AN/ Thank you for your kind reviews and for reading. Let's turn up the heat on Thomas a bit, shall we?

Lucille's plan had been to finish off Mr. Barrow next with a tastefully dramatic suicide, accessorized with Jimmy's note. She could give the authorities a narrative simple enough for even them to understand; Ivy, James and Thomas, all victims of a bloody love triangle. It would have been tied up nice and neat, no further questions asked, but she had a taste for killing now. She could not believe how easy it was; how stupidly the lambs walked to the slaughter.

She'd read all of Thomas' letters. There were others out there who were plotting with Mr. Barrow to ruin the reputation of Downton and of Mr. Carson. If she could take care of them as well, how much greater would his gratitude be? He would have to see that she loved him; have to see that no one else could possibly love him more.

And now that she had mastered Thomas' handwriting, what was to stop her?

Absolutely nothing. The Darkness answered.

-00-

Thomas took the phone call from Downton himself.

"No. I haven't heard from him. What do you mean he is missing? How should I know if he might be with Ivy? Of course. Of course. I'll ask around, but why would he come to London? No, nor would I!"

Lucille fought back a smile as he slammed down the phone. She knew that Thomas knew that James had come to London. The telegraph she had created had told him exactly when to meet James at the National Gallery. But James had never shown. James had kept another appointment, poor lamb.

Killing Thomas now would be too easy. Lucille wanted to watch him suffer from a front row seat. She wanted to grab a bag of popcorn and watch Mr. Barrow slowly unravel. This was better than a movie; there was sound!

And once her latest batch of letters found their way to her marks, the movie would only get better.

-00-

"Thank you, Miss Baxter, you've been most cooperative." The constable held the door of the butler's hall open and the Lady's maid scampered out quickly. Molesley offered her a supportive smile. He had been waiting for her, but she brushed past him and disappeared up the stairs mumbling something about Lady Grantham's lace.

From behind the butler's desk, the detective called out, "Who's next, Norris?"

"A Mrs. Butte."

"Good lord, another B?"

"She's the last, guv."

"Of the B's or of the staff?"

"Both, guv."

"Thank heaven."

Half an hour later, the constable and the detective left Grantham House after a few words with the Lord himself. "Remind me why we had to take so many interviews for a simple case of two servants running off together, guv."

"Because Lord Grantham knows people more important than you or I, Norris." Detective Vance knew this was less of an investigation and more of an act of mollification. They were only going through the motions of an investigation. Lord Grantham had pulled some strings and demanded Scotland Yard get involved in the disappearance of two servants even though the truth was pretty obvious. Vance would play his part and enjoy saying 'I told you so' when the pair showed up at a hotel in Bayswater.

-00-

An atmosphere was building around Grantham House. Thomas was jumpy and distracted, which was unsettling the rest of the staff. Mrs. Patmore's sharp tongue had been quieted. Miss Baxter had retreated into herself so far she was almost invisible. In short, the whole downstairs was on tenterhooks while Mrs. Butte tried to pretend it bothered her. The truth was, it invigorated her. All this fear was her doing and it made her feel powerful.

Thomas was well and truly spooked. He had not given Ivy's disappearance a second thought, but Jimmy had missed their meeting. Something was very wrong. Had Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes decided to take all his allies from him? If so, where were they sending them? It was difficult for Thomas to imagine the two heads of household resorting to secreting people away from Grantham House and Downton Abbey without mentioning it to Lord Grantham. But, if the Lord was in on the scheme, he would not have called in Scotland Yard.

Thomas needed to speed up his plans. The family would be out most of tomorrow. After the police had left, Thomas hurried to the telephone alcove on the ground floor and placed a quick call. He was a little more relaxed after making his arrangements for tomorrow. He would not have been relaxed if he had seen Mrs. Butte's greedy smile as she listened at the grate that funneled every word from the telephone alcove to the upstairs serving pantry.

-00-

The next day, an anxious looking Thomas made his excuses for going out on an errand before lunch. The main gossip at lunch concerned the quickly deteriorating state of mind of one under butler. No one commented on Mrs. Butte's absence. She often took the opportunity when the family was away to lunch with her own family, but that was not where she went today. Today, she rushed to arrive at Thomas' destination well before him.

