"This isn't what it seems! I've been framed, I -"

"You are to be silent until further instruction!" bellowed the Earl of Grantham. The footman trembled before him, weak from the physicality of the authorities' arrest of him. Several policemen held onto Thomas - for they had been notified of the severity of that for which the footman had been charged, and would not wish to upset Lord Grantham with meager forces.

"Shall we hear what this man has to say?" questioned one of the authorities, realising how desperate Thomas Barrow was to speak. Robert nodded after and overly loud grunt of reluctance.

One policeman whose hands constrained the accused man's arms declared, "If you have anything to say on behalf of your purposes, please relay it to us now."

"Thank you, sirs," exhaled Thomas, managing a smile despite the bodily pain that taxed his every word. "You won't be sorry, I promise you -"

"All right then, get on with it," prompted Robert impatiently. His mind presently debated whether this seemingly unlawful man would continue his occupation at Downton (thus far, the Earl thought in the negative regarding that prospect).

"Of course," returned the exhausted footman, breathing heavily before proceeding. "You will think my truth to be a lie; but I must inform you that I am not the one who signed my name."

"Do you mean Kemal Pamuk's letter of protest against Downton?"

"Yes, milord. It was not me; I swear, someone has been trying to make a dead man of me, and I believe I know who -"

Robert was pacing back and forth across the entryway. "But what proof do you have, Thomas? Mark my words, I do not wish to lose you to some ridiculous and easily preventable crime!"

The footman gulped quietly and bowed his head. Policemen round the scene stared intently at Thomas's figure; they figured that the accused man would commit some dangerous act within the next few seconds. But instead, Thomas looked up again a toward the grand staircase - as he heard a woman's voice:

"Papa? Are you still downstairs?"

Robert snapped out of his moroseness. "Sybil? Remain where you are; I am coming. Excuse me," he added, gesturing to the congregation whilst backing up and moving toward the flight of stairs.

Thomas frowned. Although he respected Lady Sybil and her priority position in the house, he detested his employer's uncaring attitude toward that which he wished to convey. I am no criminal, he told himself. No matter how it seems, I have done no wrong.

When at past Robert returned to the footman and policemen, Thomas muttered something under his breath. "The Duke of Crowborough."

Two of the policemen looked at Thomas. "What?" one asked. "Man, who is this duke of whom you speak?"

"Did you say Crowborough, Thomas? Is he the man you claim signed the paper on your behalf?"

"Yes milord! at last you know. I can testify for his foul behaviour; he threatened me when -"

"Until such an accusation can be validated, you will refer to the Duke of Crowborough as 'his lordship'!"

Robert had not been very fond of the Duke since the man's last stay at Downton, but his reverence would not waver just this once. "Well? What about him?"

Thomas wiped his mouth so as to prevent anything unnecessary from spurting from his mouth. Then he explained: "His lordship - the Duke of Crowborough, that is - threatened to ruin my luck at employment, milord. I managed to delay his threat, but I think he has found his chance to put me to shame..."

"But why have you broken out of prison, Mr. Barrow?" inquired one of the policemen sternly. He added quickly, "And don't respond that you simply needed to escape."

"But that is the truth," assured Thomas, panic beginning to stir within the footman. He could sense defeat, and of course Lord Grantham would make certain not to ease that wretched feeling.

"The act was a disgrace," declared Robert; "not only to you as a respectable footman at Downton but to my family and the staff. Thomas, you will not be allowed to continue here until the moment you are cleared from all charges."

"And if found guilty," continued one of the authorities, "you will be tried in court for disloyalty to your employer, as well as for the prison break."

The footman could only lower his head, dismayed and discouraged beyond his likings.

...

Sara O'Brien handed the Countess of Grantham her ladyship's nightgown. "Thank you, O'Brien," acknowledged Cora warmly. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to leave the room before getting into my nightclothes."

"Of course, milady. And shall I remain here until you return?"

"No, I will ring around half past nine; please utilise this time as your own."

O'Brien smiled slightly and bowed her head. "I won't keep you, then, milady."

Cora let the lady's maid proceed to leave the room before exiting it herself; then she hurried toward her daughters' bedrooms, eager to catch Mary before night grew old. Her oldest daughter had been in the village at the time of Thomas's catch, and so Mary had not been informed of the footman's revelation. Whilst the Countess of Grantham dearly loved her child, she knew that Mary had to retain full discernment of the situation, regardless of its horrible contents.

