One month later
The Downton Abbey Servants' Hall
"So what are we going to do about William and Daisy?" asked Charles Carson, the butler. With him was Mrs. Hughes the housekeeper, Mrs. Patmore the cook, Anna as the head housemaid, and Mr. Bates, his lordship's valet. They were all sitting in front of the table, eating the small feast prepared by Mrs. Patmore for elevenses. Also present was Mr. Molesley, who brought the letters from Matthew Crawley, one of which was to be delivered to William, the other, to Lord Grantham. At the risk of earning Mr. Carson's ire, Molesley ventured, "I...I suggest that you read the letter, Mr. Carson. Mr. Crawley has made a request to you and his lordship regarding William. Frankly, I don't mind my tasks being halved." At the Crawley House's butler's suggestion, Mr. Carson opened the letter from Matthew Crawley.
Dear Mr. Carson,
I hope that this letter finds you in good spirits.
Since we are both men who are not known to mince our words, I am writing you today because I would like to make a request to you in connection to William Mason. I am aware that you don't believe (and so does ages old tradition) that servants who are married should remain working at the Abbey, but at the time that William married Daisy, we did not know what would happen next. Is there no way to keep them both working at the Abbey if and when they still desire to? They are still young and still full of potential. Stripping them of such seems to be a poor return for their dedication to their work.
In the same vein, I have proposed to Lord Grantham that I would like to have William Mason as my valet. Mr. Molesley wholeheartedly agrees to the plan. This is because I intend to ask Lady Mary to be my wife. She says that she would want to tie herself to me—on any terms. I planned to set this into stone once the war ends. Would it be too forward to ask you that William would be allowed to take further training under the capable hands of Mr. Bates? This, I am sure, would help him greatly.
Hoping for the kind consideration you would give this matter.
Yours,
Matthew Reginald Crawley.
"Well, as I live and breathe!" Mr. Carson said in surprise. He hadn't expected this. He didn't see it coming.
"Times are changing, Mr. Carson. The war has already seen to that," Mrs. Hughes said. "Surely you see this as a special case," she entreated.
"But I wanted to take him to take over as butler someday," Mr. Carson went on, his lip thrust forward, like a pouting child's. If it wouldn't risk the butler's ire, Elsie Hughes thought, she would have teased him about it. And heavens, Mr. Crawley asking Lady Mary to be his wife! Perhaps he would be the making of her. But wasn't she engaged to that horrid newspaper man? The maids didn't like him. He ordered them about like he owned the Abbey. Elsie was not overly fond of Lord Grantham's eldest daughter, but she could see that whenever Lady Mary was with him, she looked like a woman growing old before her time. But why did she want to marry him if she was miserable?
Or is there more to it than meets the eye?
"Just think of it as a detour," Mr. Bates suggested. "If Lady Mary agrees to marry Mr. Crawley, chances are that they would reside in Downton until they can find a proper home for them both."
Charles Carson considered this.
"Besides, I'm sure you'll agree that William won't function well as a proper butler if his skills are limited," added Anna.
"And I don't want Daisy to leave me just yet!" Mrs. Patmore burst into tears. The cook was silent the whole time; the rest of the senior and middle staff was surprised at the cook's outburst. "I've never had a daughter, and likely I never will. She's the closest thing to one...for me."
"Lord Awliscombe's butler and cook are married to each other," Mr. Bates contributed. "It is a rare case, but it can be a sort of precedent," he finished. "After all, Mrs. Patmore has provided Daisy ample training to rise above the ranks someday."
"That's true. And I shall continue until I retire." Mrs. Patmore said, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes.
"Well now, you have a son-in-law of sorts," Mr. Bates teased the cook, as soon as he sensed that the tension no longer crackled, and their assembly now had a relaxed atmosphere. Even Mr. Carson smiled at this, and the rest of them laughed.
"Then it is agreed? Unless his lordship decides otherwise, William and Daisy should stay." Charles Carson asked the others in the table. A chorus of approval from Bates, Anna, Mrs. Patmore, Molesley and Mrs. Hughes closed the small assembly in the servants' hall. They had taken the opportunity to gather in the servants' hall, ostensibly for a short meal before luncheon, but in reality, it was to hold this small meeting. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore had given Daisy the day off so she could be able to accompany William to see a doctor in Leeds, one that Captain Dunbar had recommended.
