I was very glad, over those next few utterly unsatisfying days, that I had a companion by my side in the shape of William, who, upon my apparent depression, endeavoured to cheer me up as best he could. Though we never spoke of my woes, his presence and reliable friendship was enough to see me through. It appeared that Lady Grantham's warning and the broken china were only the start of a series of misfortunes laid out for me. My apron was discovered ripped and torn one morning (deducted from my wages), and I had to answer a stream of shouted questions from Mr Carson regarding missing china that was in my care. I was even unlucky enough to stumble into the drawing room while Lord and Lady Grantham were entertaining guests for tea after being given wrong instructions to go there, I knew that it was O'Brien behind these petty tricks, but I was in no position to make accusations without proof.
I really couldn't do anything. As Duties of the Good Servant and O'Brien made clear, there was a strict hierarchy among the servants; I couldn't complain unless O'Brien had me mauled by wild dogs.
It was a credit to myself that I didn't clink the china even though I was in such a foul temper. Gwen and I always cleaned the china after meals. It was Thomas and William's job to bring us the dishes.
Setting a heaping pile of teacups before me, the first footman bowed deeply.
I gave him a taut smile.
"Very interesting conversation about you in the drawing room last night," he murmured, after a glance at Gwen confirmed that she was talking to William.
"Oh?"
"His Lordship doesn't think you're up to the job. It was all Her Ladyship's idea, you know, and His Lordship does tend to ruin her plans. From the sounds of it, he's plannin' to give you the sack."
"Oh, are you gloating?" I hissed.
He raised his eyebrows. "No. Just doin' you a favor."
I looked at him dubiously.
"I would've put in a good word for you," Thomas continued. "But you know servants can never put themselves forward."
"I thought you and O'Brien wanted me gone," I shot back.
Thomas shrugged. Thinking that this was the best I was going to get, I returned to washing dishes, but Thomas remained.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You keep things interesting."
"How?" I said, turning to stare at him in wonder. I must admit, I had never thought of myself as particularly interesting.
"You've caused so many arguments since you've arrived. As a general rule, anything Carson hates, I like. Generally speaking."
"So, you want me around me around because I cause arguments. And Carson hates me."
Thomas smiled in assent.
I looked at him suspiciously. He seemed almost…hopeful? No, I was only imagining things. He was just trying to annoy me; as usual.
"I'm very flattered," I said sarcastically.
"You ought to be. There aren't many people I'm tempted to put in a good word for."
"But you don't," I snapped. "Not to Carson, not to anyone. In fact, you did just the opposite on my first day, so I really don't see the point of this discussion."
All expression disappeared from Thomas's face. "Have it your way," he said, turning away sharply. "William, come along, we don't have all day," he barked.
"I wasn't the one dawdling," William murmured, just low enough that Thomas didn't hear.
Adjusting his coat, Thomas stood by the door and waited imperiously while William scrambled out the door. Watching him leave, I felt a stab of regret. He had given me some valuable information, and what had I done? I had thrown it all back in his face. Admittedly, he did rather owe me an apology for calling me a charity case in front of practically everyone, but he had helped me, with the tip about O'Brien and—oh, I had wormed that out of him. Never mind. Today, however, perhaps he had been trying to be nice, in his own way. Perhaps he was trying to make up for his previously slights.
But if I forgave him, wouldn't he just return to our former pattern of insulting me in public and being friendly in private? He was only taking me for granted, wasn't he?
"What did Thomas want?" Gwen whispered.
"I really don't know," I said, coming to myself. "Something about me getting the sack and him not wanting me to go because I cause all these arguments."
"Oh," said Gwen. "Well, I wouldn't pay much attention to him. He only cares about himself, Thomas."
I wasn't quite sure about that. Thomas cared about lots of things, like entertaining dinner conversations and annoying people. "But isn't selfishness a universal part of the human condition? I mean, we're all selfish, aren't we, so how is Thomas worse for being slightly more selfish than the rest of us?"
While Gwen was frowning over this, Anna came in to check on how much we had accomplished. "Ah, but that's the thing. Thomas isn't slightly more selfish, or he wouldn't stand out. Thomas is… Well, he makes a great deal of trouble, especially for Mr Bates, who never did anything to him."
"What's he been doing?" I asked, interested. Yes, I needed to eavesdrop more often.
"He's been trying to convince Mr Carson that Mr Bates can't do the work, and is a disgrace to Downton."
"Oh. Well, that's not nice."
"Aye, Thomas isn't nice, that's what I'm sayin'," said Gwen. "I'd be wary of him if I were you. The new maids always fall all over themselves tryin' to catch his eye, until they realize he's rotten."
"I'm not fawning over him," I said frostily. "Never have, and never will."
