x-PART TWO-x

"A letter for you, Miss Dean."

"Thank you," I said, realising how often I was being referred to as 'Miss Dean' these days. It was as though I had replaced my aunt as Lady of Larkford House.

I slit open the letter. Post had been a common occurrence over the past few weeks since my aunt's death, mainly condolences from various relatives and friends and invitations from people who had clearly not heard the news. These were perhaps the hardest to bear. But this letter was of a different sort completely, cold looking, official. With a feeling of dread, I slit it open. It was from a Mr A. E. Poe, a name vaguely familiar to me, and relayed the following information:

Dear Miss Dean,

Until recent unfortunate events, I was the late Lady Eglantine's solicitor, as you may know. Allow to me to present my most heartfelt sympathies. She was a wonderful woman…

Here followed the usual sort of condolences, which I had grown all too used to, and therefore felt justified in skipping.

I here pass onto a subject which is very painful for you. However, it must be discussed. No doubt you are aware, but the Dean estate is entailed to the next male bearing the Dean name, which happens to be George Dean, the late Sir William Dean's third cousin twice removed.

It grieves me to pain you, Miss Dean. I am sorry to be the bearer of this news, but Lady Eglantine left about two thousand pounds to you—

Well, that was more than I expected, in view of her spending habits. Why the bad news—?

nearly all of which will be claimed by creditors.

Oh. Yes. I see.

I am afraid that she owed roughly £20,000 to various tradesmen, in addition to several unpaid loans amounting to £100,000; if you use your inheritance, you will owe £118,000. This is not counting the mortgage loan Lady Eglantine placed on Larkford House, but I will take care of all that. However, if you will consent to auction off the furniture and other possessions of value, I believe that you can pay all your debts and have a little left over. I of course will arrange everything. Expect me in three weeks.

Yours faithfully, Mr A. E. Poe.

And that was all. I read it again and again, frowning. But I realised that no matter how much I read it, the information was not going to change. I felt my stomach knot. Some cousin whom I had only met twice would be wandering about the familiar corridors of my home, fingering Aunt Eglantine's vases, kicking me out onto the street. What was I going to do? What on earth was I going to do? £118,000 was a staggering sum, and our—my possessions were, perhaps, worth that amount, but where would I go from there? Where would I live?

I had no money of my own, never having needed it with my aunt around. Horribly, I remembered the wretched Duke of Banbridge's words, "your aunt's money won't last you forever." How true this statement was now. I had nothing. I had nothing.

x-X-x

Mr Poe was very kind. He apologized profusely for not giving me money (who was asking him to?) and bundled off everything from the bookshelves to Aunt Eglantine's precious vases to my dresses.

As the morning light filtered in through grimy windows (I had let the staff go almost immediately after my aunt's death), strange men tramped through the house I had called home for twelve years, raising up dust and moving everything. When one of them dropped my aunt's favourite turban on the floor, I winced.

But you never wanted any of this anyway.

Yes. But having nothing is worse.

At least I saved my books. They weren't very valuable anyway.

x-X-x

Mr Poe had not been quite precise. Aunt Eglantine had actually owed £118, 507. The auction netted £118, 556. Which meant that I owned exactly £49. It was positively Dickensian.

x-X-x

Larkford House was officially foreclosed and I was officially homeless. With a sack filled with books, lacy underwear, the plainest, rattiest black dress I could find (I think Maisie left it), stockings, and no food. In defense of the underwear, the men had left it behind, and I figured I might as well take it. It might come in useful. Sometime.

Seven shillings paid for a hackney. One pound paid for the cheapest board I could find, and I was lodging in a flea-ridden inn. How long the money would last, I didn't know. I didn't know anything.

The next day, I began searching for work—meaning, I walked into random millineries and asked if they were hiring. No one ever was, even though I offered to demonstrate my skill with a needle (which wasn't bad.)

Three weeks of this, and I was down to 45 pounds, and that was on one bath every two weeks. [

Panic was always lurking at the edge of my mind, waiting to spring. I could lie to myself all I wanted; a hundred pounds was not a great sum in the large scheme of things. It would run out, and I would not be employed by the time it did. I had never worked a day in my life; I was not qualified, I—I wasn't good enough. I never had been. I had failed as a socialite, I had failed as a worker; I would never be—

Stop, Nellie. Just stop. Even if those thoughts were true, it wouldn't help to think them. Pressing my fingers to my temple, I decided to scavenge yesterday's newspaper for the help wanted section. Again.

And nothing. Again.

x-X-x

By the time I was down to 25 pounds, I was beginning to wonder if I would make a good beggar. Maybe if I ripped my dress a bit and put a bandage around my eyes…

No other ideas came to me. Really, the cracked, spotted ceiling was poor inspiration. I had tried everything, hadn't I? Perhaps it would come to begging.

