Title: A Note On Bravery
Author: Darcy Roe
Rating: T
Parings: Robert/Cora, Bates/Anna, Branson/Sybil, Mathew/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.
VII. The Unofficial Christmas Truce (part I)
Christmas 1914
Soon the weather turned from temperate cold to glacial; the autumn winds pummeled the countryside from all angles with a force that hinted at a long premature winter. A fine, crunchy frost slicked the ground one morning and by the next week a thick, powdery snow had fallen wrapping Downton Abbey in a white blanket.
It was just a fortnight until Christmas when Edith caught Sybil opening the door that led below stairs. "Just where exactly are you going?" she demanded.
Sybil spun around, hiding something behind her back; guilt tinting her checks pink.
Guilty, Edith thought, but of what?
"I need Anna for something."
"Why don't you just ring for her? Like a proper lady."
Her little sister squared her shoulders, tilting her jaw upwards in a defiant stance. Her face held the same stubborn look as Mary; the resemblance between her older and youngest sister was suddenly striking and disquieting. "We used to spend a good deal of time below stairs -"
"As babies!"
"Hardly!" Sybil protested. "Besides, what is so wrong with 'below stairs'? You treat the place as if it's dirty, something foul that you've stepped in on the street."
"What you fail to understand about the world is that it functions because of the way society is built!" Edith exclaimed. "Every man and woman has a part to play and must be allowed to play it. You encouraged Gwen to step outside her rank -"
Sybil cut across her. "Gwen is happy, Mr. Bromwhich says she was born to be a secretary. The office could not run without her. I encouraged her to not give up on her dreams nothing so outlandish. And your argument is the same one father uses to placate his conscience."
"Sybil, dear," Edith said, her voice low and urgent, trying to impress upon her sister the serious repercussions of her liberal tenants "How do you expect to live in this world? How do you expect to make a good match? Granny, as old-fashioned as she is, is right. You have no opinion until you are married, and then your husband will tell you what your opinions are."
"Then maybe I shan't ever marry," Sybil replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Oh, that will go over well with papa and mama!"
Sybil shook her head. "We'll see," she said before walking away, the look of disappointment in her eyes infuriating. Really, Sybil could be so very naïve in her thinking. There was nothing wrong with being genial with one's staff, but you couldn't be friends.
And you could not find a husband if you wanted the vote and an academic education, and what good was independence if you had to be lonely?
~o~O~o~
The Yuletide season shone with all the brightness and glister of the golden baubles twinkling from the branches of the Christmas tree. The whole household was almost dizzy, intoxicated on the merry spirit of the holiday and anticipating his Lordship's impending arrival, and the promise that for the duration of his leave, Downton would feel whole again.
The entire household, that is, save one.
"I never saw such a grand sight," Mrs. Hughes told Mr. Carson, her voice breathless, "Until my first year working at Downton. It's extraordinary."
They stood at the foot of the main staircase watching Molesley and Anna (with the help of an overeager and very cheerful Lady Sybil), decorate the mighty evergreen in the front hall. A smaller one had been placed in the library by the fireplace and in the Servant's Hall.
"So unlike anything I had ever seen before in my life."
He was not looking at her, was not even listening. Mr. Carson appeared to be staring into space, frowning, expression somewhat cross.
"Mr. Carson...Are you all right?"
He turned towards her. No, he was not all right. One look at his face told her that. But he lied to her all the same. "Perfectly, Mrs. Hughes."
"Really?" She pried, lowering her voice just incase the others could hear them. "You look as if something is bothering you."
He sighed. "I'm a bit tired."
"That, I have learned, is your answer for nearly everything when you don't want to talk. Or feel you cannot."
"Mr. Carson! Mrs. Hughes!" Lady Sybil cried gleefully. "Come and help us. It is such good fun!"
The senior servants shook their heads, amused, but did not budge from their posts. Lord Grantham arrived in two days, decorations of tinsel and holly still needed to be strung; rooms needed to be made up for the Grantham's guests. Her Ladyship had gone into Manchester to do some last minute shopping and would not be back until later that evening; she wished to go over the menu one last time when she did. Mrs. Patmore would have all the sugar her heart desired to make the Christmas pudding, they where for this week dispensing with the rationing. It had already cost them a pretty penny. Mrs. Hughes doubted his Lordship was prepared to pay an arm and a leg for his Christmas goose.