But I was going to thank him for the tip about Lord Grantham. And listen in on Carson more often. Clearly, I had been neglecting my eavesdropping duties.
x-X-x
I spent an entire hour knitting by the door of Carson's office, in which Mrs Hughes talked about dinner plans. Nevertheless, I resolved to come again. Thomas hadn't become a master eavesdropper overnight either, I was sure of it. Surely he received lots of extraneous information too? He probably only reported the interesting parts of all the chatter he heard every day. I mustn't be discouraged.
Departing before Mrs Hughes came out, I sat down in the Servants' Hall for tea. Miss O'Brien, predictably, had something to say.
"You spent an awful lot o' time knitting by the Butler's Pantry," she said, the faintest sneer playing on her lips.
I waved a dismissive hand. "It's a free country; I can knit where I want."
"Aye, and you can eavesdrop where you want, too."
"Miss O'Brien," I said, putting a hand over my heart, "are you implying that I was eavesdropping?"
"Aye, why not?" she said, her eyes widening innocently. "After handing your underthings to footmen, I hardly think you'd balk at eavesdropping."
William went bright pink, and I nearly abandoned all restraint and slammed my face into my hands. As if everyone needed reminding of that particular incident. And then there was Mr Bates, whispering to Anna, no doubt asking what O'Brien meant.
Perhaps thinking that I was embarrassed, William conquered his own and placed a reassuring hand on my arm, which I found surprisingly comforting. "It's all right," he whispered. "We know what really happened, don't we?"
It wasn't that I was ashamed, necessarily, it was just that I really didn't need the underwear scandal brought up again, not now, when my position was so fragile. I was about to say something along the lines of it not mattering, there was no need, etc, when I perceived a third party observing us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Thomas, whom I had reinstated the resolution to ignore, was watching the scene through a haze of cigarette smoke.
"You weren't acquainted with the lovely Nellie Dean when she visited, were you, Mr Bates?" said Thomas, taking his cigarette out to talk.
"No, I can't say that I was," said Mr Bates quietly.
"Pity. William was accused of stealing… what was it? Pearl necklace, brooch, and some lacy underwear, wasn't it, Nellie?"
"That sounds about right, yes," I replied, gritting my teeth. Oh, black betrayal.
"Anyway, when she heard, she burst in the kitchen and said that she'd given those things to William. Rather awkward, wouldn't you say?"
Utterly infuriatingly, Thomas smirked. Raising my eyebrows at him, I turned to Mr Bates, gauging his reaction. Most fortunately, he didn't seem judgmental.
"Was that what happened, Nellie?" he asked.
"Yes," I admitted, wanting to tell him the whole story, but not knowing how that would affect William.
"Scandalous," said Thomas.
And I was struck by a sudden idea that started as a small speck in my brain and grew and grew until I turned to William and said,
"Don't mind him, William." I then gave him my biggest smile, and placed my hand over his.
William, mildly surprised at my response, grinned back apprehensively and I saw the grey eyes flicker through the smoke.
I wasn't stupid. I knew what I was doing and why I was doing it, but this did not stop me. I knew that, by paying attention to William, I was only trying to make Thomas jealous. This was a downright dishonest and horrible thing to do, and yet it gave me a strange sensation of elation—the sort one feels when they are doing something behind their parents' back. But this was wrong. I should be feeling guilty! What had happened to me? I had become frankly evil. Possibly I had been spending too much time with O'Brien.
x-X-x
Sometime after lunch, Anna and I found ourselves alone together in the pantry. We were both, I think, trying to avoid Carson, who had spent the better part of half an hour scolding William for some spilt soup at lunch time, and everyone had been treading on thin ground ever since. This, at least, was the reason why I was finding bags of flour and jars of jam so interesting.
"I'm worried, you know," said Anna, as she moved a box of biscuits from one side of a shelf to another.
"About what?"
"About William. He's always so down. He always seems to be in the wrong, and the likes of Thomas don't help matters."
My stomach did a strange sort of jump when she said Thomas's name, for some reason finding it bizarre that someone could just throw it into conversation in that way.
"Oh really?" I said, attempting to keep it casual, and shuffling some bags of flour about.
"Yes," continued Anna. "I mean, he's a young boy, William, and I'm not saying Mr Carson should let him off when he does wrong, but I wish people would give him a break sometimes. They seem to think he can't do anything."
"Well, we know that's not true," I said, thinking of how much I had been appreciating the young footman.
"We do," said Anna. "But I'm not sure other people can see how helpful William can be. And I think William himself is especially doubtful that he's any good at anything."
"Perhaps we should do something?"
"Us? What can we do?" Her tone was so defeated that I decided that something must be done. I might now be a maid, but that did not mean that I was incapable of making things happen.
"Oh, come on," I said, placing a tin of peaches down importantly. "There must be something."
