He turned the contraption in his hands, looking at it with interest and no little apprehension. It was rather heavy and sturdy looking. And, even if it was brand new, there was a painful familiarity in the metal braces and the leather straps. He had seen many a contraption like this one before, used them plenty of times, too, during his time as a convalescent in a military hospital.

What was so special about this one that he had been willing to spend almost all his savings on it? He did not know. But it was certainly worth the try.

When he had been recovering from his wound, it had not been a choice. Either he would do everything the doctors said, or he would not be able to use his leg again. Now, even though he was granted to walk, again he felt he had no choice. Lord Grantham had taken him as his valet out of loyalty. Friendship, maybe. And both of them knew His Lordship could find a better valet with no difficulty. Bates just had to do his best to get better and to be the valet Lord Grantham should have.

It would be nice, to be able to get rid of his walking stick, to be able to walk normally, not to slow down anybody. If this limp corrector was what the advertisement said it was, it was well worth the discomfort, or the possible pain.

He extended his leg, as much as he could, and looked at it critically. The white scars from the war wound shone clearly and it was evident the strange angle of the calf. Carefully, Bates placed the metal contraption under it. It felt cold and foreign, but the leather straps were strangely soft, almost comfortable. He knew better than to trust that impression.

Carefully, he adjusted the position of the braces until the corrector fitted exactly the length of his leg. Now the difficult part. Bending low, he reached to the clam nearest his ankle. So far, he had managed to ignore the pegs; now they were unavoidable. Fixing the leader straps, he adjusted them, feeling the pressure on his skin. With a sigh he repeated the operation on the clams at his calf, his knee and those at his thigh. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and he was sure it would get painful as he would put weight on his leg.

Using the bed and his stick as a support, he stood up. Except from the pressure on the sides, his leg felt no different. Of course, the maker had told him he needed to use it for a considerable time to see results. Gingerly he put more weight on the leg. The braces gave him a little more support than what he was used to with his crooked leg, but it was less uncomfortable when he did not step on it.

He repeated to himself it was worth the try, and after putting on his pants, careful to fully hide the corrector, he went downstairs for breakfast.

Three days had passed and he could not see a difference, except for the bruises that had started to appear, and the very nasty red marks where the pegs met his skin. When he would take off the contraption, though, at night, his leg felt exactly the same. Well, he had to give it more time, of course. Only problem was, it was getting quite painful to go through his regular duties.

He was taking Lord Grantham's jacket to brush when he heard it. Anna's and Gwen's muffled voices from inside one of the spare rooms.

Gwen's revelation of her dream of leaving service and becoming a secretary had left everybody downstairs a little shocked, and Bates had heard comments that ranged from full support to absolute despise. No wonder she was starting to doubt herself.

"-I'm the daughter of a farmhand and I'm lucky to be a maid. I was born with nothing, and I'll die with nothing."

Her predicament was just too familiar to Bates, but she would never achieve a thing if she was to hold to such grim thoughts. Of that, he was sure.

"Don't talk like that. You can change your life if you want to. Sometimes you have to be hard on yourself but you can change it completely," how he wanted to believe in his own words. He needed to, just as much as Gwen. "I know," he added, and just then, he felt a sharp pain in his calf. He grimaced, trying to suppress a cry.

"Mr Bates? Are you all right?" Anna looked at him concerned, and it took him all his willpower to clench his teeth and nod. "Take her upstairs," he said with a smile, "dry her off".

The moment they went, though, he could not hide the pain anymore, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself.

"Mr Bates," Mrs Hughes had seen him. He needed to be more careful, and more in control of his pain. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing. Not a thing, I'm fine."

"Let me help you," she said, looking at the tweed jacket he was carrying. She was assuming it was his usual limp giving him trouble, and that was just the worst thing that could happen. He was going through all this trouble to be more capable, not to make them doubt of him as it was.

"I'm perfectly all right, thank you, Mrs Hughes." He was being short with her, but it was a small price to pay if he was to stop himself from growling aloud again.

"Are you sure? You're as white as a sheet."

"That's my wonderful complexion," he struggled to keep his voice calm, even light, "inherited from my Irish mother." The housekeeper's expression left no doubt, she was not convinced.

With what felt as almost an inhuman effort, Bates left, walking as carefully as he could so it would look normal to the eyes that were following him.

AN: Thank you very much for reading!