William woke up at four in the morning. A young, slender moon shone its light towards him through the bedroom window. Today was his first day at work, and being late wouldn't make a good impression on Mr. Carson. He sat up in bed, surveying the dim room. His clothes hung on the back of the balloon backed chair Mum bought at the church yard sale, while his cap sat on the chair itself, over a pair of shoes that he had painstakingly blacked and polished the night before. On the table beside his bed was a book that he had purchased from the same church yard sale-Moby Dick. He thought to bring it on his journey to his first job-and hopefully the only job he'll ever have.

Constantia Mason was already up and she was starting breakfast and making bread at the same time. Her husband asked, "Is William up already? He has to, if he has an early start." Pausing, she knead the dough some more. "I will wake him, the water's boiling for his bath. But I suppose he'll be awake any moment now."

William slipped his feet on a pair of old moccasins and put a dark blue wrap over his shoulders. With the help of the moonlight, he was able to locate the white jug to collect water so he could wash his face. Hot, preferably. It would provide a bit of comfort in the bitter, cold early morning. He walked out of his room to the kitchen. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake up so late," he said. Holding the jug, he said, "Morning, Mum. I-I'd need some hot water...to wash my face." His mother smiled. "Away with you. A bath's what you'd need. It's in the room over there. I'll put your things outside the door."

Thirty minutes after, came out William, freshly clean and fully dressed. He already had his things with him-all inside a slightly battered Gladstone bag. He looked around the house-he wouldn't be there for a long time, in six months, at least. His mother, just finished packing some food and was putting it inside a drawstring burlap bag. She handed the bag to him and also a flask which contained tea with honey and store-bought lemon.

Constantia Mason's eyes glowed with pride. "Look at you, you dear one. Second footman today, and a butler someday. I don't want to fuss, but you best keep that coat on." William hugged his mother-tightly, he mused later on that he wouldn't have any of her hugs for months to come. "I'll be all right, Mum. And I'll write. Every week. I'll have so much to tell." Constantia only nodded and kissed her son goodbye. Then to her husband, "Abner, you two have a safe journey. There are two sandwiches in that bag, and a flask. The cap's good enough for a cup." Abner Mason nodded, and took William's bag from the chair. He nodded to William. "Come now son, let's go." William followed suit.

Outside, the wintry early morning greeted William and his father. Abner Mason put his son's bag inside the small wagon. Both men climbed on the driver's seat of the wagon, and the drive to the station began. "Are you looking forward to your first day at work, my boy?" asked Abner. "Lord Grantham's staff are ever so nice-the butler, Mr. Carson looks a bit terrifying, but he's nice, and doesn't put on grand airs. The two maids-a red haired one, and the golden-haired one-they're nice-I've yet to remember their names. When I came to the interview yesterday, one of the servants had their birthday. A kitchen maid, named Daisy. She just turned fourteen. And..and.." William was relieved that it was still dark, and his father couldn't see that he was blushing. He was probably red as tomato, with the cold, and his father saw it as that, thank goodness. "And you like the kitchen maid, don't you?" Abner finished for his son, rather shrewdly. "Oh..that is.." To William's surprise, his father laughed. "Your mother and I were beginning to think that you were blind. When you were fifteen, and still at school, I noticed many girls were making sheep's eyes at you. But of course in this case, work has to come first." His son nodded in agreement. "You better eat your sandwich, you'll be having a long trip. To stay your stomach." William, at this recommendation, took one of the sandwiches from the burlap bag, which was wrapped in a dark blue checked tea-cloth. "Bacon and cheese," he murmured, after he finished with his first bite.


Milly Flanagan was snoring again. Because of that, Daisy Robinson was awake at five in the morning, thirty minutes before she was due to wake. Viewing it as a blessing in disguise, she took her work dress along with a towel and other things. Yesterday was a long day, and she was tired out. Today was her scheduled day for the bath (the servants have a scheduled bath every two days with times for the evening and the night) and she would relish it. Baths like this were luxury, and it was some sort of treat for Daisy. Because it seemed like all she did in her whole life was to fend for herself.

But that wasn't true, Daisy thought, while scrubbing herself in the bath. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were there too. Mrs. Hughes might cluck disapprovingly when she did something wrong, and Mrs. Patmore might scream like a banshee whenever the porridge got burnt at the bottom of the pot, but she knew that it would have been different if she hadn't been left at the doorstep of the kitchens at Downton. Goodness knows what she would have been. But she also knew that these ladies cared for her. And she had two older sisters in Gwen and Anna.

But they weren't my real family, thought Daisy sadly. My own family just gave me up. Gave me up as dead.

Daisy was able to finish her bath in fifteen minutes, and that included removing traces that someone had used the bath outside her schedule. In her three years with working at the scullery, she had learned to work quickly and nimbly, like Jack in the nursery rhyme. It wasn't being devious, it was just having to work smart, if you didn't want to hear Mrs. Patmore's banshee shrieks of fury or dismay (whichever situation was applicable), or Mrs. Hughes frown of disapproval. It was strange, but she began to think of these two older women as her mothers, and had come to love both as such.

Finally, she was ready. And her first task was to wake the servants.

"Oh Lord, here it comes," she said aloud to herself.


The bus dropped William off by the post office, because the church was two blocks away, and the church had a sort of short-cut to the big house. There, you might come across a friendly farmer who could give you a lift, which William was able to have. It was a long walk for someone lugging a heavy bag and in the early morning besides, so William was glad to accept the lift. The farmer giving him a lift was a friendly person, a man named John Drake, who asked, "Ah, you're going to be footman at the big house?" William nodded. The farmer nodded in approval and said, "The lord is a good employer as well as a good landlord. You're in good hands, lad. Where do you come from?" William came from the far end of the village, thus he and his parents had to take the bus to go to church. "At the very far end of the village, sir. Just between Downton village and Thirsk. My dad's a farmer, and I'll miss it." Drake understood, and nodded. The rest of the ride was in companionable silence.

