Title: A Note on Bravery
Author: Darcy Roe
Rating: T
Parings: Robert/Cora, Bates/Anna, Branson/Sybil, Matthew/Mary, William/Daisy, and the unproven but suspected Carson/Hughes.
Summery: A long awaited war has finally come to England. Even a place like Downton, ruled by ironclad tradition, will feel the effects of total war. Some will stay others will go, but no one is untouchable, and the fear of death will break down the normal social barriers sweeping the changes of the modern world in and altering the lives of all who live and work at Downton Abbey.
Special Thanks: To the amazing StuckInThePast who has been kind enough to act as beta.
III. Parting Ways
Per usual Mr. Bates was waiting for her on the low bench, his sturdy form half obscured by the combined height of several stacked crates. Anna approached with a familiar sense of trepidation succeeding her; not unprecedented, for this was the place where they held all their serious conversation, the sight of their almost kiss, and recently a hiding place at the end of the day.
The niche during nighttime provided a seldom-attainable privacy from the other's knowing smirks and preying looks. A place to hold hands and kiss without fear of repercussion, and a blessing too, now that the bridge of physical intimacy was crossed and burnt, Anna found they struggled not to touch each other.
Holding hands underneath the table at meal times, steeling kisses in deserted corridors, brushing shoulders and sides in passing. At nighttime the yard provided them with opportunity to talk, and relief from the scorching heat of covertness.
Ever sensitive to her presence, he lifted his head, smiling as she sank down besides him, their fingers interweaving automatically. "For how long have you know about His Lordship?"
After Mr. Crawley exposed Lord Grantham's conscript scarcely an hour earlier, the family dinner collapsed in uproar. The whole house was shocked, save him.
"Long enough to worry he might never tell her Ladyship," Bates replied, taking the sallied tone he only ever used when she worried.
He was using it more and more recently, and understandably so – they were all scared, every spare thought spent dwelling on the troubling news from abroad (mass mobilization, 27,000 French soldiers dead, Germany's invasion of Russia).
"How is Lady Mary bearing up?"
"She's staggering," Anna confessed, "But we'll have to – us disavowed women." A beat then – "You'll go with his Lordship, of course, you have to; he can't manage without you." Anna wished her voice did not sound so stretched and glum.
"It'll be about all I can do for the war effort." Immediately, he winced at the harshness of his words.
Anna gave his hand a squeeze. "I've told you my thoughts on the matter," she reminds him."
He is very good at knocking himself down and she fears the day another bought of self-sabotaging behavior takes hold. She shudders to think of the injustices that have befallen him. "Miscarriage of justice," she has proclaimed, while he insists his stint in jail was a "penance."
They've discussed this thoroughly over the last few weeks: he fears his leg makes him obsolete to his country, to those around him rather then an aid. Naturally, she believes the opposite, scarcely a day goes by when she does not consider her life pre-Mr. Bates (how vacuumed it was) and then post and think, How lucky am I? The luckiest woman in the world to have him.
His gaze turns bright, warm affection replaced by a look of sheer awe making Anna suddenly glad for the darkness that conceals her blushing face. She continues: "You'll leave for London then, when everyone else leaves? It'll be nice for your mother, having you so close."
"For a time," he says, "I'll be back before you know it. Christmas come."
Anna feels instantly guilty. She's selfish: she has little right to miss him when he'll only be in London. He may depart alongside William and Mr. Cowley but in a few short months the war will return him to her waiting arms, unscathed and whole, whilst Daisy and Lady Mary pine for their sweethearts.
And worse, her good luck spawns from his misfortune. If not for his limp, Mr. Bates would be going with them to Ypres and insurmountable peril. Anna's shame in this is overwhelming.
They sit in comfortable silence, fingers gyrating together. Anna can judge his agitation by his posture; the palm of his hand grows sweaty against her own. She waits, perfectly confident that he will tell her what in his own time.
Slowly, he confesses, "I go with another purpose in mind. I'll have some free time, enough to find…"
"Your wife," she whispers, heart plummeting to the depths of her toes, guilt souring.
Remorse consumes his face, urgently grasping her shoulders. "I intend to discover what became of her, and to demand my liberation."
He bends his face to hers, and she cannot keep from throwing her arms around him, catching him up in a hot kiss as he teases her lips with his, and it registers almost with the force of a small incendiary that this is a promise of a proposal to come.