Throughout all this, I tried very hard not to blame Aunt Eglantine for my present situation. One mustn't speak ill of the dead, after all. That said, if she had only saved a pittance, I wouldn't be dining on watery gruel every morning.

What a fool, to think that any man would marry me, I thought, with the savage pleasure that comes from grinding salt into your own wounds. I would hardly have made a good wife, seeing I couldn't seem to make myself useful at anything whatsoever.

I had been an utter fool not to take up Banbridge on his offer. Who cared what Thomas said, it would have been a good establishment—

The door shook with three loud knocks. That was the thing about being poor. People weren't polite when you were.

Suppressing a groan, I rose from the bed and unlatched the door, revealing a disheveled servant standing in the hall, thrust-out hand holding a letter. Without a word, she gave it to me and tramped off.

Wondering who on earth would write to me, I tore the seal and plopped down on the bed without looking at the direction. Two letters fell out; one from Mr Poe, the other one from Cora Crawley tucked in an envelope. Obviously, Cora had not heard the news that I was living in a squalid boarding house. Picking up Mr Poe's letter, I found that Cora had sent something to him, since she didn't know my address. Burning with curiosity, I perused her note greedily, then was obliged to lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling in shock.

She was asking me to work as a maid in Downton Abbey, only if I felt I had no other options. She hoped I wouldn't take it as an insult, but she had heard that my circumstances were very bad. It would be no trouble at all—Mrs Hughes would be happy to train me (Her Ladyship was too sanguine on that score). Once again, she apologized for the presumption and hoped I wouldn't be offended; she was only trying to assist. It was entirely possible that rumors had exaggerated my situation.

Offence was the farthest thing from my mind. To be quite frank, this job was a godsend. Rumors probably had exaggerated, but 25 pounds, while a respectable sum, would not last me long enough to find work, particularly since I was the least qualified employee ever. Undoubtedly, I would be worked hard, with little pay, but anything was better than no home.

x-X-x

The car trundled up the oh-so familiar path, rocking gently beneath me, occasionally lurching as it rolled over a particularly uneven patch. I felt sick. Sick right to the bone. Everything about the journey had been so familiar, and now, it was even more so. I dared not look out of the window, for the sight of Downton Abbey—so vast and beautiful, and yet so wistful of times gone by. I was quite sure the mere sight of it would be too ghastly. Of course, I thought, I would have to deal with it at some point. Some point soon, by the looks of things.

But so much had changed since I had last travelled up this long gravel drive, so much had changed since I wandered the corridors of this giant mansion. Last time, I had been with Aunt Eglantine...oh, Aunt Eglantine. I missed her so much, it was like having a constant pain in my chest, that never, ever went away. Although I couldn't help resenting her for the state of my finances, I couldn't help missing her either. I had felt the need to be strong, but at night, away from various lawyers and obnoxious landladies, I had broken down into my pillow. I felt so lost, so alone. Nothing was laid out for me anymore; I was totally undecided, my future inexpressibly uncertain.

I unconsciously fingered the ornate silver locket that I had been wearing continually around my neck since it had fallen in to my possession (I had discovered it inside a drawer when clearing out my aunt's bedroom, and couldn't bring myself to disclose it the auctioneers, though it was ridiculously foolish of me). Tucked away, it came with a note upon which had been scrawled, engagement gift for Nellie. Inside the locket had been two tiny photographs of people I barely recognised, but knew instantly who they were: my mother and father. Though I had hardly known my parents—even Aunt Eglantine had been more parental to me—I could not help feeling a strange sorrow on looking at the locket, and had a sudden desire to keep it with me at all times, for it was the only memory of the parents I never knew. I thought again of the note, engagement gift. I sighed, and, bizarrely, I also found myself thinking of that wretched Duke of Banbridge, whose marriage and proposal now seemed so mundane and futile. Why had any of that mattered? My aunt had been alive, why hadn't I been happier and appreciated life as it was? If I had only married the Duke, my aunt needn't have died in such misery, knowing that I had nothing, and I would have been able to live a life that was financially comfortable.

"Miss?"

A voice made me jump. It was then that I noticed the constant moving under the car had stopped, and I was no longer shaking with the rolling over gravel.

"We've arrived, Miss."

As if I needed telling. My stomach lurched suddenly with nerves and apprehension, as the chauffeur stepped away from the window. I tried to steady my breathing, tried counting slowly in my head, anything that might calm me. Eventually—the chauffeur must have thought I was crazy waiting in the car the whole time—I calmed myself, and climbed down from the car onto the gravel drive below. I could not help but remember the previous time I had made this journey, I had been assisted down.