Rising up from the Temple Underground station, Lucille walked with the river to her right for a time before heading up Carmelite Street. The offices for Carlisle Publishing were located in the Carlisle Building located on Whitefriars Street between Tudor and Fleet Street in Holborn. She smiled wryly at the brass plaque declaring the building's name. Mrs. Butte supposed she might name a building after herself if she had the means.

Sir Richard had certainly built himself an empire. Mrs. Butte knew he had built it on the backs of unfortunate people whose lives he had exposed for the world to mock. She knew that Mr. Carson and the Crawleys would be the next victims if Thomas had his way. Lucille was here to meet with the building's eponymous owner in order to prevent this. She had no real plan, but an eerie calm settled over her as she slipped into the stairwell, clutching her tiny handbag, after determining the location of Sir Richard's office.

-00-

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow. You certainly have given me a lot to consider. I will speak to my society editor and see what he thinks your information might be worth. We will be in touch shortly."

"I was rather hoping to handle this quickly. Things are becoming decidedly hostile at Grantham House." Thomas could not hide his nervous sweat from the cool Sir Richard. He wished he were not so desperate, but he could not understand what was happening at Grantham House and it had him very anxious.

"We will be in touch shortly." The publishing magnate repeated. It was unusual for him to handle such a trivial matter personally, but he still had a singular interest in the Crawley family. His bitterness had faded with time, but he still felt the damage to his ego acutely. Had enough time passed for him to publish what he knew of that arrogant minx's past without it seeming like a personal attack? After all, this under butler would take his story to another paper if Carlisle refused him.

Sir Richard sat back at his desk considering these questions. He swiveled his chair to look out the window. Another option occurred to him. He could call Mary, he could warn her. How would she receive his call? Carlisle knew Matthew had died almost two years ago. He had sent condolences and received a thank you note from her maid. He ought to have been insulted by that, but he doubted anyone had received anything more.

In his reverie, he barely looked up as the door to his office opened again. He had told Mrs. Jakes he would be working through lunch, as usual. He thought she had left after admitting Mr. Barrow.

"I'll take some tea, please, Mrs. Jakes." He ordered without turning from the window. Her steps retreated and the door closed again. A few moments later, it opened again and he turned towards her.

"Who are you?" He asked of the diminutive woman in front of him. She was holding a tea tray in front of her. There were two cups on the tray.

"Mrs. Jakes was not at her desk. You said you wanted tea. I thought I might join you." Mrs. Butte smiled sweetly.

"That does not answer my question. Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"No wonder you do so well in this business." She tittered. "But you forgot When and Where."

"What?"

"No. When and where." Lucille could not help giggling. This was an absurd conversation. Sir Richard would no doubt agree with her, especially if he knew what was coming.

"Let's start again." Sir Richard sighed with exasperation. "Who are you?"

"I am a colleague of Mr. Barrow's. I've been helping him and I want to be sure I get my share. Also, I think there may be a few things he is not telling you about the Crawley family."

"I have not come to any agreement with Mr. Barrow yet. If he is your partner, you should accompany him to meetings, not follow him surreptitiously. If you do not trust him, that is none of my concern."

She set the tray on his desk beside his chair and began to pour the tea. "You have a point, Sir Richard. I will have to take this up with Thomas personally, eventually." She handed him a cup and saucer, but they slipped on the exchange and the tea spilled into his lap.

Jumping up, Carlisle cursed. "You stupid bitch!"

Lucille smiled as she took up a napkin and began to blot his pants as she pushed him back into his chair. "You're half right." Carlisle did not even feel the knife blade as it pierced his femoral artery just beside his groin. He was vaguely aware that the tea was growing warmer and the wet seemed to be spreading across his lap as she blotted. The great and powerful man was dead before he realized he was dying.

Lucille almost left him like that, but a thought occurred to her. She took out her knife again and took the sugar spoon from the tea tray.

TBC…

AN/ Yes, I borrowed one of my favorite kills in cinema. It is from the movie Hannibal, where Dr. Lecter kills a pickpocket. It's very bloody, but did not seem overly violent; it was cold, impersonal and almost elegant.

If I start to enjoy this too much, I promise to pursue therapy;)