It took me several moments the next morning to realise where I was. The crisp new sheet on the mattress felt unfamiliar and strange, and there were thick, velvet hangings that I had drawn around my bed the previous night that now blocked out any daylight that may have been coming in through the window.

As I lay, staring up at the velvet, I could not help an irrepressible feeling of dread for the coming day. It was quite unexplainable, though I suspected the arrival of the Duke of Banbridge was to blame, at least in part. Downton Abbey, too, just seemed so massive and elegant; I already felt out of place at Larkford House, and my inability to act appropriately in such environments was even more obvious here. It was not that the Crawleys were unkind people; on the contrary, they seemed most amiable and generous. It was more that we were so different, a fact I noticed particularly with the Crawley daughters. Though they were my age or thereabouts, we could not have been more dissimilar. I knew my aunt wanted me to interact and socialise with people like this, and I knew that it was probably good for me, but it did not make the idea any easier.

I rose from my bed, and no sooner had I drawn the curtains (which revealed only another grey and depressing day outside the window) and wondered where on earth Maisie had got to, than there was a knock at the door, and in came the subject of my thoughts herself.

"Good morning, Miss," she said, bringing in a pile of fresh laundry. "And how did you sleep last night, may I ask?"

"Very well, very well," I said. "How are the servants' quarters?"

"Oh, most agreeable, Miss," Maisie answered.

"And the rest of the staff? They are agreeable also?"

"Oh, yes," said Maisie, retrieving my dress from the wardrobe. "They seemed most welcoming. But I'm sure you will meet them all today."

"I will?"

"I believe that her Ladyship is going to give you a tour of the house. It was announced to the staff this morning to make sure that everything was spick and span downstairs in preparation."

Of course, I thought, wondering if all my moves at Downton Abbey were to be announced and prepared for.

"Your arrival in the house has already caused quite the stir downstairs," Maisie continued, starting to help me into the periwinkle blue dress that had been selected for me.

"It has?"

"Indeed. Everyone was talking about Lady Eglantine last night."

"Good things, I suppose?" saying this, but not entirely believing it myself.

"We-ell," began Maisie. "Not all, Miss. It seems that some of the staff believe that she, perhaps, has a little too much self-importance, if you don't mind me saying."

"Of course," I said, internally frustrated with my aunt's antics. "Well, we both know that that's at least partly true."

Maisie smiled nervously, evidently not quite sure if it was deemed acceptable to scorn her employer, even if it were only in light-hearted humour.

"I hope that everyone has not assumed me to be the same as my Aunt Eglantine?"

"I certainly made sure I put in a good word for you, Miss," said Maisie, not altogether answering my question.

"Well, Aunt Eglantine was certainly putting on a show last night. I feel quite sorry for the poor footman who had to deal with her."

"Oh, not Thomas? Oh, nobody should feel sorry for him."

"Why ever not?" I exclaimed, surprised at Maisie's tone. As far as I knew, she never spoke ill of anybody, particularly someone she had hardly known long enough to pass judgement on.

Maisie, apparently realising this, blushed somewhat and muttered, "Well, he's just...he's just..."

"Yes?"

"Not very nice," she finished lamely.

I, however, did not consider this an adequate response. "What do you mean, 'he's not very nice'?" I demanded.

"Oh, never mind, Miss Nellie," Maisie said, hurriedly searching for a change in subject. "We must finish getting you ready, or I'll have your aunt to answer to!"

I reluctantly complied, and no more was said on the matter.

Downstairs, I was fortunate enough to be led to the breakfast room by William the footman, for I was quite certain that I would not have been able to find the way by myself.

I found myself in an awkward position, however, when I discovered the entire Crawley family already seated at the table, and Aunt Eglantine nowhere to be seen. I was just about to creep out of the room, hopefully unnoticed, and wait until I could enter with my aunt for company, when Robert Crawley looked over his newspaper and saw me.

"Ah, Eleanor. Good," he said, by way of a morning greeting.

"I do hope you slept well," said Cora, smiling at me serenely from over the top of her tea cup.

"I slept very well indeed, thank you," I said, taking an empty seat next to Lady Edith and hoping that this was a suitable thing to do.

"Will you have some tea?" Cora pursued. "Breakfast will be up soon, I'm sure."