There it was. I looked up at the vast architecture that was Downton Abbey, breathless once more. It must have still been beautiful, for it had changed not one bit since I had last seen it, but I found myself unable to recall is splendour, and felt only daunted and overwhelmed. My chauffeur, it seemed, had had enough of waiting and, after a quick toot of his horn, drove away, leaving me completely alone. Sighing heavily, I picked up my small, battered suitcase, and walked over to the large oak door. According to the five books I had bought (all of them canvassing the duties of a servant), one always went through the back door, but I had no idea where that was. So, the front door it was, with a heartfelt apology to Carson.

I had never entered Downton Abbey in this manner before, with no servants to greet me and my aunt…missing. I rang the bell, and waited apprehensively for an answer. It seemed like an eternity. And then, a horribly familiar butler with large eyebrows opened the door. His eyes popped from their sockets at the sight of me, seeming almost in physical pain. I stared him out, and he then apparently composed himself.

"Ah, yes," he said, perhaps more to himself than to me.

"Nellie Dean," I said, presenting myself with a slight curtsey. "New maid."

"Yes, yes. Indeed," said Carson, nodding, still looking most peculiar. "Come in Miss...Miss...Miss Dean."

Taking a deep breath, I crossed over the threshold. The entrance hall hit me like I knew it would, but the effect on me was quite unexpected. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt suddenly as though I were in a dream, as though I were separate from myself, looking down at the scene. So much had passed through this entrance hall...I remembered arriving there on that stormy October night, meeting the Crawleys...I remembered departing there in a flurry of tears and goodbyes, accompanied by Aunt Eglantine in a wheelchair...and then I remembered when I had bumped into Thomas on my way for a walk...Thomas. I had not thought about the footman at all since that fateful night, and had had no reason to. My head had been far too full of my aunt, and other problems to think about some silly infatuation. But, I thought suddenly, I would be unable to avoid Thomas now I was back at Downton Abbey...Oh, why, oh, why had I accepted this position? It was bound to bring back too many memories, memories that ought to be swept under a rug and never spoken of.

"Miss Dean?"

That was Carson, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Y—yes?" I said.

"His Lordship would like to see you. And then I shall show you...show you downstairs. No formal introduction will be made, not really necessary anyway...So..."

I nodded. "Yes, alright. Of course. Oh, and I'm sorry I used the front door. I didn't know where the back was, and I didn't see anyone I could ask."

Pressing his lips in a thin line, he gave a curt little nod.

It was so odd, speaking to Carson in this way. It was awkward, to say the least, I just didn't know how to react around him. Everything was so different now...I knew that a formal introduction would have just set itself up as an awkward situation, and so I was glad that this was not going to happen.

I had been particularly hesitant of greeting the Crawleys again, for too much had passed for us to act in the same way around each other. And, after all, I was their maid now, and I had seen enough at Downton to know that I would most likely be ignored at all times.

I passed into the library, feeling weirdly uncomfortable that I instantly knew the way.

"Nellie!" Robert Crawley strode towards me, looking exactly the same as I remembered him.

"Good afternoon, Lord Grantham," I said, curtseying and feeling most ridiculous. Just months previously, we had been on first-name terms, and now I was calling him 'My Lord' and bowing at his beck and call.

"We really are so glad you decided to take this offer," said Robert, smiling.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a most generous offer for me. I could hardly refuse."

"And we were deeply sorry to hear about Lady Eglantine. A marvellous woman, she really was."

I nodded, not really knowing what to say.

"Cora wanted to see you, you know," continued Robert, obviously realising I wasn't going to say anything. "But she has gone out with the girls. We weren't sure when you would arrive, you see."

I nodded again, feeling as though this were probably for the best. It would make for less awkward encounters anyway.

"Right," said Robert, now it was evident the conversation was going nowhere. "How about Carson will take you down, show you the ropes, as it were?"

I nodded at his words, feeling as though my neck might soon break from excess nodding, and returned Robert's kind smile, before following Carson from the room.

"Just so you know, N-Nellie," said Carson, struggling initially over referring to me as anything other than 'Miss Eleanor', which now would be most inappropriate. "Everyone really is pleased that you took up this post."

"Indeed?" I couldn't help raising my eyebrows just a little, as Carson was wearing the most forced smile I had ever seen, and did not seem pleased at all.

"We were all terribly sorry to hear about your aunt, and I am glad that you have chosen to return."

This was kind of Carson to say, but I knew it was a complete lie. Everybody downstairs had hated Aunt Eglantine, and probably me as well. They considered us stuck up, or else not worthy of our station. Bitterly, I felt they thought we had probably got what we deserved.

