It seems I have led you all up the garden path somewhat; it's not going to be The Merry Wives of Windsor. Read the chapter to find out what it's going to be. Syblime thought up the Sybil and the mistletoe idea, not me.
Miss O'Brien Puts Her Foot Down; Lady Violet Puts her Foot Down; Lady Edith Puts Her Foot Down and Isobel Gets the Distinct Feeling of Being Trampled On. Everybody Else Plays Charades: Christmas Day Part 2.
She would have been a bloody fool to pass on a chance like that, Sarah O'Brien told herself as she made her way quickly down towards the main part of the house. And it had paid off, hadn't it? People didn't move as furtively as she had seen Isobel Crawley do unless there was information well worth knowing involved. The fact that she was jumping into Mrs Hughes' bedroom on Christmas morning had been suspicious enough to get her interested. Why more people didn't take up eavesdropping she would never know. Who'd have thought it- that old wench getting a proposal?
And such a piece of gossip couldn't have come to her at a better time. But she would use it well, she thought. Information like that couldn't just be frittered away by spreading it round the kitchens, it was far more valuable. Better take it straight to the centre of things. It would serve her right- and old Hughsie. She had been sure that she had been passed over for the part of Maria because those two were getting so friendly, and now that seemed very likely indeed.
She reached her destination, paused for a second then knocked on the door and entered.
"Merry Christmas, m'Lady."
Lady Edith was sitting up in bed. She frowned a little when she saw who it was.
"Merry Christmas, O'Brien. What are you doing up here?"
"Anna's a bit busy downstairs. I thought you might want to go straight down for breakfast, it being Christmas and all."
The invention was rather a feeble one, but she seemed to consider it nonetheless.
"You know, I might do just that."
Lady Edith got out of bed, put on her slippers and pottered around the bed in Sarah's direction.
"Why do you look like that, O'Brien?"
"Like what, m'Lady?"
"Like something's upset you. There isn't anything the matter, is there?"
Now they were going somewhere.
"Now you say it, m'Lady, I have just heard something rather disturbing."
"What?"
No, she didn't sound anywhere near interested enough yet. Sarah gave a sigh.
"I don't think I'd like to say, m'Lady. It might be rather upsetting. Perhaps to you in particular."
"Oh?"
That was better.
"M'Lady, if someone had done something dishonest- betrayed your trust, like- would you want to know? Or would you rather not find out about it?"
"What's Mary done?" Lady Edith asked, sounding panicked, "Tell me, O'Brien, at once!"
"It wasn't Lady Mary," Sarah told her.
This piece of information- purely through how unlikely it was- only seemed to rattle her further.
"You see, m'Lady. It's Sir Anthony. And Mrs Crawley."
…...
"Romeo and Juliet?" Sybil asked incredulously, indignation flooding her features, "But Granny, we can't do that, it's so insipid! And you've always said you don't approve of what those two got up to!"
Her Grandmother sniffed impressively as she cut her turkey with a great sense of dignity.
"At least I know what happens," came the grave reply, "There won't be any nasty surprises. Not like this time."
Sybil doubted that she was the only person at the table thinking about the cross-dressing element at that moment.
"But I've already chosen the play," Sybil implored her.
"Oh, yes? And what was it to be?"
"The Merry Wives of Windsor."
"Then it's just as well I'm stepping in," Granny declared, "Absolutely steeped in- dare I say it at dinner?- innuendo."
It was most unfortunate that, in her general ignorance of Shakespeare as a whole, Granny happened to know that.
"You always said you just know the bare bones of Shakespeare!" Sybil insisted, even more indignant.
"I was very particular about which bare bones I knew."
"But I'd already cast it," Sybil continued- surprising no one with this last confession-, "Mrs Hughes and Mrs Crawley would be just wonderful as Mistress Page and Mistress Ford!"
Granny cast Cousin Isobel a dismissive look that seemed to say "the less said about that, the better".