"You know you can confide in me?" Mrs. Hughes implored. "Don't you?"
"I do, Mrs. Hughes," the butler said, genuinely. His expression relaxed, his gaze almost becoming soft and tender. "But there isn't. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."
~o~O~o~
Isobel sighed as she came to what was the last in a long row of portable hospital beds. "How are you feeling today, Peter Burns?" She asked the young captain, a child to her at the age of twenty-five. He was lucky, to have suffered the battlefield and come home alive, his body intact.
"No different, Nurse Crawley," Peter muttered, staring straight ahead into a dark corner of the ceiling.
"Can you look at me?"
No reply, of any kind. With sadness settling over her heart, Isobel moved to the small tray on the cart beside her and began measuring a small dosage of pills. "Here you are, Peter."
The captain took them without fuss and returned to staring straight up into the rafters.
"I'm leaving to spend Christmas with my family. Remember your mother said she was going to come and visit you on Boxing Day," Isobel said with forced cheeriness. "I'm sure her visit will make you feel much better."
"Have a Happy Christmas, ma'am."
"You too, Peter." Isobel stared at him for one moment, debating on whether or not she should go with such an ailing patient on her hands before tearing herself away. She returned the little medicine cart to it's spot by the door and walked down the corridor, forcing herself not to look or listen to the men laying in triage on stretchers in the front hall, doctors and nurses assessing their wounds.
Dr. Clarkson waited for her by the front door. He was perhaps the only person employed by the British Army Medical Corps who still could be considered bright-eyed. How he mustered such energy when his job involved moving from army hospital to army hospital in order to ensure everything was running as smooth and efficiently as possible, assisting on the most hopeless and difficult cases as he did so, was beyond Isobel. It was an effort; some days she had to remind herself to smile as she went from patient to patient trying to ease the pain of a phantom limb or dispensing rudimentary psychiatrics for shell shock.
"Good morning, Nurse Crawley," he said brightly. "The car's waiting for us. Lord Grantham sent it round."
"I'll just get my coat."
Dr. Clarkson helped her into it. "Here, I have that," he said as she made to pick up her small suitcase.
They stepped quickly from the front door, the London air bitterly cold as they climbed quickly into the motor. Lord Grantham put his newspaper down, smiling at them both. "Good morning."
"Good morning, Lord Grantham."
"Good morning, cousin Robert," Isobel said, then seeing his valet in the front seat, "Good morning, Mr. Bates."
The man turned around, an eager smile on his face and wished both newcomers well. Isobel settled back in her seat, trying to squash the bubble of nerves fidgeting inside of her. She had after Matthew left, in some sense, fled, as politely as possible. Of course cousin Violet had not approved (Isobel was prepared for that), but Cora had looked so stung and put out…And Mary was going to be there. Isobel had assigned some of her anger at Matthew for enlisting to Mary, something that might make the holiday exceedingly awkward now.
~o~O~o~
The train was much less crowded today than the last time John was a passenger. The third class ticket brought comfortable accommodations towards the end of the line; no one else seemed to be on board save a few lost looking souls. Their pinched expressions reminded him sharply of the one he seemed to be wearing every time he looked in the mirror. Missing Anna made him ugly with longing. His heart beat, nervously, excitedly whenever he received one of her letters, and whenever there wasn't one waiting for him in the post, John became almost mad with anticipation.
Working in London was a double-edged sword. He loved it, he loved it almost as much as he loved working at Downton – he only loved Downton more because Anna was there. For the first time in nearly a decade John Bates was useful, effecting change. Soldiers were pouring back into the city, crippled, armless, and legless, a limp suddenly passed for whole and hearty. He feels bad now for every time work kept his pen busy; he could have written more, he should not have gotten caught up, entangled and crapulous on his own self-importance.
And to top it all off, his attempts to find Vera had all fallen flat. John had exhausted almost every lead and avenue. Though, he reflected grimly, thinking of the visit he paid to a London solicitor, it was possible to dissolve the marriage without Vera's assent doing so seemed amoral. He didn't want to tell Anna. He could not imagine her being angry; she would share in his disappointment, of that he was certain. John thought of his Christmas present. Was it too much? No. She deserved something special, something beautiful, for having to wait but also because she was Anna.
