"No," Aunt Eglantine stated, annoyed and decisive. "That will certainly not do."
It was early morning. So early, in fact, that the sun was still pathetically attempting to rise outside, meaning that my bedroom was lit by the light of several oil lamps. The reason we were up so ridiculously early was that the day had finally dawned—Downton Day, as I had been secretly calling it in my head. I had wondered aloud whether it was quite necessary to get up in the middle of the night, but this had just earned me a snap from my aunt about it being a perfectly reasonable hour, while Maisie murmured something about Downton being in Yorkshire, a day's travelling.
"Yes," my aunt had curtly agreed. "And we wish to arrive before nightfall, don't we?"
The object of my aunt's annoyance at this particular moment was my appearance in the looking-glass above my dressing table. I had been up since goodness-knows-when, and Maisie had been attempting to style my hair in a most elaborate way. My hair, it seemed, was not used to being tugged and twisted about so much, and was protesting most adamantly against the pull of the comb.
"Maisie, you really must do something about Nellie's hair," said my aunt despairingly. "Is there nothing you can do to, to tame it?"
"But what's wrong with the way it always looks?" I asked innocently, the answer already on the tip of my tongue.
"Because you will want to make a good first impression on the Crawleys," snapped my aunt. "And that won't happen with you wandering around looking like a scullery maid!"
This last comment, I felt, was a bit unfair. True, my appearance was probably not of Downton standards, but I thought I had looked acceptable enough. But apparently not.
"That dress will need to be changed as well. And there are some new shoes and a travelling cloak in your wardrobe."
"But—"
"You must be downstairs in no more than ten minutes, ready to go, or else there will be trouble, Eleanor."
I gave up; having been called my full name, I guessed there was no point in arguing.
There was a sharp click as my aunt exited the room, perhaps to complain despairingly to somebody else. If things were like this before we had even left Larkford House, I dreaded to think what it would be like once we actually arrived at Downton Abbey.
"Now, Miss," said Maisie, interrupting my thoughts somewhat. "Let's see about this hair, shall we?"
x-X-x
Miraculously, I found myself less than ten minutes later down in the drawing room, dress changed, new shoes on, and hair more styled than I had ever seen it before. Happiness still evaded my aunt, though.
"Well, I guess it will have to do, unless we—Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, as a bell rang somewhere. "That's Hanson. Our car awaits, Nellie!"
All thoughts and annoyance at my hair had evidently evaporated at the sound of Hanson, the chauffeur, ringing his bell to state that we were ready to depart. There was so much excitement in my aunt's eyes as she gave one last sweep of the house that I couldn't help feeling a little happy for her in spite of it all. As for myself, I thought as I clambered into the car after my aunt, I did not feel overjoyed to be going to Downton Abbey in the least. It sounded as if it were to be far too grand and awkward for my liking.
The journey to Yorkshire was, indeed, a long one, and the train trundled along loudly. Fortunately (or unfortunately, from a financial point of view), Aunt Eglantine had reserved first class accommodations. Rain began to lash against the windows not half an hour into the journey, making pattering sounds against the glass. I was bored, too, for there was little to occupy one's self with inside a train. There was only so much scenery to look at out of the window, and even then it was too misty and rainy to be able to see much. I couldn't help but wish I had packed a book or something in my hand bag, and not left them all in my suitcases, which I had no chance of accessing until we reached Downton Abbey.
My aunt had been reading a newspaper in silence, but I was not surprised at this; we had always been strangely affectionate in a non-communicative way, and time together was usually a silent affair. But now, the newspaper was discarded on the velvet seat beside her, and my aunt's head had drooped on her chest; she was fast asleep.
Reaching forward, I grabbed her newspaper and busied myself in the headlines, hoping it would bore me to sleep if not amuse me. There was the usual fare of political articles, most of which I merely skimmed over. Some man called Carl Jung had published his 'Theory of Psychoanalysis' and a farmer in Devon had lost a whole herd of cows. There was a mildly interesting feature where aspiring authors posted sample chapters of their work, but this annoyed me as there was no way of finding out what happened next.
The train stopped around two in the afternoon in some damp, dismal station in the middle of England that was half extinguished by a thick fog now settling around. Rain still splattered down, and my aunt, now fully awake, refused point blank to get out and stretch her legs and forbade me to do so either.
"It is raining, Nellie," she said, as though I could not tell the weather for myself. "That will do nothing for your appearance."
Of course, that all-important first impression.
My aunt seemed more animated during the second half of our journey, and more at liberty to hold conversation with me. The topics of conversation were, unfortunately for me, limited. All I heard were tales of the Crawleys and Downton Abbey as my aunt talked excitedly. In fact, I began to feel as if I already knew these Crawleys well, despite never having met them at all. However, though I did not find the slightly one-sided conversation with my aunt particularly interesting, it did mean that the awkward silence was no more.
The skies rolled around to black, and my aunt's watch ticked over another hour. We had been on the railroad all day, and I was beginning to feel the strain of being confined inside the compartment for so long.