~o~O~o
Edith watched her family gathered around the fire. They rarely met like this anymore. Over a decade ago when she and her sisters were young, she relished these nights of quiet bonding, anxious only to sit on papa's knee and have her parents' full attention.
How long ago that now seemed, yet scarcely anything had changed besides the war. She still had to win their approval, the constant stress of fighting to be noticed often making her caustic. She was doomed, predetermined by birthright; continually overlooked for Mary's scandalous behavior and Sybil's bizarreness.
They had always been rivals for papa's attention, what was to become of them in his absence? To Edith's knowledge, Downton never stood without its master's presence for more than a season.
Who was to manage the large estate? Who would enact repairs and keep the account books neat and precise?
Her mother, sitting in the armchair besides her father was pale, ill looking, not yet fully recovered from the miscarriage. How would she manage the fiscals and the disputes her father tended to on a daily basis?
Who would help her?
Certainly not Mary, who acted more insufferable then ever, increasingly miserable and despondent, when it was all her fault that Mathew (who was Mary's polar opposite - poor, sweat, and virtuous) deployed to Ypres.
Edith looked at Sybil, concerned only for politics and the vote. Her little sister had become quite sneaky while none of them were looking, but Edith had noticed what the others were blind to.
Sybil spent massive amounts of time below stairs, socializing in a way less than proper with the servants. Edith wondered, now that the Gwen had moved up and out into the world, who her sister's latest project was.
The library door opened, William appeared with a tray of champagne, setting it down on the table besides papa before leaving them to their privacy.
Papa had given Carson strict orders that if the family required a service they would ring for it, allowing everyone above and below stairs the opportunity to say goodbye.
A kind gesture, if a little impractical.
Her father motioned for them to take up a glass, holding his aloft and looking at each of them in turn. "My darling family," he began, "The war wont go on forever. Have heart and keep faith – they predict an end to this unpleasant business by Christmas."
~o~O~o~
Skirting a piece of discarded luggage at the bottom of the stairs, Mary hurried forward, on a mission. Matthew, would not see her now, of that she was certain. Besides, she was too late to prevent his leaving England much less Downton when he had promised the army his allegiance, and perhaps Anna's advice was sage: let him have time, even if it was for the sake of his own male pride.
She owed him that even if it meant her only hope now lay in the form of a letter.
Faced with the horror of loosing him for good, all her feelings (the whole truth, almost) poured out onto several pieces of paper last night.
Getting the letter to Matthew posed a grand problem. Her father was unlikely to deliver it when he like the rest of the house blames her for Matthew's enlistment.
In fact, everyone seemed angry with her with the except of Sybil and two other sympathetic souls.
She had briefly entertained the idea of giving Anna the letter to deliver, then realized she and Matthew had rarely interacted enough for it to seem plausible that they would say farewell, which left one other person.
"Carson," Mary said. The butler turned from overseeing the removal of several heavy trunks to the motor, looking slightly harassed. "I have a favor to ask of you."
~o~O~o~
The entirely of the village stood on the platform, reluctantly waiting for the milk train to clatter into the station. The townspeople viewed the locomotive as a metaphoric vessel of expiry; Charon's* dark chariot racing ever closer, coming to spirit their men away.
The gathered throng was motley, extending from the humblest of families to the upper strata of the local echelon. Today classes were permitted to intermix like this, without much restriction or thought of propriety, there was a monumental lack of restraint as families prepared for a long separation – hugging, kissing, and crying unabashedly.
For all their fortune, the Crawley's were no different.
Isobel tried not to let her fear show on her face. Matthew needed to place his thoughts firmly elsewhere whilst away, not worry for her well-being.
The previous afternoon, Mrs. Crawley had sorted through her son's wardrobe, picking out a few suitable garments for packing. The task normally fell to Molesley, but Isobel had wanted to do it herself. It proved rather more lengthy than she originally anticipated: on numerous occasions Matthew had needed new attire suitable for his station as Lord Grantham's heir, but somehow just how much he needed had not registered until she sat sifting through silken garments (all of which Matthew had purchased with the greatest reluctance).
One of many war-mothers now, Isobel kept trying to reconcile herself with the horrid truth which now became reality as she stood besides her son – the child she had borne into the world and dutifully raised – looking smartly dressed in a soldier's uniform.
Matthew departed much more willingly than the rest of the men if could judge by the tearful farewells and embraces taking place around them.