"I think Romeo and Juliet is an excellent idea, Lady Grantham," Sir Anthony told her. He seemed not to notice the look he received in reply. It couldn't have been clearer to everyone else that Granny did not need his opinion to know where her convictions lay.
"And it'll give Edith the chance to try directing," Cora offered, trying to find a positive side to this, turning to her daughter "I know you'd like that, dear."
"Just so long as you don't let her choose the cast," Mary remarked, "Forgive me, Sir Anthony, but I think you'll agree you're rather past playing Edith's Romeo."
An awful silence followed the cutting remark. Sybil half expected Edith to leave the table hurriedly in outrage; and, given the way their mother was looking fit to kill in Mary's direction, she would have probably been forgiven it. Instead, she remained relatively composed, blinking slowly.
"Perhaps, for mine. But not, I dare say, for someone else's."
And here she looked straight at Cousin Isobel. Thinking what a ridiculous thing Edith was implying, Sybil almost laughed out loud; until, that is, she saw Cousin Isobel's face. She was staring, quite calmly at her dinner, not saying a word but looking very much as if she would like to vanish from sight. The whole room seemed to fix upon her, weighing up the implications of what had been said and her passive reaction to it. She had not by any means moved to deny it. In the background someone gasped before it all fell quiet. The silence almost buzzed. Though Edith's face was largely blank, the tiny lines of her skin revealed a deep-seated mutiny.
"I must say, it's a sorry state when one's maids show more loyalty than one's cousin."
No one quite knew what to say. This had emerged completely out of the blue- for Sybil at least- and the smallest word in the wrong direction could have enormous consequences.
"How about charades?"
Cousin Matthew was choosing a very odd strategy with which to save the day.
"What was that, Matthew?" Cora was talking in a louder voice than necessary, trying desperately to draw everyone's attention away from the way Cousin Isobel's cheeks were now glowing scarlet. Across the table from her Sir Anthony's countenance seemed to have taken a similar turn.
"A game of charades? After dinner?"
"Oh goodness, yes!" Cora exclaimed, too enthusiastically, "Mama, don't you think so? Mama? Granny? VIOLET!" she finally snapped.
"What?" Granny asked, ignoring Cora's impertinence altogether. Her voice had a distant tone to it, as if she wasn't really listening at all. She had fixed poor Cousin Isobel- still staring at her food- with a look of such disdainful contempt as Sybil had ever seen, and would not take her eyes off her.
"We're thinking of charades. After dinner."
"Very good."
"The servants are going to join in."
"Excellent."
Sybil thought she saw what her mother was trying to do.
"And I'm going to marry Cousin Matthew tomorrow morning."
"If you must."
"Oh, Granny, do please listen to them!" Mary implored, "Before you say something you don't mean."
At last, Granny seemed to come back down to earth, though she was still eyeing Mrs Crawley very suspiciously, as if she carried something contagious.
"Sorry, Mary dear," she apologised, "I can't think what came over me. Although," she bristled back towards her usual state, "I dare say, it was nothing like as serious as what came over other people," here she threw a withering look at Sir Anthony, "I expect that was sheer madness."
To give Cousin Isobel her due, no matter what she turned out to have done- and Sybil would be sure to quiz Mrs Hughes thoroughly on the subject as soon as she could get away and find her- she showed remarkable fortitude in the face of Granny's extraordinary disdain. It felt rather as if she and Sir Anthony were criminals waiting to go on trial.
The mood at the table did not quite recover throughout the rest of Christmas dinner.
…...
The game of charades deteriorated rapidly. This was particularly due to the young in the party. In a truly gallant attempt to disguise her embarrassment- which Isobel would never quite forget- her young lodgers threw themselves into the activity with almost indecent enthusiasm, much to everyone's entertainment; except Cousin Violet who was still eyeing her suspiciously and Edith who was refusing to acknowledge her existence. Things only continued to plummet further into the realms of madness when the servants arrived to join in- much to Violet's disapproval, but she had after all agreed to it however absent-mindedly. The problem was that everyone seemed to act out their own character from Twelfth Night and when they ran out of those started impersonating each other's. The silver lining to this great thunder cloud of a Christmas Day was that she got the chance to talk to Elsie, hovering as she was outside the drawing room door to watch the game without appearing to indulge this frivolity.