"Will your aunt be gracing us with her presence this morning?" asked Edith, as I took a cup and saucer from a tray in the middle of the table.

At this seemingly harmless statement, Edith's eyes flickered towards Mary, and they shared a slight smirk, at which I perceived that perhaps they shared similar ideas with the staff downstairs regarding my aunt.

Choosing my words carefully, I said that I had not seen Aunt Eglantine; however, I was sure she would be around presently.

"It's rather odd, though," persevered Edith. "I mean, if you ask me—"

"But nobody did ask you," said Sybil, and Edith was silent.

I was saved from any further questions by the arrival of breakfast, which was another extravagant and complicated affair. It was brought up, once more, by the two footmen, William, whom I now acknowledged with a smile, which he nervously returned (evidently this amount of attention was slightly disconcerting to him) and the other, Thomas. Maisie's words rang in my head as I watched him bring another tray of tea over to the table. "Nobody should feel sorry for him...he's not very nice".

There was a sort of meanness about the man's mouth; the slight smile he was wearing reflected not at all in his eyes, and was more of a sneer than a smile anyway. But I wouldn't pass judgement on somebody I knew nothing at all about, based purely on my maid's words and a first impression. Therefore, I accepted some sugar from him with grace, and thought no more of it.

It was now that my aunt finally decided to put in an appearance, bustling into the room in a galore of silk and feathers. It seemed that she had taken it upon herself to appear extravagant, lavish, and in my opinion, frankly ridiculous at all times while on our stay.

There was the usual disruption and commotion that Aunt Eglantine always seemed to create whenever she was present, but she settled down to finish breakfast with the rest of us, and the conversation drifted along until plans for the day came up.

"You must be at dinner tonight," Robert was saying. "Our good friend, the Duke of Banbridge, will be there."

At this, Lady Mary snorted into her cup, to which her mother gave her a stern look.

"What?" she said, innocently. "The Duke of Banbridge is certainly not my cup of tea. Do not expect me to hang around once he has arrived."

"Oh, but Mary, you must," insisted her mother.

"But I am going riding with Cousin Matthew, and I—"

"You will be back for dinner, Mary, and that is that," said Robert, obviously having the final word in all of this.

Cora turned to me. "Eleanor, you are sure to find the Duke most admirable. Do not listen to Mary; she is very set in her ways." She smiled sweetly at me again while I tried to make sense of this statement, with very little success.

"Oh, don't worry," offered up Aunt Eglantine. "Nellie will be most satisfied with the Duke, I am sure."

I was on the verge of saying something along the lines of having opinions for myself, when William, the young footman, dropped a tray of spoons with a clatter and chaos ensued, thus ending the breakfast-time discussion.

x-X-x

"I didn't drop it, I swear!"

It was noon, and I had been informed by my aunt that we would be touring Downton Abbey with Lord and Lady Grantham, and to arrive in the Drawing Room at 12 o'clock sharp. The only problem was that I had very little sense of direction, and despite having visited the drawing room the previous night, I found myself wandering despairingly down corridor after corridor, with no idea if I was heading in the right direction or not. It had been along one of these hopelessly similar corridors that I heard voices coming from a side room. Drawing closer to the slightly ajar door (I was always one to give in to curiosity), I heard a curious conversation unfold.

"I didn't drop it; I swear I didn't, sir!" That was surely the voice of William, nervous and bumbling as usual.

"Then how do you explain how a tray of spoons found its way onto the floor by your feet?" This was a much deeper, older voice. Stern and strict.

"I—it was T—Thomas, sir," stuttered William.

"Thomas?" asked the deeper voice, almost curious now.

"Yes," said William, more confident now the other man seemed less stern. "Yes, he placed the tray so it were sure to overbalance the minute I touched it! I saw him up to something, but didn't realise what, or I would have been sure not to touch the tray, I swear!"

"Hmm," said the other voice, obviously considering this tale of events carefully. "I'll make some enquiries, but it must be you who apologises dearly to his Lordship, as until we have any further evidence, it seems that you are to blame. It was quite a disaster, mind! Especially as there were guests present. Now, let us go back downstairs; I'm quite sure there is work for us both to be getting on with."

I remembered just in time that they were about to exit via the door that I was currently eavesdropping at, and was quick enough to take one large, smart step away and act as if I had just arrived.

