Mrs Hughes thought the girl looked almost apologetic at this, the way her voice trailed off and her eye contact slipped uncomfortably as she finished.
"Oh dear, I see, perhaps you'd best come inside." Mrs Hughes could think of nothing else to do with this supposed Sallie Bates. So she steered the girl into her sitting room and called for Daisy to bring them some tea. Mrs Hughes bustled about the sitting room while they waited, gathering her thoughts. Sallie, she supposed, sat at the table in uncomfortable silence with a look on her face alike to that of a scolded spaniel puppy.
"Who's this?" Daisy asked as she set the tray down. "No one to concern yourself about!" Mrs Hughes answered sternly before reminding the assistant cook authoritatively to close the door as she left.
With nothing more with which to occupy herself, Mrs Hughes sat down across from this newcomer and said "Well, Miss Sallie Bates, I think it best that you tell me your story, please, do be succinct but be sure to omit no detail." The girl nodded curtly and replied "Yes, of course, ma'am, I will try."
Here is the story that Sallie Bates told:
"I grew up in an Abbey, not like this one, of course, it was occupied by nuns and by children. Orphans and foundlings, mostly. I had been left there when barely a day old, the Mother Superior was not sure that I would survive, I was put into the special care of Sister Marianne. She was very young at the time, and very fanciful. She gave me the name of Ophelia Salasie Edwards for she felt that there was no name more beautiful and she made a career of doting on me. The name had stuck by the time the more senior nuns had heard of it and they had told Sister Marianne that she could name me but they prefered to call me Sallie for they thought it more conventional. Sister Marianne was like a mother to me for she was very young and not allowed to adopt me herself, although she did try. She would often tell me "Sparrow, if I could have you for my own, you would have been mine from the very beginning."
"Sister Marianne died of the Spanish Flu when I was eleven and after that the Mother Superior thought it best to give me extra schooling to try and control my grieving. It didn't help much for my grief but I would not have had it any other way, Sister Marianne was the closest thing to family that I had ever had, I would not have forgotten her so easily. Either way, I did get a good education and a kind home for nearly the entirety of my life so far. I have learned enough to qualify for a teaching position at a school, a governess even.
"Anyway, it was very recently that I received a letter. It was quite distressing at first and I did not know quite what to make of it. It was from a woman who claimed to be my mother, a Mrs Vera Bates. She left it in her will, saying that she had left a newborn girl-child on the steps of St. Carmen's Abbey on the night of October 24th, 1909 and that the letter was to be given to the child who fit this description. It took a long time for this letter to be processed and it finally reached me a year ago. It explained how at the time of my birth… " Here Sallie trailed off, as if hesitant to give delicate information. Then it clicked, 1909. Mrs Hughes said "If you are nervous about giving us information pertaining to Mr Bates and his... unfortunate past, he has already been quite honest with us, you must not let this impede your story." The girl still seemed unconviced "Go on." Mrs Hughes prompted, and Sallie hesitantly resumed her tale.
"At the time of my birth… my father, this Mr. John Bates… had been in prison for petty theft for seven months. She explained that she did not wish such shame upon an innocent babe and had therefore left me to the kind and generous nuns, whom she knew would take good care of me. The letter said that she had wished to contact me previously but that she had not known how and had therefore left this in her will. She believed that I should know the truth of my beginnings. This letter has since led me to Mr Bates, and therefore here, to Downton Abbey. I am his daughter." She finished, as if this were some great accomplishment. Then she beamed up at Mrs Hughes, "Please, please may I speak with him? I only have the day's leave from the Abbey and I must still catch the train back to London."
Mrs Hughes considered this story carefully as she gazed upon the pleading face of this young girl. Vera Bates, how she detested the name, Mr Bates would have no desire to hear it brought up again.
"When did you say this letter was dated?" she asked the girl.
"It was the ninth of November, 1918." Sallie looked surprised but answered immediately, it was clear that she had memorized every word of this letter, the only proof that she belonged to the world outside this St Carmen's Abbey of hers. Mrs Hughes sighed, looking at her. November ninth, of course. This letter had been written the day before Vera Bates' suicide, it must have been a final attempt to ensured that she would drive a wedge between Mr Bates and Anna even in death. Sending this daughter, just in case Mr Bates managed to be proven innocent. Mrs Hughes shuddered. Of course, none of this was poor Sallie's fault, she supposed.
"Very well, I shall go in and see if Mr Bates is busy, I can make no promises but I do think that he should hear this from you."
"Do you? Oh, dear Mrs Hughes, it does mean an awful, awful lot. Thank you." Mrs Hughes sighed as she closed Mr Bates' supposed daughter in her sitting room and went in search of her poor father. She did so hate to be the bearer of troublesome news.