Becoming master of his own fate meant recklessly laying it all on the line first. Isobel knew Mathew did not grasp the full extent of what damage could be done. If he…if he could not inherit then Downton would be lost and the lives of hundreds living in and around it drastically altered.
Isobel was powerless to prevent his leaving, for once inept as a protector. Not even Lord Grantham, with his mountainous amount of sway and influence, could extract Matthew from the armed ranks.
It was too late. There was a high need for young men full of strength and vim, so her boy would remain trapped with nothing – not even a hasty declaration of love from Mary – shielding him from harms way.
Isobel would spend her son's tour serving once again as an army nurse. She knew her days would be consumed by fear and crippling anxiety if she did not keep her mind and hands rigorously occupied.
She still toyed with the idea of relocation to Manchester or even to London. She would only see any sort of diversion in the cities. The long toil would certainly be a strain at her age, yet how could she bare the alternative?
Remaining in Crawley House to watch villagers stagger and scrape under wartime's never increasing burdens, calling on cousin Violet and cousin Cora as if her world had not upheaved itself twice?
The idea of pretending such nonsense was almost maddening! Of course the polite thing to do would be to stay, but what could ever come of denying life's unpleasantness?
Sighing, Isobel reached up, smoothing the pressed collar of her son's uniform unnecessarily. Molesley had done a fantastic job if it. "I had Mrs. Bird pack you some sandwiches and biscuits for the trip. Enough to share with Lord Grantham," she added suggestively.
Matthew rolled his eyes at her subtle command to make amends. Not unexpected, but still, she had to try, hadn't she? "I expect Carson will have seen to Lord Grantham's snack already."
"Never the less," she said, casting a stern gaze upon him, "It won't cause you harm to offer him a sandwich."
~o~O~o~
"You were recalled? Tell me you were recalled, Robert."
His wife's voice trembled slightly, she sounded devastated; following the trial of the past month her tone aroused a deep feeling of guilt.
The lord and lady were secluded in her bedchamber. After Matthew's divulgence, Robert was quick to dismiss the pop-eyed servants and send his daughters to bed. He even managed to expel his mother (though how was any man's guess.)
O'Brien was rung for, the woman promptly hustling Cora into her night things, while Robert mulled over a way to amend for the combined damage his silence and Mathew's presumption had caused.
He could find no reasonable excuse.
Now the countess stood beside the luxurious four-poster bed, and Robert sat on the chair pulled out from her vanity, oddly mute and extremely contrite.
Cora swayed suddenly, knees buckling. She pitched backward, collapsing weightless on to the bed, arms folding around the small curve of her waist, hugging her body in an urgent embrace. Her husband's leaving was unfathomable.
"Cora," Robert began but stopped short, uncertain of what condolence he might offer her.
"You must have been called up," Cora whispered, ashen faced. "Please tell me they drafted you back into the army, and you have not been caught up in this enlistment fever with the rest of the masses." Her voice took on a warning tone, "In view of the facts, because you have obviously kept this secret for sometime, I feel that you have once again willingly put yourself in the middle of a war. Tell me I am jumping to a hasty conclusion – I do not know what I would do if my assumption was proved true."
"I gave you my solemn oath never to seek glory again on the battlefield," Robert said with a calm he did not feel. "Lord Fischer requested my services as a strategist in the War Office. I will be stationed in London, far removed from any harm, except the combined hazards of smog and hordes."
Cora realized a small cry: "Oh, Robert!" She blinked furiously, an ineffectual attempt to keep tears at bay. "Do you depart with the rest?"
He nodded. He left for London alongside every other enlisted man from Downton in a mere three days. Since the fateful telegram he and Bates had spent numerous secret hours making travel plans and arrangements, while Robert looked for a way to break the news to his wife. He feared of causing her further injury on top of everything else and he could not be the cause of more pain and heartbreak for her.
She gazed at him now, from under wet lashes, her cheeks damp and pinched, the definition of emotional wreckage, yet her voice was strong as she spoke. "You must take Bates along with you, of course. He will see that you take proper care of yourself in my absence."
Robert deflated under her acceptance. He had braced himself for tears, screaming, a fight; this practical reservation, uncharacteristically un-American of her to not try and alter their current circumstances, put him off. "Cora…"
She patted the spot besides her. "Come here, Robert."