"Aren't we nearly there?" I asked, wondering if I was in danger of sounding like a small child on a rare trip to the seaside.
My aunt checked me for being impertinent before replying, "Nellie, we shall get there when we get there. I'm quite sure that it will not be much longer. And, besides, it will be well worth it, you just wait until we roll up outside, because the walls of Downton are made of..."
And it began again.
Eventually, we slowed to a stop. The rain had abated somewhat, and we were able to alight on the platform without our umbrellas. The chauffeur was very prompt, but the ride was a bit long.
"Do you know how far we are from Downton Abbey?" I whispered, my eye on Taylor, the chauffeur.
"Oh, shush. I'm sure it will be very soon."
I sighed.
However, my aunt was proved right, at least in part, for, not half an hour later, the car took an abrupt turn and I felt its wheels roll upon gravel.
"We're here!" exclaimed Aunt Eglantine, excitedly though unnecessarily; I was very aware that we had arrived. "Oh, it's beautiful, is it not?"
"Where is...?"
I trailed off completely. I had peered out of the carriage window, and looked around for some sort of building like the one my aunt had described in such detail. Having found none, I had been about to voice my concerns, when I finally laid eyes upon Downton Abbey.
The reason I had not seen it sooner, I realised, was that I had not quite anticipated the enormity of the house. No, this was much more than a house. Dozens of lights blazed out from the windows, scattering beams onto the gravel below. Miles and miles of beautiful stone made the walls; panels of wonderful oak created a large front door.
Hurrying down from the driver's seat, Taylor opened the door for Aunt Eglantine to make her great descent. I peered past her and saw that several other figures were now appearing in the doorway, their frames silhouetted against the light. Taylor helped my aunt make her way delicately and sophisticatedly over towards them, leaving me to clamber down from the car most ungracefully, almost slipping on the last, rather wet, step. Luckily for me, for I was in great danger of making a fool of myself further, Taylor hurried back, this time accompanied by a large black umbrella, and assisted me to the door.
"Lady Eglantine," someone was saying as I approached the sheltered and lit porch with Taylor. "What a pleasure it is to see you again. We are so charmed that you could come." The speaker was a woman, with dark hair and an American accent. I knew that this must be the Lady of the House, Cora Crawley.
"The pleasure is all mine," my aunt insisted, taking Cora Crawley warmly by the hand.
"You must come in out of this frightful weather!" said a man with grey hair and kind eyes who I assumed was Robert Crawley. "Then we can start on introductions. But first, allow me to introduce Carson, the butler, and Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper. They keep their staff in excellent conduct, and I'm sure they all will make your stay most pleasant."
I took in Carson, an elderly man with large eyebrows who nodded to us both, and Mrs Hughes, who gave a slight curtsey. I supposed there would be a great many staff to "keep in excellent conduct" in a house of this size.
In the brightly-lit hallway, with grand paintings and art spread around, there were more introductions to be made.
"My daughters," said Robert. "My eldest, Mary, then Edith, and my youngest, Sybil."
I passed an eye over the three daughters, all three so alike in elegance; yet the contrast in their looks was evident.
"And this," Robert gestured towards my aunt and me, "is Lady Eglantine and her niece, Eleanor. We really are so delighted you came," he added to us.
Mary, Edith, and Sybil all swept an identical eye over Aunt Eglantine and me, and I remembered my aunt's feelings on the importance of a good first impression. However, before I had had time to remember about standing tall and looking pleasant, everyone had looked away, and the moment was gone.
"Shall we go through to the drawing room, Robert?" asked Cora.
"Yes, yes. I expect you are quite tired out," Robert said to Aunt Eglantine. "But I'm sure you'll have a drink and a bite to eat before we show you to your rooms?"
"That would be wonderful."
The drawing room was, if possible, even grander than the hallway; tapestries by the dozen were strung up, and luxurious carpets and furniture were positioned at aesthetically strategic intervals. A footman held the door open for us, a tall young man with fair hair. Quite charming compared to our old footman at home, Walter.
At Larkford House, a "bite to eat and drink" might have included a pot of tea or bottle of wine, as well as a cake or two. And visitors would compliment us even on this. Yet here, at Downton Abbey, a spread larger than my average supper arrived in the drawing room, carried by the blonde footman and another, equally tall and striking, but with dark hair. After delivering the many trays to the table, they took up solitary positions by the door, standing tall and straight and expressionless. The Crawleys took no notice of them whatsoever, and I found myself thinking fondly of the way in which I greeted our staff cheerfully whenever I saw them, and often spent afternoons talking with them. At Downton, it appeared, staff were staff, and that was that.
"Mary—" Cora's American accent interrupted my thoughts—"why don't you take Eleanor to the library? You can take your tea there, and get to know each other a little better."
Being told to "get to know" someone a little better sets up a most awkward situation, which I found myself part of as I settled in the library with Mary, Sybil, and Edith.
"So, Eleanor," began Mary, evidently about to attempt upon a conversation that would inevitably end up being awkward. But I did at least realise something that might make me feel more comfortable.