The rest of the staff left the table to perform their duties; Mr. Molesley returned to Crawley House. But Elsie Hughes and Beryl Patmore remained at the table.
"Well, seems like you were right to push Daisy into marrying William," Elsie smiled at her best friend. "When I saw them going out early this morning, they look very happy. William, as usual, looks as if he's jumped over the moon ten times."
"And it's been the making of Daisy. Look at her, she looks more grown up than she's ever been in the past few years." Beryl said, happy tears blurring her eyes. Elsie sipped her tea, and then looked up at Beryl. "Are you putting her in line for a promotion, then?"
Beryl shook her head. "Not yet. Probably next year, she still needs a bit more training. I want her to be ready for bigger things since Mr. Carson wants to push through with making William his successor."
"Thomas won't like it," Mrs. Hughes mused.
"Thomas has made it clear to all and sundry that he's no longer a servant here," was the cook's disdainful reply.
"I can't for the life of me understand why he still insists on hanging around here," Elsie said.
"I don't, either," Beryl said. "The airs he'd put, you'd think he's the son of the Queen of Sheba."
Leeds
The same day, midmorning
William and Daisy had to wait for a long time to be able to see the doctor in the Leeds General Infirmary. A large number of wounded soldiers came in; and it showed no signs of abating. They sat in the waiting room, along with a few mothers, screaming children, weeping widows or sweethearts. However, they could still see the arrival of soldiers—some moaning, some screaming in pain.
William stiffened a bit. "A month ago, I was one of them." Daisy said nothing, she just held his hand. Occasionally, he had a nightmare, and Lady Edith or Anna had to send her to William's room to comfort him. Last night was one of them. Since at that time, there was no formal agreement where Daisy and William's sleeping arrangements are concerned, Daisy still slept in her old room. And even if William was allowed to be in the same bedroom as she was, her bed was only meant for one person only. And for a small person, at that.
Not enough room for them to—never mind, Daisy thought, a blush creeping up her face. She didn't even know why she thought of it. But she did. Heaven only knew how many children her parents had—Daisy in fact, was one of eleven. The seventh, to be precise. Her old home in Ripon only had one room—so how did her parents do what they did without her or her brothers and sisters hearing of it? Daisy shook her head. Not a good time to think about it. But she had to admit, she enjoyed kissing William, and she never stopped him when he stole a kiss every now and then. Daisy glanced at one of the mirrors in the hallway. She was still blushing.
William noticed that his wife's face was flushed. Could she be ill? After all, the summer weather this year was terrible, and he heard two days ago that Mr. Linton had a heatstroke, so one of the under-gardeners took over for the meantime.
"Are you all right, Daisy?"
Daisy looked at William. "Oh, yes. Yes. Ain't it awfully hot?"
"Yes, very."
"That's the problem. And there's so many people..." his wife's voice floated to a whisper, "...so it makes the heat all the worse." Daisy fanned herself with a Women Worker's Recruitment Day at Manchester Tramways Department leaflet with the slogan, "Good Work, Good Wages for Good Women". Some girl had jammed a fistful of them into Daisy's hand, the amount of which made it possible for her to use it as a temporary cooling device. She fanned diligently for both of them, but most especially for William, as Captain Dunbar had instructed her, Lady Edith, and Lady Sybil to make William feel comfortable and cool as possible, especially during the summer. His lungs, although gradually retrieving its normal functions, needed constant monitoring from time to time. That included keeping him cool as much they can, allowing him room to breathe.
"I'll get ourselves lemonade after we see the doctor," William promised his wife. Captain Crawley (William still addressed Matthew Crawley as such) had given him a tidy sum that covered the expenses for the day. After all, it was on his insistence that William go to a specialist in Leeds for a second opinion, seconded by Captain Dunbar. "Please, let me," Matthew Crawley said to him. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. I'm really grateful, William. I can't even tell you how much." William still had no idea that a letter was waiting in his bedroom in the south gallery. A letter that might change his future—it would mean a slight detour, but it would secure the fruition of whatever hopes of his mother had for him when she was alive.
