before the snow gets too heavy though."
The two buildings were a stone's throw apart – one of the perks of being a teacher in Downton – but Phyllis allowed the story to stand and took his arm as he led her out of the school. The snow had picked up, and there was at least half a foot by his door as he pulled it open.
"I hope you'll be safe getting back tonight." He worried, as she removed her scarf and hat, hanging them on hooks in the hall he had placed expressly for the purpose.
"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." She decided, unwilling to leave any time soon. "Her ladyship has already told me to take the evening off so I'm not needed back particularly soon. I can always wait a bit - hopefully it will die down and the walk isn't too far."
This struck both of them as a very obvious lie. Whether or not the snow died down, she would still have to fight her way through the ploughs up the – not inconsiderable – walk to Downton. However, both decided to ignore it in favour of lighting the fire – him, and beginning a pot of tea – her.
"Oh no, you must let me!" he cried, running into the kitchen as he heard her filling the kettle.
She smiled fondly. "But I know where everything is. You set the fire and that will keep us warm. I'll bring in the tea as soon as it's ready."
Returning to the little sitting room, he took a moment to mentally sweep for mess. There were the two sofa cushions, embroidered by Phyllis as a housewarming present, nestled on the sofa. The fire was gradually rousing itself to life in the small fireplace, and the screen was standing ready. On the side table by the sofa sat a book – his – and a ball of wool – hers, left by accident on her last visit. They had been so engrossed in conversation that they simply hadn't noticed the time, and in her haste to gather everything up and make it back to the abbey before she was needed the ball had rolled out and underneath the sofa. He had found it the next day as he morosely tided the room, and placed it there to remind him to return it. He also enjoyed seeing it, in pride of place like it was meant to be there. Like its owner had just popped out and would be back in to knit and talk any moment now. Like she lived here.
It was as he realised this that she walked in carrying a full tea tray, loaded with his father's old teapot (covered with a newly knitted cosy) and cups, and some snifters of cake he didn't recognise.
"Mrs Patmore offered them, said we had plenty going." She explained when she saw him looking. Of course, they had only been offered after much persuasion – he misses your cakes Mrs Patmore, he really does and I know he's coming back for a Christmas meal, but it would be so nice to remind him of all of us before then and they're only going to waste – but she didn't mention that. In fact, the fire in his eyes prevented her from doing anything other than setting the tea tray gently on the table – so there was that wool – and sitting on the sofa next to the cushion she had informally (and privately) designated as hers. She waited in anticipation. Knowing Joseph, she might be waiting a while.
She was surprised this time.
"Miss Baxter – Phyllis." he began, and then paused for a second at the use of her name. "I have something I think I must ask you. I don't know if – I mean, I hope that you – that is," and here he stumbled.
She had a flash of inspiration. "Before you do Mr – Joseph – I would like to give you your Christmas present." Turning and digging into her bag, she retrieved a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. She presented it with a self-conscious sense of fake grandeur, and as he blinked slowly in surprise, smiled. "Go on, open it. I'd like to see what you think."
He nodded and began untying the string. Phyllis leaned forward in anticipation. She had thought long and hard about what to buy him, and it had come to her in a flash of inspiration. Normally she would have made him something, and the thought had crossed her mind, but she had already made him so much – the cushions, a new tea cosy and a blanket for his bed (a gift she had worried was too personal, but had deemed necessary if he was to avoid hypothermia). For Christmas, she had reasoned, she should spend money on something special. So, one trip to York later, she had decided on this.
He slowly peeled back the paper to reveal an edition of Ovid's Heroides, carefully bound in tooled brown leather with the title picked out in gold. For a second he was breathless.
"Phyllis, this is – this is too much."
"But do you like it?"
"I love it." He whispered. "This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever bought me. This is absolutely perfect. I'm afraid my own gift will pale in comparison."
"All that matters is that you like it Joseph, and your happiness is its own gift to me."
He looked up and she was gratified to see his eyes shining. "Thank you." He said, clutching the book to his chest. They stared at each other for a few moments before he threw the hand not holding the book up in the air and then dove under the sofa, pulling out a slightly larger and lumpier package.
"I'm afraid it really does pale in comparison." He said shyly.
"A gift given with love is always enough. Lord knows I've had plenty few of those." She replied, and began unwrapping. A few seconds later she had revealed a long and delicately knitted scarf in deep navy blue, with emerald stripes weaving their way up the sides.
"I – uh – made it myself."
She looked up, shocked. "I didn't know you could knit! Mr Molesley, you kept that under your hat."
"Well, until a few weeks ago, I couldn't. But after you left your scarf here a few weeks ago and had to go without one until you could get it back, I thought you could do with another, and I wanted to make you something like the things you've made for me, so I – learnt."
"You learnt to knit so you could make me a scarf?" she repeated. "Oh Joseph. You are a wonderful man, and this is a wonderful gift. I love it. Thank you.". Holding it away from her, she studied the stitches. "You do have rather a gift for knitting as well it would appear. And the design is advanced for a beginner. Where did you get the idea? They almost look like leaves, or – ", and as she realised, she fell silent.
"Foliage." He finished. "Phyllis for Phyllis."
And it was at that moment that she could take it no longer. Placing the scarf in her lap and clutching handfuls of the soft wool, she looked him in the eye and made her own moment. "I don't know what you were about to say to me earlier Joseph, but I have something of my own to say to you."
His eyes were wide and hopeful. She could see sparks flying at the edge of her vision and feel her hands shaking in their woollen prison. The last time she had said these words had been the greatest mistake of her life, but she wasn't scared now. She wouldn't be scared anymore with him. Her life slowed down for a moment and she captured the frozen moment safe before changing everything.
"Joseph Molesley, I love you."