Docilely, he rose and sat besides her on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his and stroking the soft skin of her palms. "My darling, you are the epitome of courage," he kissed them, once, twice, "the definition of grace," his lips traveled to adore the sensitive undersides of her wrists, raising goose-pimples along her arms, her breathing turning shallower, "and the manifestation of fortitude," he kissed the tip of each finger, leisurely.
A laugh of mild hysteria echoed his words. "I love you, Robert, I really do and you love me," she cut him off before he was able to squash her declaration, sliding her hands from his so she might hold and gently caress his face, fingers tracing the slight crows feet at the corner of each eye and the parenthetical lines around his mouth. "Painful as it is for an Englishman to say the words," she teased.
Robert laughed and kissed her hard. Cora's fingers wound into his hair, pulling his lips forcefully against her own as his arms encircled her tightly.
Robert shook his head as he stepped from the motor, physically wanting to push the memory to the back of his conscience – at least for now.
Cora's linked her arm through his, the soft silk of her skirts rustling. She wore a new dress selected precisely to play up the azure shade of her eyes, though the benevolent smile she wore did not quite reach them.
Their children looked a little like their mother: whitish and worn at the prospect of parting. Only Sybil was able to conjure a look of ease, thanking Branson with a small smile as he helped her step down from the car. Mary looked inconsolable; Edith appeared nervous.
Passing strangers stopped and tipped their hats, admiringly almost reverently, something Lord Grantham would recall only later after he was settled in London and this unhappy day was a distant memory.
For now, his eyes skimmed over the large crowd, searching for the familiar faces of his staff. They made a small, intricate knot off to the side of the commotion. He had bidden them goodbye already, a group of dedicated individuals whom kept his home not only running through managing the trivial day to day affairs but comfortable and homely.
Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore, O'Brien, William – Robert halted, studying the former footman. The khaki of William's uniform washed the color from his complexion, and his ears stuck out under the regulation cap looking almost comically large.
And yet, the lads back was straight, his gaze clear and strong as he shook hands and accepted embraces from his coworkers. Robert could see, quite plainly, his pride and felt a renewed vigor: soon he would be working hell-bent to save the lives of men like William (eager and fearless to serve their country).
He would hold on to this day – all this, William in his livery and the blessings of the townspeople – while he worked in London.
~o~O~o~
I mustn't look so cast down, Daisy chided herself for the tenth time that morning. I want William to remember me as being happy.
Since the night in the kitchen, William had avoided her, blushing whenever she entered a room or turning clumsy and tongue-tied (butter-fingers, was the word O'Brien had used scathingly).
Now the object of her affections stood between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes (of all people) at the center of their guild. How ever was she to manage getting him on his own long enough to ask him her question?
She could always brave it, she supposed, drawing closer. He looked so fetching in his uniform; so strong and handsome, so what if he had been terribly frightened a week ago, proper wars were meant to frighten people.
A war also brought out the valiant, identified the heroes, separating the courageous from the cowards. Which was she?
Surely, if William could face cannonfire then she could risk humiliating herself in front of the others.
"You've remembered to pack everything, haven't you?" Mrs. Hughes inquired. Daisy thought her voice sounded oddly congested as if she suffered from a mild cold.
William patted his pockets, frowning, suddenly unsure. "I think I have."
Anxiously, Daisy stepped forward into the line of fire. "William?"
He froze, flushing, a hesitant smile coming to his mouth. "Yes, Daisy?"
"Do you have a moment?"
"S-Sure, Daisy."
She led him across the green, away from the others, only stopping once she was certain they could not be overheard.
"I just wanted to say that I'll miss you," Daisy confessed, stealing herself, "I'll miss you ever so much, William, and – and you look very comely all dressed up like that."
William looked slightly crest-fallen, one edge of his mouth drooping as if he hoped she had come out with something extremely different. "Thanks, Daisy. I'll miss you too. You're a great friend."
Which was a bald face lie and they both knew it. She had been an awful friend.
For a moment her courage faltered and they stood examining the top of their boots for a long, tense moment. Finally, Daisy asked, breathless: "Would you write to me?"
William started, eyes widening until they closely resembled a saucer in diameter. He remained silent for so long she almost began fearing she had woefully overstepped a dividing line or misread his intentions like she had with Thomas. "You mean it, truly?" He asked sounding excited.
She smiled, the flirty bashful smile, which up until this point she had reserved for his rival. "Yeah. It'd be first rate of you, seeing as I am such a great friend and all. So will you?"