"Major Pruitt agrees with Captain Dunbar," Daisy said to William. "Ain't it nice? You're really getting better."
"It's slow, but at least it's getting better. You're the only thing that keeps me going," he said to Daisy, who only smiled. She couldn't tell William how happy she was, but she took his hand, squeezed it—and held it for a very long time. Then she swallowed, and said, "You're very, very special to me, William." Her husband blushed, and grinned.
They walked around Leeds looking for a place to eat. Finally, they came across a small pub. He assured the landlord that Daisy was his wife, and they required no chaperone. The landlord was mystified further when both husband and wife asked for lemonade with Cornish pasties. Other men would have asked for ale, beer, or some such. "Doctor's orders," Daisy explained firmly. "My husband has been invalided home, an' he's not allowed to drink anything stronger than that."
They decided to sit at the far part of the establishment, so they could talk in private. "That was a tall tale," William said grinning.
"I can't tell him that you rose from the dead, it's much harder for him to believe," Daisy giggled. William grinned again.
The food arrived—a meal consisting of Cornish pasties (one for each of them), a large pitcher of lemonade, and a large treacle tart. The Cornish pasty was very filling, and Daisy was delighted with the treacle tart. "It's almost as good as Mrs. Patmore's," she told William. Refreshed with the lemonade, they finished the whole pitcher. At the conclusion of the meal, William paid the bill (twelve shillings!), and both of them walked around the city for the early part of the afternoon, then they walked to the train station. The train for Downton would be leaving at three. They purchased their ticket earlier on as not to be bothered with the hassle of a last minute purchase. The train journey was a two-hour ride, which meant that Daisy would be in Downton at five, be in time to help prepare dinner at five fifteen (both Daisy and William left their bicycles in the Downton train station).
At the train, both William and Daisy was the recipient of curious glances. At first, they thought it was because they look too young to be a married couple, but as Daisy observed one private (his uniform reminded her of William's, so she assumed that he was a private and she was correct in her assumption) looking at William oddly, it dawned on her that the young man thought it strange that William was not in uniform. He bluntly told Daisy so. "Your husband is spoiling for a fight. He isn't in uniform."
"Now, see here. Private..."
"Miller, Miss."
"Well, see here, Private Miller. My husband was in uniform. He was badly injured, and so he was sent back home." Daisy left out William's death and miraculous resurrection. "When he got better, he wasn't allowed to return anymore." Which was true, Daisy thought, as Lady Edith once told her that the Dowager Countess told her that her nephew Lord Flintshire had made arrangements for William's honourable discharge, as his health no longer permitted his return to the trenches, as attested by the reports from the Leeds General Infirmary, by Major Clarkson's records and later of his nephew's, Captain Dunbar.
William was listening to his wife talk. He had no idea that on his "resurrection", he (possibly) would still be required to report back to the trenches—Captain Crawley or no Captain Crawley. A strange surge of relief coursed through him. He wouldn't have to go back. He remembered telling Captain Crawley that he wouldn't be sorry when the war would be over—a far cry from his overzealous desire to fight for king and country four years ago. The desire was still there, but after being in the trenches, William learned something. Things that he would tell Daisy later on—he had seen and learned a lot during those months—men shaking with fear, coping with as much cognac (smuggled and shared by the French), and endless amounts of cigarettes (both of which he did not partake) as they could to alleviate their sheer terror. So much death, so much destruction—was it really worth it? Innocent people died as well too, due to hunger. William counted on Daisy's letters—receiving and writing them—for strength and sustenance.
The embarrassed private offered his apologies and remained silent throughout the trip.
Earlier, the same day
"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Captain Harcourt. I didn't get this back until late this morning and I had to supervise the changing of linen. But here's Billy Budd for you." Edith handed a book to the wheelchair bound patient who watched another pair of officers playing a game of table tennis.
