For this chapter I have used a tiny, tiny fragment from Series 2 Episode 2 and tinkered with it. Downton purists may recognise it. Thanks as always to those who take the time to leave a message.
Chapter 3
Where does the time go? An oft-used phrase, and never one quite as apt as of this moment with all the tasks that need to be done. Despite doctor's orders, this is the last place I should be - in my bed, brooding. Never in all my years at Downton have we been so short-staffed.
The cause? We are at war with Germany, and so it has been for almost three years. A terrible bloody war that's taken a dreadful toll on our country's men. The casualties, and loss of life are so far-reaching now, there is not one person who has been unaffected one way or another through the loss of a son, brother, husband or friend. The demand for more young men from all walks of life, and occupations, to fight, grows constantly. Even here at Downton, our staff has been reduced significantly as our brave young lads that once worked in the house or grounds are now fighting for King and country. William already enlisted and trained is ready to go. Even Thomas left for the Medical Corps. Though Thomas the man will not be missed, he is yet another member of staff less. Two footmen, gone.
Quite unexpectedly even Mr. Bates left, not for the war effort however, his disability makes him unfit to fight, but it has made us another man down, not to mention devastating poor Anna in the process. That left his lordship with me acting as his temporary valet until we recently acquired Mr. Lang. Funny chap, not quite sure if he's up to the task. He is a nervous wreck, a tragic casualty of the war, no visible scars, yet it is quite clear his mind is horribly damaged. Shell shock.
In a moment of desperation, I had him act as footman and wait at table this evening as the family had guests, and, is the reason why I am now here, in bed and told to rest. Dr Clarkson called it exhaustion. Exhaustion, my eye.
I feel useless. It is a disgrace to lie here, diagnosed with exhaustion, and to think of all those fighting in France - they know what exhaustion is. I would gladly be alongside them were it not for my age. Too old. So old it seems I am laid low by taking on a few extra tasks.
A knocking at my door gratefully interrupted my increasingly depressing musing. Before I had time to call to enter, to my astonishment and joy in walked Lady Mary, still in her elegant finery having obviously come straight to me after their interrupted dinner.
"May I come in?" She asked tentatively.
"That's very kind of you milady." I muttered feeling stupid and clumsy as I tried to haul my tired frame into an upright position. "Do you think you should?"
"Let's hope my reputation will survive it," she quipped as she entered the room closing the door behind her and grasped the chair beside my bureau, "and rest easy, please."
I felt despair that I was unable to retrieve the chair for her, but I felt too weak to move with any speed, and how could I let her see me fully in my pyjamas. The awkwardness and embarrassment of it was painful.
"I gather it isn't too serious?" She stated, smiling brightly as she settled herself into the chair she placed beside my bed.
"I have been very stupid milady." I dismissed with a wave of a hand and a sorry shake of my head. "I let myself get flustered. I regard that as highly unprofessional. It won't happen again."
"You mustn't be too hard on yourself," she said cheerily.
"I was particularly sorry to spoil things for Sir Richard, knowing he was a guest of yours." I added cautiously.
"Don't be. I think he found it all quite exciting."
"Oh."
I couldn't think what else to say. I know she confides in me and regards me as a confidante - from time to time. Yet, despite all the years I have known her, it is on occasion, very difficult to truly gauge Lady Mary's thoughts and feelings. She has become quite skilful at hiding her true emotions these recent years; yet despite this, I feel I can still read her, particularly when she is trying to mask the fact she is troubled or concerned.
"Will we be seeing a lot of him?" I added delicately.
"I don't know. Maybe," she shrugged elegantly. The smile was not convincing.
I had touched upon an awkward subject. I could see she did not want to be deliberately untruthful to me but it was clear she was uncomfortable discussing it.
"And Captain Crawley. Is he happy with the changes, so to speak?" I pursue a little further and her face becomes more of a frozen mask.
Though it pains me to speak of this man, I must. It means everything to me to know she is happy, and with whom she wants to be with. To ensure that, I will do all within my power to see she achieves that in whatever way I can.
I know I do not have much of a favourable opinion for Matthew Crawley but, over time, he has proved himself a fair man, he has tried his best to fit in, and even done the decent thing to see if there was any way the entail could be revoked and that Downton would pass to Lady Mary. Though the venture proved unsuccessful, it was still an honourable thing to do. From that time onward I began to suspect that Lady Mary's animosity began to lessen and she started to warm to him, realising he could be a friend, one that she might even grow to love, perhaps even marry. If so, through marriage, Downton would be hers, and all would be well. Though I can never make it known how much I love this young woman, I will do all that I possibly can to help her. She will always come first, over everyone else; her feelings, her emotions, her wellbeing.