~o~O~o~
Molesley watched Anna study her reflection in the mirror at the foot of the stairs, smoothing her skirt, carefully examining her reflection for blemishes (not that she had any).
For another man. Molesley shook his head derisively; he was the world's biggest fool. But for Mr. Bates? The man is old enough to be her father! Surely, Miss O'Brien is mistaken.
"Anna, what are you doing?"
Anna turned quickly from the mirror. "Nothing, Ethel."
Behind him Miss O'Brien snickered.
~o~O~o~
"Branson," Lord Grantham said, pleased to see the radical chauffer. "Good to see you."
"And you, M'lord."
They pulled out of the train station and drove through the town, a few people paused to wave at the passing car. Robert smiled and waved back.
He could see his family's coat of arms flapping in the winter breeze. He marked the distance from home by looking at the passing trees, familiar floral landmarks. The motor moved a little slower through the snow, too slow, not a moment too soon Downton appeared on the horizon.
She looks good, Robert thought taking in his home, and then his eyes settled on his wife. She's beautiful. She took his breath away. Robert barely waited for the motor to come to a stop, certainly not for Branson to open the door.
"Darling," he said, a smile breaking onto his face. Mirroring her own. Abandoning all sense of decorum, he rushed to her, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her soundly.
"Robert, oh, not in front of the servants." Cora gave him a mock-glare, the smile on her lips ruining the effect. "For heavens sake, dear."
"Isn't this how they do things in America?" He quipped before turning to his daughters. "Come, give your old papa a kiss."
Sybil threw her arms around his neck, laughing, reminding him of her youth. Edith followed, her eyes shinning, and then, at a much more sedate pace, Mary. He held his family close before turning to his staff. Carson wore a frozen expression.
"Carson, my dear fellow," Robert clapped the man on the shoulder.
"Welcome back, My Lord."
Behind him, Mr. Bates and Anna exchanged a look that held such deep emotion and longing the snow underneath them was likely to start melting. "Come now, lets all step inside, out of this blasted cold."
Cora took one of his arms, Sybil the other one; everyone seemed to be smiling happily. As he stepped through the door, Pharaoh came running down the steps, barking joyfully.
~o~O~o~
Anna loitered outside Lord Grantham's room. She would be in trouble if someone caught her; Mrs. Hughes, evidently knew of her and Mr. Bates affair, even if she was not going to stop them, she would not be best pleased to see Anna wasting time when there were chores to be done.
The handle turned, clicking and creaking as the door opened and Mr. Bates appeared. The scene took Anna back to the night war broke out, their first kiss; his Lordship's dirty laundry draped over his arm, gaze smoldering as their eyes met.
"Mr. Bates."
"Anna."
"Here let me take that for you," she gestured towards the bundle of laundry.
He smiled, protesting even as he shifted the laundry towards her outstretched arms, "I can manage."
"I never implied you couldn't," she said. His fingers brushed hers; Anna felt a jolt, like electricity traveling down a wire. They headed for the door, disguised as part of the wall. "How is London?"
"Feverish with war." Mr. Bates grimaced.
"How is your leg?"
"A bit sour – from the weather." He held the door open for her, smiling again. "Don't fuss woman."
Anna scoffed, trying to be stern. "I'll fuss if I like, John -"
His arms wrapped around her with a speed and strength so sudden it took Anna by surprised. His lips warm and slightly chapped; Anna threw her arms with reckless abandon around his neck, dropping the laundry to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.
"Why John Bates," Anna laughed, breathless. His arms held her securely to him, she rested her hands on his chest, pushing back slightly so she could gaze into his eyes.
"Dear Anna," his voice was rough and his eyes shone. "How I've missed you." His cane hit the floor with a light thump, echoing dully in the stairwell, as he tried to hold her closer. Anna leaned against him, laying her head on his shoulder; he pressed a kiss to her temple, murmuring tender endearments.
"Oh, John," she sighed, "I thought this moment would never come."
~o~O~o~
While the staff put the final preparations on the Christmas feast, Carson approached Lord Grantham in the library.
"My Lord," Carson said, tentatively as the matter at hand was calamitous.
Lord Grantham looked up from his book, happy to be back home in his rightful sphere and every inch the benevolent lord. "Yes, Carson? What can I do for you?"
"There is…a slight problem with the Christmas dinner service, My Lord," Carson informed him gravely.