"Oh, thank you, my lady." The grateful officer smiled at Edith, who smiled back and told him he was very welcome. "Oh, and enjoy the book!" she added. Then she was off to attend to another patient. The next one on her list was Major Harrington, then their guest Evelyn Napier, who was able to come to Downton instead of the hospital at Middlesbrough, probably due to Papa's insistence (and he probably had some strings pulled). Papa was not one to break rules, but Edith and Mary figured that their father had had enough of Major Clarkson's unbending attitude. His unwillingness to bend the rule for William proved to be the last straw for Papa, who cared for his servants and tenants as much as he cared for his family.
Edith peered down her basket. Ah, there it is. The letter. She walked toward Major Harrington, who was reading today's paper. "Hello. Here's a letter for you, Major Harrington...are you feeling better this morning or is your nose still runny today?"
"I'm feeling a lot better, my lady. You're very kind to ask. I wish summer was done, though. Hay fever is absolutely hell. Begging your pardon, my lady."
Edith nodded at the major, and laughed off the apology. "It's all right. I do agree. It's been beastly hot this summer. Hope your letter contains good news." Major Harrington smiled at Edith. "Thank you, my lady."
The last item in the basket was a parcel for Evelyn Napier. Edith set the basket down on a worktable she had set for herself. She had managed to persuade Mama to let her use a folding table at one corner of the small library as a worktable and desk of sorts in connection to her work in the convalescent home. Her worktable had two ledgers (which didn't contain accounts, but rather records of each convalescent and their progress. The other was her record and timetable of her monitoring of William), a stack of letters addressed to her; a writing case filled with cream-coloured notepaper and envelopes; an inkwell, a narrow box containing two fountain pens; another box contained pen wipers. Beside the writing case was an old teacup with a broken handle containing freshly sharpened pencils, some, however, were worn down to the nub. A rubber eraser was also in the cup.
Edith took the parcel from the basket and went in search of Evelyn Napier. Like Cousin Matthew, he was in a wheelchair. He must have wheeled himself into the front lawn to get a bit of sunshine. Eventually, she found Evelyn on the balcony, watching Mary wheeling Cousin Matthew out to a bench.
Evelyn sensed Edith's presence, and he was right. She was standing next to him, carrying a parcel. "Well, I knew they'd end up together. So much for me hoping," was the first thing he said to Edith.
"They're both forces of nature," Edith said tranquilly, with a smile on her lips. "They can't help being drawn to each other."
Evelyn looked at Edith Crawley. She stood straighter, and there was a quiet air of confidence about her. Edith looked different from the petulant, whiny girl he knew from years ago. In fact, he couldn't believe that she was the same girl who wrote the Turkish embassy that their emissary died in her sister's bed.
"I couldn't believe you're saying that," Evelyn admitted.
"I don't blame you," Edith said simply. Thinking of Anthony Strallan, she added, "But I just want to tell you that I paid for it dearly and I'm not the person I was when I wrote that letter. That person left Downton in 1916." Evelyn understood. It was the year when Downton was requisitioned as a convalescent home—Mary had written to him about it, which was why he was invited here in the first place.
"But I heard she's engaged...a newspaper man? How is that going to work out?" Evelyn asked Edith in puzzlement. Edith sighed. "We're all hoping that she'd break it off with Sir Richard Carlisle any time soon. Papa couldn't stand him. I do think he has some sort of hold over Mary. Something connected with Kemal Pamuk."
"Wouldn't there be a scandal if she does break the engagement?"
Nothing could have prepared Evelyn for Edith's answer. "Then we're right behind her." Remembering that she was still holding Evelyn's parcel, Edith held it out to him. "Oh. Here's a parcel for you." The phone rang from across the hall. "Please excuse me." Evelyn nodded.
"Hello?"
"Is this Lady Edith Crawley?" a youthful female voice asked.
"Yes, it is. Oh! Miss Swire! And it's Edith, remember? How have you been?" Edith realised she shouldn't have asked Lavinia. Agitation was evident in the caller's voice. "Oh, L—Edith, is it possible for you to get Mary on the line? It's extremely urgent."