In minutes Cora was standing opposite her daughter's vanity. Anna had left moments previous, and now Mary rubbed ointments along her slender arms. "Mama, your silence frightens me."

Cora chuckled. "I suppose the time had to come when your mother's presence frightened you."

"I don't mean...never mind," finished the young woman, focusing her eyes upon her mother's face that reflected through the looking glass. "But the mystery remains to be solved: why have you chosen to accompany me rather than either of my sisters?" Not as if Edith is any fun, mused the rivalrous older sister.

"For one thing," Cora started, "they fell asleep far earlier than you have ever done! And," she continued, "Thomas has been caught."

"About time, too," Mary remarked, though her tone of voice was not bitter. "Has anything been settled?"

"Your father mentioned that Thomas blames the Duke of Crowborough for signing the footman's name on Pamuk's documentation of protest. There is no evidence as to whether it is true, but I certainly want it to be."

Mary turned to face her mother. "Philip, the Duke of Crowborough? If our footman is telling the truth, why would Philip even bother with Downton? He knows that I shall inherit neither fortune nor estate; what could he want so dearly that he would produce a scandal?"

"We have no proof that Philip is to blame," reminded Cora. She stepped toward her daughter and put a hand on Mary's arm. "I only wanted you to be informed, my darling. Please don't let this development worry you. Your father and I are not about to give up."

"Neither is Cousin Matthew," blurted Mary, almost uncontrollably; some part of her had thirsted to bring Matthew Crawley from Manchester into the picture.

The Countess of Grantham's eyes widened at the mention of Matthew. "Oh?"

"He hopes to help us with sorting this whole thing out," confessed the woman, warming at the thought of the only honest young man that presently appeared to be alive. "His profession might become of use after all."

Cora smiled. My daughter is taking a chance on Matthew! she rejoiced silently. "I'm certainly glad that Matthew has a kind heart. I have always thought him to be a modest and caring young man..."

Cora's plan to evoke in Mary the desire to speak more about Cousin Matthew almost failed; silence danced in the room for a few moments, as Mary and Cora merely looked round their dimly-lit surroundings with contentment.

Finally, Mary piped up: "He cares for me, Mama."

"Does he? And what do you believe prompted his confession?"

"I don't know," lied the other, pale countenance transmuting into a dark pink colour. Cora put a hand on her daughter's cheek. "My darling, does he love you?"

"I don't know," repeated Mary, disappointment clouding her thoughts. Does he only love me as a cousin? His actions have proven mostly careful; he does not seem to be "in love" with me. And how could he be, when I have been nothing but an impudent woman toward his newly-arrived person?

"Do you love him?" Cora tried, rubbing Mary's shoulder as her daughter stared blankly round the room. Her scarlet-blanketed bed welcomed her extraordinarily at this moment - a safe haven from Pamuk's present attempts to vengeance, a secure place in which the confused young woman could leave behind all troubles with internal musings and emotions. But Mary supposed that her mother would not leave the room until answers to those difficult questions arose. "I think I might love him, if he allows it."

Cora frowned. "Do you think he does not love you, then? But he admitted to you -"

"Mama, I'd be lucky to win the love of a chauffeur! No; Cousin Matthew probably only cares for me as a cousin should...so at least he is one step ahead of me."

The Countess of Grantham dared not argue with her thought-dependent daughter; yet, Mary's declaration had some truth to it: to the newcomer Matthew Crawley, Mary had been quite rude at first. Even on the night of the hunt, Mary had left three men - one of whom had been in mid-speech - for Kemal Pamuk. Though Cora could not clearly recall that evening - as it had transpired with far more details than desirable - she knew that her daughter had been transformed since then. She wished the matter were not connected to a sexual attempt on her daughter; otherwise, Cora would have remained in Mary's bedroom to discuss the transformation.

But the middle-aged woman decided to let her child free. She kissed Mary softly on the forehead, smiled sadly at her emotionally-shaken daughter, and quitted the room.

Mary stared at the opposite wall, where there rested a tranquil fireplace. She turned to face the vacant bed, her resting place for the night. And with that, she undid the covers and snuggled into the bed's comforting embrace, determined to forget all conflict and to find in her slumber a state of ease.

To Mary's good fortune, she slept soundly and happily that night.