"Oh, Miss Eleanor," said the older man, who I now recognised by face as Carson, the butler. Of course, I should have realised before, for his voice suited his face and demeanour perfectly.

"Hello," I said, hurriedly trying to think of an excuse to explain my presence. Then I realized the truth would suffice. "I'm sorry," I said, more smoothly now. "But I have gotten most awfully lost on my way to the Drawing Room; you couldn't show me the way, could you?" I asked, smiling at Carson in a way I was sure was quite sickening.

"Oh," said Carson, evidently surprised. "Of course, of course. Right this way. William," he now addressed the young footman, "Go back downstairs; we will continue this later."

It appeared, in fact, that I had not been so far from the Drawing Room after all. If I had not stopped to listen at the door, and instead followed the corridor on and around a bit more, I would have gotten there alright by myself. As it was, I was instead embarrassingly presented to my aunt, who flamboyantly thanked Carson and scolded me for my imprudence with directions.

"Shall we proceed?" asked Cora, saving me from any further ticking off.

The tour, it seemed, was a good opportunity for the Lord and Lady of the house to show off their splendid home. And indeed it was splendid; I myself was struck by the beauty of the rooms and furnishings, all of which easily out-did Larkford House.

It was beautiful, and yet...There was something about the vastness, the grandness, that made me uneasy. I have already said that I felt physically stifled by the extravagance of my daily life, and Downton Abbey seemed to magnify that feeling even more. I felt utterly and completely out of place, so much so that I almost felt relieved when I was told we would go downstairs to meet the staff. For some reason, I thought I wouldn't feel as uncomfortable and out of place there.

Not uncommonly, I was slightly wrong. A babble of noise from a room downstairs reached a crescendo as we drew nearer, and yet the very second that we entered the room, several chairs scraped as everybody stood up, and all fell silent. Nobody would even look at us in the eye, but Cora and Robert acted as though this were perfectly normal.

Carson bowed to Lord and Lady Grantham, and then to my aunt.

"Good afternoon, Carson," said Robert, glancing around the room impressively.

"My goodness, what a lot of staff you've got here!" said my aunt, following Robert's gaze at everybody.

"Indeed, Lady Eglantine," put in Carson. "And I assure you they are most efficient."

"Of course," said my aunt condescendingly. "And shall we just not mention the word 'spoons', then?"

Carson was as speechless as I was both annoyed and embarrassed by my aunt's words. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and my aunt arched her eyebrows at him, before bustling after Cora, who was saying in a loud voice, apparently unaware of what had just taken place, "Eglantine, you must come and see the kitchen, it really is quite the marvel..."

Not sure whether I should follow or stick around and apologise for my aunt's behaviour, I was relieved to spot Maisie in amongst the rest of the staff.

"Maisie," I said, my voice sounding exceptionally loud in the silent room. I wished somebody would start talking again. "I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

"Of course, Miss Nellie," said Maisie, hurrying over. We took to a corner of the room, whereupon the rest of the staff took it as acceptable to resume their antics, and, to my relief, chatter started up again.

"Oh, Maisie," I moaned, in a low voice. "Whatever am I to do with Aunt Eglantine? I wished the ground to swallow me up after that display!"

"Now, Miss," said Maisie soothingly. "That is just your aunt's way. You know she means no harm by it."

"You and I know that, yes. But I'm worried about, you know. Everybody else."

By 'everybody else', I really meant the rest of the staff. Though I sensed that the Crawleys disliked my aunt also, for some reason, I did not worry about, nor value, their opinion. I was much more concerned about being hated and discussed downstairs.

"Don't worry, Miss," said Maisie. "The people down here don't care whether your aunt's got two heads as long as they're doing their jobs correctly. You just worry about keeping on your aunt's good side and don't go causing any rows with her over this now, will you?"

"She has a good side?" I said, but I was smiling now. Of course, what Maisie had said was true. Who really cared about Lady Eglantine and her nobody-of-a-niece Eleanor? People had never even heard of us, let alone me, and they were unlikely to even think about something that we had said.

This thought, however, did not stop me giving the group of servants an apologetic smile as my aunt and the Crawleys returned from the kitchen, ready to walk back upstairs. What I had not expected, though, was for my smile to be returned by somebody. Least of all for it to be returned by Thomas.