"All right. I shan't be but a moment." Edith put the phone down on the table, and ran to her elder sister and cousin. When she reached them, she touched Mary's arm. "Mary—it's Lavinia Swire. She wants to talk to you. She says it's extremely urgent. It's in the hall; I think you should go immediately. I'll take care of Matthew."
Matthew smiled at Edith. "No, thank you, I'll go with her."
Edith nodded. "I think that it's best that you go with her. She's agitated and very concerned for Mary." Matthew nodded, and wheeled himself behind Mary.
Edith went back to Evelyn. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"A matter of extreme urgency," was all Edith could say.
"That Carlisle man is going to make trouble, isn't he?" Evelyn was able to put two and two together. Edith nodded miserably. "From the looks of it, he's going to. When Matthew broke his engagement to Lavinia, it's seemed that it's bound to happen. And Lavinia is an unwilling participant to whatever Carlisle is planning. From what I've heard, she's under his thumb for some reason."
"Good God," Evelyn breathed. "What a tangle." Edith put her face in her hands. "Oh Evelyn. This is my entire fault. I've made such a mess of things," she moaned. Feeling weak all of a sudden, she sat down on a chair beside Evelyn. She began to cry. Evelyn put his arms around Edith. "There, there. You weren't the same person when you wrote the letter. At least this means you know that your sister shouldn't marry Carlisle and that she should break it off with him. He can't be worth a lifetime of misery." Edith, thoroughly comforted by the gesture of the family friend, wiped her tears and blew her nose on a handkerchief she had fished from her apron pocket. Evelyn's attention was diverted towards a dark-haired officer with piercing blue eyes watching them while walking from afar.
"Oh, look. I say, isn't that Captain Dunbar? And why is he watching us?" Evelyn noticed. Edith shrugged. "No idea," she said dryly. "He's a weathervane. One day we get along, the next day, he gets under my skin in a bad way. At least there's one thing he's very good at—disagreeing with his uncle."
Evelyn laughed. "Oh he's not that bad." Edith laughed too, and rolled her eyes. "He can, if he wants to. No, make it 'when'." Edith looked at her wristwatch. She asked one from her father as a Christmas gift so she could properly keep track of her time and activities while helping her mother manage the day to day affairs in the convalescent home since Cousin Isobel had lessened her involvement as she had devoted her energies to the recovery of her son. "I must go and dress for luncheon. Do join us, Evelyn."
"I wouldn't want to be in the way," Evelyn bashfully tried to decline. "Nonsense," said Edith. "You're a family friend. And it helps that there's a positive energy force around the table. Matthew and Mary prefer to eat their lunch in the balcony, so it's two less than I need."
"All right then. Does Captain Dunbar sit with you at the table during meals?"
"Papa insists on it, and I can't for the life of me imagine why."
"If this is going to be a duel," said Evelyn with a grin, "I shall be your second."
"Thank you. I appreciate it very much."
So that's Chapter Seven done! I wanted to make it a surprise. We have a special guest, and as you can see, it's Evelyn Napier (one of my favourite characters)! Since I've tweaked things for artistic licence where Mary and Matthew are concerned, I wanted to give Evelyn and Lavinia (I'm sure that if she lived in canon, she'd be perfect for him) a chance—mainly for them to meet and fall head over heels with each other and help Mary and Matthew (get rid of Carlisle—cue in evil laughter)!
Re: William and Daisy—I decided to make a little bit realistically awkward. But it's a glimpse as to how Daisy really loves William—more than she cares to admit. And yes, she's not as shy and timid as we thought. Since she took the initiative of kissing William (s02e01), it would be likely now that they're married and they're trying to make a go of it. Especially when she was thinking of ahem, their sleeping quarters. Her blush, however, shows her innocence about the matter of, uh, the ways of love.
The leaflet Daisy used to fan William with was inspired by a poster that I saw in the Imperial War Museum shop. I did a bit of research about it so as to give it a more realistic vibe!
And as for Edith—for how long will Captain Dunbar get under her skin in a bad way? We'll see next chapter!
PS. Special thanks to Altenprano and The Countess and The English Lord for giving a very sweet feedback! Much appreciated!