Mr. Drake's wagon finally came to a halt. "Your stop, lad," he said with a grin. "Good luck to you." William tipped his cap at him, with a "Thank you, Mr. Drake, till we meet again!" and then he walked to the gate.

In the servants' hall, Mr. Carson was pacing the floor. "He's due to arrive soon," Carson grunted when Mrs. Hughes called his attention. "Being late does not bode well for his future here." Elsie Hughes frowned. "Now, now, Mr. Carson. What if the lad is on his way? He can't very well send a telegraph to tell us he's on his way, ease up now, will you." Mrs. Hughes bustled out of his pantry, the keys in her belt tinkling. She shook her head. Sometimes, the man can be too rigid. But he had a point. Tardiness wouldn't do. She hoped that the lad wouldn't come to any harm.

For now, Thomas Barrow, first footman, laid the table for breakfast. Until the second footman's arrival, his duties would double. He did not like it one bit. Thomas wished that the boy would arrive today, so he can dump his duties on the boy-what was his name? Walter? No, that was not right. William? Yes, that's the one.


Upstairs, Robert Crawley, Fifth Earl of Grantham, woke up unusually early. To him, "usual" was around seven or eight, but this morning, he woke up at six. Like Daisy (although he was not to know it), he viewed his early waking a blessing in disguise. Today would be a busy day, he thought. Meet the new footman, he recited to himself in a whisper. Meeting with Jarvis about the farms and the tenants-who's not paying up? Surely there must be some way to still keep them. And ask Carson to see to sending the fruits in store for Rosamund in London, and to ask Mary or one of the footmen to send a cable to send Mr. Mead to the train station. And speak to Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson about how things are going downstairs. Then there's luncheon with the widowed Agatha Spenlow. Cora won't forgive me if we missed this.

Robert looked at the window in their bedroom. The sky was still dark, and it would remain so until eight or nine in the morning. It was snowing again, and he was amazed by the beauty of the falling snow. Other people may dismiss it as trivial, but he carried his fascination with falling snow into his adulthood. When Mary, Edith and Sybil were little girls, Cora would ask Mrs. Patmore to boil the maple syrup her mother had sent her, and then ask Andrew (before he left service to tend to a greengrocer's store and get married) to scoop snow into bowls for the girls, and then hot maple syrup would be poured into the snow into different swirls and curlicues, just like Sybil liked it. Mama said it was outlandish and common, but his daughters loved it.

He thought about the new footman. When Mr. Carson told him that one had passed his standards, Robert was told that the boy was a kind and pleasant fellow, and Mr. Carson said that although the boy was not well-versed in the life of service, William Mason knew the value of hard work and he was willing to learn whatever needs to be learned. It was not like Carson to make a gamble, but he trusted his butler's instincts. Carson was loyal to the bone, and a staunch defender of all things right and traditional that it sometimes drove him up the wall. Most of the time, he agreed with him, though. Thomas, it seemed, was not a great favourite of the butler, even if he did his work well.

"My lord, he may be green about the ears, but William Mason knows the value of hard work, and he also possesses a teachable mind."

"So we'll take him then?"

"It would depend on you, my lord. Philip Hardacre is a nice fellow and a good worker, but he is not tall enough. Edward Foster is gangly and clumsy to boot. William Mason may not be as seasoned as the other two candidates, but as I have said, there's never a more tractable mind than that boy's."

"All right, Carson. We'll take him. Go down now and put the boy out of his misery. By the way, how is Thomas? He seems to be enjoying his promotion."

"He is a good worker. And that is all I can say, my lord."

"Thomas doesn't seem to be a favourite with you."

"The young man still has a long way to go, and that is that, my lord."

Remembering yesterday's conversation, Robert chuckled.


"Where is that William Mason now?" ground out Thomas, who was already done laying the table and accomplished the second footman's tasks as well. He thought that the young bumpkin of a farmer's son would arrive today and relieve him of the second footman's duties that he had already been doing for the past three weeks. The servants were already in the servants' hall, awaiting their breakfast.

"The boy's probably on his way, he lives far away from Downton," Martin Watson, Lord Grantham's valet tried to soothe him. "Easy on him, Thomas. Go easy on him."

"That wouldn't do, Watson," snapped Sarah O'Brien, Thomas' friend and partner in crime. "The lad has to toe the line if he wants to get on in service." To Daisy, who was filling the servant's tea, she barked, "Not enough tea, girl! This is less than half a cupful. Now come on back and pour some more." A chastened Daisy Robinson marched back and poured the tea into O'Brien's cup. As she looked up, she saw Anna and Gwen give her sympathetic looks. You poor baby, their eyes seemed to say.

A knock was heard on the door.

"Ah," said Mr. Carson. "That probably would be William. Nicholas, please open the door for William. Thank you."

"About time he came," muttered Thomas rather mutinously. Carson glowered at him and said, "Thank you very much, Thomas," implying that there was no gratitude in his reply to the irascible first footman.

Presently, William Mason came, cap in hand, apologizing profusely at his late arrival. "No matter, my dear," Mrs. Hughes said, her motherly instinct kicking in, provoked by Thomas' remarks. She had a very nasty feeling that the boy would be subject to the senior footman's bullying later on. "Have you had your breakfast?"

Note: So sorry for the late upload! Things are busy at home and work that it's only now during the weekend that I got to update the story. Please keep on reading, and thank you. As always, your review is appreciated!