"Please," I interrupted, "please, call me Nellie."
"Nellie? Like the elephant?" asked Edith, smirking at her sisters, neither of whom returned the gesture.
I mumbled something marginally incoherent about it being what I had always been called.
"Nellie," said Sybil, smiling. "Yes, it suits you. Not, of course," she added, "that I am implying that you are like the elephant!"
"No," said Mary snidely, "that is something only Edith would come up with."
Whether this was a jibe at her sister, or a word in my defence, I was glad that we had gotten over the name issue. I wasn't sure if I could stand being called "Eleanor" all the time. I would constantly feel as if I were in trouble.
The conversation ensued with closed questions and one word answers, which made the whole thing feel more like an interview, not a general conversation between acquaintances. Though it was not unpleasant, as all three of the sisters seemed reasonable enough, it was extremely awkward. I was relieved when I was rescued by my aunt, who entered the library to inform me that we would be retiring to bed now.
I bade goodnight to Mary, Edith, and Sybil and thanked Cora and Robert for their warm welcome, and then followed my aunt up a staircase even more beautiful than our own—and ours had often been a talking point during parties at Larkford House. We were led to our rooms by the two footmen, who were carrying the remainder of our luggage, the majority of which had already been brought up.
The fair haired footman took me to my room, which was down a red-carpeted corridor from my aunt's chamber, where I could already hear her making requests to the other footman, whom I pitied greatly; I would not like to be the one to be on the receiving end of my aunt's demands.
I was much relieved and delighted to find Maisie already in my bedroom, folding down my bedclothes and putting my possessions in their appropriate places.
"Good evening, Miss Nellie," she said when she saw me, curtseying. "I've prepared the bed, so it'll be all comfortable for you."
"Thank you, Maisie," I said. "Here are the last of my things." I turned to the footman, who hurriedly handed the packages to Maisie.
"I'm not quite sure if we'll find room to fit all these in, Miss," said Maisie, a hint of concern in her voice.
"Oh," I said. "Well it doesn't really matter, does it? I don't understand why Aunt Eglantine considered it quite necessary to bring an entire suitcase of hats, but still. She is set in her ways."
Maisie said nothing, but gave a sort of half-shrug which suggested she agreed with me, but didn't want to say so outright.
A thought suddenly occurred to me.
"Where will you sleep, Maisie?" I asked. At Larkford House, Maisie had always slept in a room that adjoined my own, and I had been comforted by the idea of a friend being close by. But now, there seemed to be no such arrangement.
The footman, still present in the room, cleared his throat. I turned to him expectantly.
"Excuse me, Miss Eleanor," he said nervously. "But we've a room prepared for your dressing maid. She'll be staying with us. In the attics."
I digested this information. I suppose, from what I had seen of the house so far, I should have expected something like this. Of course maids and ladies would not be on the same level here.
"Yes," I said, looking to Maisie. "Yes, of course."
The footman nodded, looking relieved that I had understood his information.
"Perhaps," I added, to Maisie, "you could go with..." I looked expectantly at the footman.
He started slightly, but said, "William, Miss. Second Footman."
I smiled at him. "With William. That way, you won't get lost."
"I'd be glad to show you the way," said William, smiling at Maisie.
"But, Miss Nellie," she said, "who will get you ready for the night?"
"Oh, Maisie," I said, "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself for one night. I would be much happier if I knew you were not wandering hopelessly about not knowing what to do or where to go."
Smiling gratefully and thanking me, Maisie left the room with William.
When she was gone, I regretted my kindness, for I missed her presence in the room. I was not lonely for long, though, for as soon as I had changed out of my dress and was just taking down my hair from its ridiculous style (which had steadily become even more ridiculous as the day had progressed, slipping down my head), my aunt entered my bedroom, without knocking, of course.
"Ah, Nellie, good," she declared. "I hope you are settled in well?"
"Yes, very well," I answered. "I have sent Maisie off with a footman; he's going to look after her."
"Yes, indeed," said my aunt, not really listening. "I must admit, I thought that Downton would have better conducted staff."
This surprised me. I had thought William, the footman, most pleasant. My aunt, it appeared, had other opinions.
"That footman," she said haughtily. "He could not even tell me the type of silk used in the bed sheets! I mean," she added, "it's just standard practice, isn't it? And would he bring me a crystal glass for my water? Would he ever! Plain glass, I've had to deal with, and with a chip and all!"
"Aunt Eglantine," I said, "please calm yourself. Is it really necessary to know the type of silk in which you are going to sleep in?"
"Well," said my aunt slowly. "No. Perhaps not. Yes, you are right, of course, Nellie. I have let my tongue run away with itself. Tomorrow, indeed, will please me more, I feel." She opened the door to leave. "The Crawleys are having some friends round for dinner. The Duke of Banbridge, Edward Yorke, is coming. I am sure you will find him most honourable and charming."
I rolled my eyes. "Goodnight, Aunt Eglantine."