"Oh."
"We may have," Carson was barely able to utter the words, it was unprecedented; never in all his time as butler had the house standards slipped – before now. "We may have to have a maid serve in the dining room."
"Oh." Lord Grantham turned back to his book. "Is that all?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Well, cheer up, Carson. That's not such a travesty, is it?"
Later, when Carson relayed the conversation to Mrs. Hughes she fought hard to repress a laugh. "Have Anna do it, she won't cause you any embarrassment," she advised.
"I suppose so," he said. He looked absolutely crestfallen as he went off to oversee the setting of the table.
Mrs. Hughes shook her head, utterly bemused by her friend's thwarted attempts to keep women from waiting a table. You'd think the Germans might gain an advantage by the way he acts.
~o~O~o~
"I would like to start our Christmas dinner with a toast." Robert rose to his feet, raising his glass. Around the table everyone followed suit. "To my family – and our guest – you fill me with a sense of warmth that is greater and more powerful than I can say. And to those who cannot be here with us tonight, all across England. Salute."
The other's echoed, glasses clinking together, "Salute," the faces changing from cheerful to solemn.
"How do you find the army hospitals, Dr. Clarkson?" Sybil asked, cutting her roast beef daintily.
"I find them well equipped. Many places are the sight of new medical breakthroughs. Under the pressure doctors have to be more innovative. My son, however, is stationed at a field hospital in France and he says the conditions are deplorable." Dr. Clarkson looked at his host and hostess in turn. "I must thank you again for your generous invitation, with George overseas I was not looking forward to weathering the holiday alone."
"Nor should you have," Lady Grantham insisted. "We're happy to have you with us."
"I for one don't think our hospitals are equipped to handle emotional traumas as well as physical ones," Mrs. Crawley asserted. "I have this one patient, a Captain Burns, who while physically fine will not make eye contact and barley speaks a word."
"If he's physically fine then why is he in hospital?" Edith asked.
"Because he's mentally ill," Mrs. Crawley explained, then seeing the look of shock on Edith's face hurried to elaborate, "Not disturbed. He's just been through a very harrowing ordeal."
"The term our field doctors are using is shell shock," Dr. Clarkson informed the table at large.
Sybil shook her head, sadly. "It's dreadful. What those poor men must go through."
"Yes, well, I do not think it is appropriate dinner conversation," her grandmother asserted, looking disapprovingly at Mrs. Crawley. Her opponent glared right back at her. "However horrible it is."
An uneasy silence descended upon the table broken by Lady Grantham who was determined that her mother-in-law and Mrs. Crawley would not spoil the festive mood with their usual petty squabbles. "Robert, do you remember when the girls where babies? They used to put on those little Christmas concerts."
"Oh, mama," Mary groaned, embarrassed. Edith looked equally uncomfortable.
"You played the piano," Lady Grantham continued, ignoring her oldest children's dismay. The other diners were all smiling broadly now, eager to forget the war. "And Edith and Sybil would sing carols."
"I remember," Sybil gushed excitedly, "I Saw Three Ships and Deck the Halls. Over and over again until we mixed up the words."
"Perhaps you girls will entertain us with a small concert after dinner," Lord Grantham suggested.
Identical expressions of horror passed over Mary and Edith's face while Sybil exclaimed: "Oh, let's! Mary, Edith, it will be such good fun!"
~o~O~o~
Bates skimmed through the newspaper. The rest of the staff bustled around; his attempts to help had been waved off. Apparently, Anna's invasion into the dining room did not mean that a valet could help with the dinner service.
"It's good to have you back with us, Mr. Bates."
He looked up from the paper, smiling at the housekeeper. "It's nice to be back, Mrs. Hughes."
"You've been sourly missed. By Anna especially." There was a steely gleam in her eyes.
"Mrs. Hughes?"
"You're a good man, Mr. Bates, but I don't approve of the way Anna's been running herself ragged to keep herself from thinking of you."
Mr. Bates opened his mouth to speak – Daisy skirted into the room, balancing several heavy plates at once.
"I best go give them a hand," Mrs. Hughes said, leaving the bewildered valet in her wake.
~o~O~o~
Late that night, Carson stood by the piano, walking his fingers lazily over the ivory keys.
"That needs to be tuned," Mrs. Hughes said.