"So much for keeping things quiet," was all she found she could say at first.
Elsie looked at her very plainly.
"You thought it was me, who told her, didn't you?" she asked.
Isobel couldn't lie.
"Yes," she admitted, "At first. Well, what else was I supposed to think?" she added more than a little defensively.
"You haven't ever lived in a house like this, have you?" Elsie asked not unkindly, "The walls have ears."
"I'm sorry," Isobel apologised, "I should have had more faith in you."
"Don't worry about it," Elsie told her, "Like you said, what were you supposed to think? You'll know next time."
"Strike me if there's going to be a next time!" Isobel hissed a little, "You'd have thought I'd killed someone, the way everyone's reacting. I'd like to remind them all that it was him who proposed to me and not the other way around!"
Right on cue, Lady Edith- passing them on her way back into the room- threw her the first glance she'd given her since lunchtime. An utterly filthy one.
"Come on," Elsie told her, "Let's go outside."
Bearing in mind the habit the walls had for hearing- and repeating- things they were never meant to get hold of, they were silent until they emerged onto the frosty drive.
"Has everyone taken it as badly?" Elsie asked cautiously as they wandered down the drive.
"Oh goodness, no! Mary thinks it's wonderful. I'm surprised she hasn't sent me flowers and a card of congratulation."
"I had Sybil questioning me earlier on," Elsie admitted, "She seemed to think- rightly, of course- that I would know what was going on. I didn't tell her, of course," she added hurriedly, "She didn't seem cross with you."
"Who do you think might have told her?"
Elsie snorted rather bitterly.
"It would be unprofessional of me to say. But I know who my money's on."
Isobel smiled at her shoes.
"There's nothing quite like getting the family together at Christmas."
"Except a bomb," she commented wryly, "Isobel? I shouldn't really ask this but I will anyway," Isobel stopped chuckling, "Has this helped you make your mind up any?"
They both stopped walking. In thought, Isobel threw a haphazard glance back at the house.
"Maybe," she was smiling a little.
They decided to go back inside, it was getting much colder as the night drew in in earnest. By the time they had returned to the drawing room, charades had been abandoned for good and everyone was dancing. Over from where they rearranged themselves in the corner Elsie could just about make out Lady Sybil dancing with Mr Branson.
"Let them," Isobel told her softly, "It's the one night of the year they'll get the chance."
"It's not that," Elsie replied in a whisper, "I happen to know that Lady Sybil has strategically placed mistletoe around the house."
"Ah."
"So watch yourself," Elsie advised, "Or you might end up in even more trouble."
For what felt like the first time that day, Isobel grinned.
"I don't think that would be quite possible."
"Mrs Crawley?"
They turned in their chairs to see Anthony Strallan behind them. Elsie saw Isobel throw a cautionary glance in Lady Edith's direction. Lord Strallan evidently saw it too for he continued rather nervously.
"I was wondering if you'd like to come for a walk with me," he fidgeted a little, "I would very much like to apologise for all the trouble I've caused you today."
Isobel smiled up at him.
"I should like that," she told him, "If you'd be so good as to fetch our coats, I'll meet you downstairs."
Once he had gone, Elsie thought it would not only be acceptable but almost prerequisite to raise her eyebrows at her friend.
"Stop it," Isobel told her bluntly.
"Watch out for mistletoe," Elsie repeated.
Please review if the fancy takes you.
And, if I might just share with you a conversation that took place between my Grandmother and I about Downton:
Me: I like the housekeeper.
Grandma: Her who's friendly with the butler?
Me: Yes. I personally think there's something going on between them.
Grandma: Yes, me too.
My Grandmother is a Carson/Hughes shipper. That made my day.