But something happened, though I cannot fathom what exactly. So much has taken place since the garden party when Lord Grantham received that fateful telegram and announced we were at war with Germany. It was a terrible moment. Naturally, it cast a pall over the remainder of the afternoon, and once again, my self-restraint began to crumble, and I overstepped my position as butler with Lady Mary. She had wandered away from the garden party to a more remote part of the grounds. I had seen she'd had some sort of disagreement with Matthew Crawley minutes before, and I admit I followed her as much out of concern as the simple desire to chance upon a rare quiet moment alone with her. Discovering her so upset, once more she quite willingly let me hold her in my arms as she wept. If only I could hold her for reasons other than comforting her in her moments of sadness. But, what would I achieve admitting my feelings to her? To see the disgust on her face at my revelation would wound me deeply. That the love is now also physical and barely manageable would horrify her were she to know. To lose her trust and friendship, to lose everything gained over the years would be unbearable. It must be buried, no matter how much of a strain it can be. I think repression and frustration can also be added to Doctor Clarkson's diagnosis of exhaustion. Suppressing my feelings and need for her is gruelling, and now over the years, it is obviously taking its toll. But I rather that torment, than lose what I have with Lady Mary.
And so it was, on that glorious sunny afternoon when everyone's life changed, that was the last occasion I had those precious few moments completely alone with her. My days as always are busy, yet with the war they have become increasingly hectic and demanding, whilst Lady Mary often spends more and more time in London, to stay with her Aunt Rosamund. It is a relief in a way that I see so little of her, though it doesn't stop me thinking of her. Just recently after one of these trips to London, she has since become acquainted with some newspaper baron, Sir Richard Carlisle. Not that much is known of this self-made man, but I am convinced this relationship is more an act of desperation on Lady Mary's part, than through any true feelings of the heart. This man is powerful, rich, and therefore would make her future secure. Secure but loveless I feel. It is all a terrible waste and I sense this haste to see Lady Mary married is more to do with pressure from her parents and relatives.
"May I give you one piece of advice, milady?"
She remained silent but I knew full well she understood; that I was attempting to impart some sound common sense.
"Tell him what's in your heart. If you still love him, let him know. Then even if he's killed, and he may be, you won't be sorry. If you don't tell him, you could regret it all your life long."
I studied her features as she absorbed my words and I could see she wanted to speak about it but something seemed to be holding her back. Her face lit with an impish smile, her large soulful eyes suddenly full of mischief.
"And what about Miss Swire?" She quipped.
Miss Swire, the surprise fiancée of Captain Matthew. The young man had given up all hope of having any form of a relationship with Lady Mary and sought love elsewhere. He found it; it seems, with Miss Lavinia Swire, daughter of a London solicitor by all accounts.
"Miss Swire!" Disdain evident in my tone of voice, "As if any man in his right mind could prefer Miss Swire to you."
The admission was out before I could stop it, but it caused Lady Mary to smile and I felt rewarded for that. It was not often I saw her smile these days. But suddenly her face became very serious, intent, and placing a hand upon the bed, she raised herself from her chair and leant toward me when suddenly the door burst open. It surprised us both, and Lady Mary stood upright quickly and swung around to see Mrs. Hughes standing there, carrying a small tray. She looked astounded at seeing Lady Mary there.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, milady. I didn't know you were in here," apologised Mrs. Hughes.
"I was just going. Carson's been boosting my confidence."
I could see Lady Mary was feeling very awkward, guilty even, as though she were a naughty child discovered by her governess and was justifying her reasons for being here.
Oh Mrs. Hughes. Whilst I value your friendship, at this moment in time I feel nothing but irritation at your untimely intrusion. Was Lady Mary really leaning toward me at that moment? Or was it a foolish old man's hope that she may have been intending to plant a sympathetic, get-well-soon kiss on my forehead or cheek before she was going to leave? Thanks to Mrs. Hughes, I will never know.
As Lady Mary leaves and closes the door quietly behind her, I watch Mrs. Hughes as she places a small medicine bottle and a glass onto the bureau. I feel somewhat surly even though I know that she is only being kind and caring, and I have no right to be ungrateful.
"That is something I'd never have thought she was short of." She exclaimed wryly as she unfastened the top from the bottle.
I know she does not like Lady Mary at all, and we often have disagreements about her, but I thought it wise not to say anything. The way I was feeling right now I may well regret it, so I kept silent and just cast her a scornful look.