But then I thought of somebody who might not feel this way, who had certainly not seemed to hate me. Thomas. I suddenly realised something: I couldn't do this. I could not return, see Thomas again after all this time. Especially seeing as our farewell had been so…awkward. And he hadn't been about to kiss me. It was just my imagination. Besides, sometimes my memory was quite faulty.

Oh no, we had reached the familiar vase, which meant we were approaching the turn to the downstairs staircase. I stopped.

"Nellie?" it was Carson. "Are you alright? Surely you haven't forgotten the way already!"

This was said in good humour, and this small expression of friendliness was enough to jolt me back into my senses. Of course I could do this. I would not let anything, or anyone, get to me. Not even the vile Lady's maid, O'Brien. It was as if I were wearing thick armour around my plain dress, and nobody could penetrate it.

With this new sense of invincibility, I smiled and followed Carson downstairs.

This feeling, however, trickled away rapidly as we reached the door to the servants' hall, and I suddenly felt as defenceless as a mouse faced with a cat. However, there was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, I entered the kitchen with Carson.

There had been some people talking at the scrubbed wooden table, but they rose immediately out of respect as Carson entered. There was an intake of breath, however, when they saw me accompanying him.

Carson, ever the professional, ignored this behaviour, and lent over to speak to someone I recognised as Mrs Hughes. I took this opportunity to look at the other occupants of the table, searching for nobody in particular. There were several people I did not recognise, though, to my displeasure, I did see O'Brien, looking as disgusted and offended by my presence as ever. I also saw William at the end of the table, characteristically looking apprehensive in every direction other than at my face. But, a quick scan of the room did not reveal the certain 'nobody' I was looking for.

"Mrs Hughes," said Carson, interrupting the silence, "will take you to your room, Nellie and let you...settle in. Your work won't begin until the morning, so no need to worry about that."

I nodded. "Thank you, Carson," I said, my voice sounding strangely different and separate from my body.

I did a brief nod of acknowledgment to everybody in the room, trying extremely hard not to actually make eye contact with anybody, and followed Mrs Hughes up a plain, narrow staircase to which I had never seen before.

"We've put you in the west bedroom," she was saying.

"Thank you," I said, having no idea what this meant at all.

"Well, it should be comfortable enough for you. Obviously, not what you're used to..." Mrs Hughes trailed off, and I said nothing, feeling self-conscious.

We seemed to climb forever; up and up, until I felt almost dizzy for going around the narrow staircase again and again, and I was quite sure that we must be right at the top of the house. But eventually, it seemed, we reached our destination. Two long corridors stood on either side of me behind a wooden door with a large pane of glass in the middle. I approached it slowly, peering through the glass at the corridor behind, which seemed to have doors leading off all the way along it. But before I could utter a word, a door opened to my left, making me jump. And out stepped—

"Thomas!" exclaimed Mrs Hughes. "You gave us both quite a fright."

Thomas said nothing. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him. Tall, his dark hair swept neatly across his head. His grey eyes flitted between Mrs Hughes and myself, his face utterly expressionless.

Mrs Hughes, noticing nothing untoward, continued. "You remember Nellie Dean? She has arrived as the new maid. I was just showing her to her room."

Thomas still said nothing, but was frowning slightly. He was showing barely any recognition whatsoever, a reaction that hurt, but I was not quite sure why. Anyway, it wasn't like he meant anything to me. I had been foolish to think that we had gotten in any way close during those several months previously.

Thomas then merely nodded to nobody in particular, and strode past us to the door. I watched his retreating figure for a few moments before Mrs Hughes spoke and brought me back to reality.

"I wouldn't worry about Thomas," she was saying, having absolutely no idea. "He's like that with everybody. Never has a good word been spoken about him, I tell you. Unless you talk to O'Brien, and I'm not sure I would advise that either."

Why did everyone hate Thomas? Besides the fact that he was sarcastic, annoying, rude, and downright infuriating, I really couldn't think of anything he had done to deserve universal dislike. Oh, wait. A jingle of metal on metal alerted me that Mrs Hughes was extracting a large loop of keys from her belt. Selecting one, she inserted it into the lock in the door.

"Why...?" I started, but Mrs Hughes guessed at my question.

"We keep these quarters locked," she said. "Only I am supposed to open the door. Though, of course, it opens from the inside, so it does not quite work perfectly. We cannot be too careful."

This slightly ambiguous answer left me curious as we passed through the door, Mrs Hughes carefully closing it behind her with a click.

"Your room is right at the end," she said, brightly.

I opened my mouth to thank her for this, as she obviously felt that this was some kind of treat, but she had launched into a long speech about the duties of a house-maid and how I wasn't to be seen or heard and how I most certainly wasn't to have a sweetheart. At the end of all this, which I did my valiant best to listen to, she informed me that Anna would show me around on her time off, and I was to wait in my room until then.