William let out a shaky laugh: relief evident in his voice, that and a strange otherworldly happiness. "Every day if you like," he promised then lent down and kissed her swiftly on the lips.
~o~O~o~
Bates and William were packing to leave: the valet dispensing a bit of wisdom as the footman folded his spare shirt into a neat square.
"During the African War the army supplied the indispensables – uniform, foodstuff, rifle – for a nominal fee, but I think you'll find paper and pen are rather hard to come by," Mr. Bates instructed William. "You'll be expected to carry everything you need on your back, so pack light."
"My dress shirt and stiff collar won't be of much use, I suppose?" William asked, managing a little smile.
Bates returned the grin. "You can leave your waistcoat behind as well; extra socks and a scarf won't go amiss, though."
"You know, once his Lordship took me on as a footman, I thought this was it," William recalled, his tone a bit self-deriding, "William Mason, you have your whole life ahead of you; a decent living and the opportunity for advancement. Servanthood's hard work, but its an honest vocation."
"So is the army," Bates reasoned, "His Lordship's paternal line has a long history of soldiership."
"I know," William shrugged, "I just realized that on the other side will be some German who's drawn the same lot in life as I have. In a different world we might be friends."
Bates tried to picture it: the image was not hard to conjure. An opposing stripling in khaki uniform, lanky and altruist, fighting for God and country just as William would in a little while. "Nonetheless, you must look out for yourself first, William. Just because you don't see life in black and white does not mean that a rival soldier will view you with the same equitability."
A brisk knock sounded on the partially open door. Mr. Carson appeared, William's uniform pressed and burnished in hand. "Mrs. Hughes just finished ironing this, William, Mr. Bates I believe Anna is seeing to your own, and I'm about to ring the dressing gong, so you're both needed at once."
William took the uniform, draping it gently over the chair in the corner with an air of reverence. He paused, his hand tracing the stiff, new seam, his eyes roving to the few packed essentials and possessions. "Mr. Carson, I was wondering if I could store a few of my valuables in the safe you keep in you pantry? Only if it won't be a bother," he added hastily, tearing his gaze away from the packed suitcase. "I'd leave them in the cupboard up here, see, but I expect you'll need the space for whomever fills my post."
The butler's normal forbearing slipped a fraction, the expression in his eyes and on his face softening as he surveyed William with a look of strong affinity. "It won't be a bother in the least, William. Get whatever you need safeguarding to me after supper."
William nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Carson." He shut and latched the luggage case with an air of resolution, setting it by the foot of his bed. "Do you think Downton will be waiting for me when I get back – my place I mean?"
The butler's sympathetic expression was immediately replaced with affrontion, his normal sternness returning at the suggestion that the house would be anything but immaculate and prevailing. "Why ever would it not? Downton has stood through more than one war, you'll be back home and back to work by Christmas and that will be the end of the matter."
William smiled broadly in spite of the minute reprimand. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."
Mr. Carson ignored William, and turned to Bates. "Mr. Bates, his Lordship will need your assistance dressing. William, you need to lay the silver in the dinning room straightaway. Get to it now."
William sprung to attention. "Yes, Mr. Carson."
"Sir," Bates mumbled, an indiscreet smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
Carson pulled Bates aside once William had moved down the hall out of earshot. "How is he holding up?" He inquired, brow furrowed in a look of acute worry.
"Well, enough," Bates replied.
"Well enough is more than I dared hope for after the scene in the chief," Carson sighed.
They both looked on as William rounded the corner and disappeared from view, his footsteps sounding loudly on the stairs. "He'll do fine," Bates said, consolingly. "Army life is not terribly unlike service: structured, vigorous, every man has a role – a place – and the commanders are tough but fair as long as you stick to the rules."
~o~O~o~
Sadly, Anna watched Daisy and William's interaction. "I feel so awful for them," she told Mr. Bates. The two stood apart only slightly from the rest, so that if they kept their conversation low they ran no risk of being overheard.
He watched William, a weary-fearful look in his eyes. "They may yet come out of this."
"You're worried for him," Anna said unnecessarily, watching him flinch moderately at her perception.
"I see many of the ideas that filled my head when I joined the army, and William is a much more delicate soul than I ever was," he sighed, "I dread the senseless violence he will witness – what he will have to do – and I worry that he'll be tempted by the bottle, as many men are, as I was. Nothing in life is ironclad or certain."
"Nothing?" She leaned up, on pretense of smoothing a crease from the arm of his uniform, stroking his bicep titillating. "You make for a very handsome sight in this."