He looked at her over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, a tired but happy expression on her face. "Indeed. Have they all gone up?"
"Yes. We're the last." She moved into the room, standing at his side, gazing up at him. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing and concerned. "I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you. I can help."
"Too much of Mrs. Patmore's fudge and I'm feeling a bit nostalgic," he confessed, "Thinking too fondly of the past."
Mrs. Hughes looked sadly down at the instrument. "Oh, aye, I miss the sound it use to make."
"William would play it on Christmas Eve," his throat tightened.
"There are so many memories in this room." She looked around her at the room. "Thomas strung up that stupid mistletoe his second year here, as a lark, and we got caught underneath it."
"Oh, yes," Carson frowned slightly irritated by the mention of the former footman's prank. "I did not even have to reprimand him-"
She scoffed. "You did a fine impression of it then."
"You were angry enough for the both of us." There was a smile in his voice.
"Oh, aye furious," Mrs. Hughes agreed. She blinked fiercely.
"I told William he would be back by Christmas," Mr. Carson's deep voice wavered, "Back home and back to work, my exact words." The guilt was piercing; he couldn't breathe, there as no air in the room. Mrs. Hughes looked at him, her eyes over bright. She's the only person in this house who knows, who understands how I feel.
"I'm sorry-"
Immediately, she shushed him. "Don't even think of apologizing. So this is why you've been so out of sorts of late? You feel guilty – needlessly, I might add."
He gave her a weary smile. "That'd be the size of it."
Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "You're too hard on yourself sometimes."
"Perhaps," Mr. Carson agreed weekly. A weight felt as if it had been lifted from his chest. "Come, what's your pleasure?"
"What?" Mrs. Hughes laughed as he sat down at the piano.
"What song would you like to hear?" His fingers plucked a wavering Joy to the World from the instrument.
"Where did you learn to play the piano?" Mrs. Hughes demanded, incredulous at the butler's hidden talent.
Mr. Carson's smile was self-deprecating. "You forget I wasted my youth in music halls."
"God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen, then," she commanded, pulling a chair out from the table.
"As you wish."
~o~O~o~
"It's good to be home, isn't it Bates?" Robert asked his valet as he tied the sash of his robe.
Bates nodded, folding Robert's laundry into a small, neat pile. "It is, My Lord." A smile tugged at his mouth, and the valet's eyes held a certain spark that Robert had seen mirrored in his head housemaid's eyes. In such a time of war and turmoil, at least some happiness and love still existed.
"Is there anything else you need, My Lord?"
"No. Good night, Bates. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, My Lord."
Robert walked the short distance to his wife's chambers, feeling more relaxed and at ease then he had in ages. Outside the snow glittered in the starlight, he was filled with a deep sense of peace absent during his time in London. The job hung on him; several long months of unending problems and crises and he was beginning to resent it. It was the least he could do, when Matthew and other brave men like him where on the front line.
Shaking the tension from his shoulders, Robert opened his wife's bedroom door. Surprised by the luminous glow of several dozen candles. On the bed, his wife reclined on a small massif of pillows. Her legs, slim and shapely, moved upon the satin sheets as she turned towards him.
"Cora?" Robert said, utterly dumbfounded. "My God."
She wore a new nightgown, lacy, made of some gossamer transparent material that clung to her body as she rose from the bed. The lingerie left nothing to his imagination revealing almost every inch of her pale legs and most of her cleavage with its generous neckline.
"I thought I might give you you're Christmas present a little early, dear." A self-satisfied smile lit her face as his gaze ran over her. He was speechless; her eyes glowed in the candlelight, almost wickedly she laid her palms on his chest, pressing against him. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Her fingers crept over his shoulder, tickling his bicep. Robert cupped her hips: underneath his hands the fabric felt silky.
"You are a vision. A goddess," he murmured before burying his face in the sweet smelling curve of her neck, teasing her skin with his lips.
Cora giggled, grabbing hold of the robe's sash, propelling them to the bed. They fell across it; Cora pulled him down on top of her, moaning as Robert's lips sought out the sensitive skin just below her right ear. "A devilish, vixen of a goddess."
"I've missed you, darling," she sighed, "So much," before pulling his face up to hers and kissing him soundly.
tbc...
Please review if you have the time! I'll try to get Part II of this chapter up really soon. It was either split it into two parts or have one mega long chapter.