His eyes twinkled. "What? This monkey suit?"
She laughed faintly, his hand slid atop hers, squeezing fleetingly just as a plume of smoke appeared on the horizon. "Will you miss me?" He asked.
"Silly, begger," she smiled, then swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, eyes watering slightly as she considers the long separation ahead of them and the threat of his estranged wife.
~o~O~o~
Two years ago Downton Village and its inhabitants were strangers. Today face upon face of the familiar swam before Matthew's gaze as he strived to avoid being detected by Lord Grantham's party.
It wasn't easy. Many of the townspeople kept doffing their caps, and Molesley had just rung his hand enthusiastically before going to fix Matthew's luggage.
His mother wound her arms around his neck, trembling violently, clutching him close for a long moment then pushing him back, holding his face between her hands, eyes keen as if she was trying to memorize his countenance. "I love you, Matthew," she murmured.
"I love you to, mother," he said, the only thing he could think of saying to her before allowing them to be parted by the bustling crowd. He moved with the mob, pushing towards the open door of a train car.
"Mr. Crawley!"
Matthew turned surprised to find himself face to face with Mr. Carson. The butler appeared flustered, an envelope held tightly in one hand. "Carson," Matthew greeted. "I suppose this is farewell to Downton, at least for a time."
"I dare say we shall miss you, and that we look forward to your safe return," he said properly, holding out the envelope as he did.
Matthew took the offered paper, recognizing Mary's elegant hand in the simple address at once. He tried handing it back, but Carson's hands were conveniently placed behind his back. "All of us at Downton look forward to that happy day."
"Please," Matthew said, the weight of Mary's letter heavy in his hands. "I have said everything I needed to; I don't want Lady Mary to wait for me when she should feel free to move on with her life."
Carson's gaze (artfully stern) and the inclination of his head, almost as if in empathy, overstepped the boundaries of social propriety. "If I may be so bold, Mr. Crawley?"
"Please, do."
"At the risk of being extremely impertinent-…"
The train whistle cried; stragglers exchanged a few last buried kisses.
Matthew started moving towards the open door, still offering Carson the letter, praying he would rescind it. "Whatever it is, please feel at liberty, Mr. Carson."
The older man sighed. "You may wish to read it someday, and regret throwing it away hastily. What harm will it do to hold on to Lady Mary's letter?"
Dumbly, Matthew tucked the letter into the front pocket of his jacket, Carson's words too sensible to reason against. "Thank you, Carson."
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Crawley."
Matthew hurried to find an empty seat, managing to find one by the window. He was unable to prevent himself from looking out. His mother stood besides cousin Violet (who appeared slightly trounce) surrounded by his cousins, Downton's staff forming a perimeter around them.
In the closing moment before the train gave a chug and a puff as it wheezed to life, Mary lifted her gaze, eyes meeting his, looking fixedly for no more than a second, a second long enough for him to choke, his stomach flip-flopping and his heart palpitating.
He was unable to deny that he still carried within him a burning torch.
Suddenly, the insanity of what he had done – what he was doing – overtook him, his chest tightening panicky as the train jilted forward and began moving, Downton passing out of sight in a hazy blur as the engine picked up speed.
~o~O~o~
Carson watched with the rest of the staff until the train was well out of sight.
"Well," Mrs. Patmore said, "I suppose that's that."
Lady Grantham nodded. "Indeed, Mrs. Patmore. That is that."
Slowly, they walked back up the road, feet dragging their heavy hearts across the dirt lane. Up ahead, Anna and Daisy walked with linked arms, Mrs. Patmore dispensing what could loosely be interpreted as solace.
Mrs. Hughes kept pace with him, staring ahead, a far away look in her eyes. She stumbled slightly and he reached out instinctivley to stead her; the slip of balance had caught him off guard. He had never knew her to loose her footing before. "Thank you, Mr. Carson," she murmured, the vague hint of tears in her eyes.
Charles offered her his arm. "Allow me to be of some support, Mrs. Hughes."
She shook her head, a heavy sigh escaping her, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Your too kind."
"Not at all."
They rounded the curve, Downton's towers visible over the tops of the trees, a giant hold, the essence of the county, alloyed and reposing, the coat of arms flapping peacefully in the breeze. But for how much longer, Carson could not be sure.
a/n: *Charon in Greek mythology ferries the dead to Hades. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.