We racked our brains, the only sounds in the room our futile movement of goods and shouting and bustle from outside.
"I've got it," I said, struck suddenly by inspiration that possibly had other, ulterior, motives.
"What?"
"William feels like he's not useful, right?
"Right..."
"So, what we do is make him feel like he's useful! It's simple!"
"But how can we do that?"
"It'll be easy. We'll pretend to have difficulty with something, or else need some help, or something along those lines, and then we can ask William for help, he can help us, and there you are!"
"Where are we?" said Anna, not entirely getting my idea.
"Look, if we make William feel like he's helping us, and being really useful, which he already does," I added, hastily. "But if other people can see it too, then he's going to become more confident, isn't he?"
Anna's face changed from mild confusion to overjoyed realisation.
"Oh, Nellie!" she exclaimed. "That's perfect. And so clever! However did you think of such a thing?"
"Not just a pretty face," I said, in obvious humour.
"Not even that," said a snide voice behind us.
Whipping around, I saw O'Brien in the doorway to the pantry, her arms folded.
"Mr Carson," she said, "was just wondering what it was that two of his maids were finding so interesting in the pantry?"
"We were just..." began Anna.
"We were working," I wanted to say. "You know, it's a thing that maids are supposed to do. Perhaps if you ever did your job properly, you'd know what it was like."
But as the best retorts always seemed to be inappropriate for the time and place, I had to content myself with, "We were arranging the contents of the cupboard, Miss O'Brien."
"Really," said O'Brien, with an unpleasant smile. "That's a fine way to describe idlin' away working hours with gossip."
"But all the jars are arranged alphabetically," I said. "Look!"
Not even gracing my brilliant defense with a reply, O'Brien gave me a deeply loathing look and stalked off. I glared at her retreating back, secretly (very secretly) wishing I had that swagger.
"Leave it, Nellie. She's hardly worth it."
Sighing, I admitted to myself that Anna was most likely right; nothing I could do or say would make O'Brien be civil. Why waste energy fuming over it?
x-X-x
Anna wanted to put our plan into action immediately, but I insisted that we had to be realistic, and that it would just look ridiculous if we were both suddenly clamouring for William's aid instantly. We needed to wait for a good opportunity, and I was also partly hoping for a moment when a certain somebody might also be present. And, to our luck, such an occasion arose that very evening.
"Nellie," said Anna, when William had just settled himself at the table, and there were several other people dotted about the room. "You couldn't mend this jacket, could you? Only it's got rather a tear in the seam, and Mr Carson's likely to go mad if he sees it. I've got a mountain to do already."
"Of course," I said, catching her slight wink and returning it. I took the jacket, torn at the shoulder. It was a repair I could virtually do in my sleep, but that would not do now.
Clumsily, I took out a needle and thread, and took up a seat conveniently next to William, who had retrieved a book with the intention of reading.
"William," I said, sweetly. "Will you just hold this needle please, while I thread this through?"
Slightly bemused, William put down his book and took the needle, holding it deadly still. However, I made a total palaver over not being able to see the hole, that in the end, William took the thread from me and threaded it through himself.
"Oh, thank you!" I gushed. "I was quite likely to be there all night without you."
Anna, across the table, stifled a smile, while I noticed Thomas, who was placed conveniently just at the other end of the table, staring completely baffled at the scene.
I began work on the jacket, making sure to huff and puff through it, sighing loudly occasionally in apparent frustration.
"Look here, William," I said, after ten minutes. "What have I done here? It's gone all wrong, look."
William, frowning at the jacket, took it from me and examined it closely. I continued to look innocently at him.
"Well," he said, after some apparent consideration. "You've stitched yourself up and through onto the other side."
"Oh, have I?" I said, laughing. "Oh, how silly of me!"
"I think you might need to take it out and start again..."
"Oh, please say I don't have to do that," I said, desperately. "I'm not sure I could stand to do such a thing."
"Well," said William, looking at my endearing face. "I could always do it for you. I might be a bloke, but I've been told I've got a very nice stitch."
"Oh, would you?" I said, gushingly. "That would be lovely, William. Thank you."
And then, taking things up a level for one man in particular, I leant forward and pecked William on the cheek.
"You're the best!"
Feeling the glow of his cheeks from where I was sat, I decided I had done enough to improve the boy's confidence at least for now, and exited the room, on the pretence of finding some chore to redeem myself on. Anna found me in the corridor.
"Oh, Nellie!" she said, a small laugh escaping her lips. "That was perfect! Oh, you should hear William in there now, chattering happily about sewing with whoever will listen!"
"Well," I said, pleased that Anna did not seem to feel I had gone over the top. "This is just the beginning. We need to make sure we keep this up if it's going to really work!"
x-X-x
Over the next few days, our plan to turn William into a confident, appreciated person worked better than I could ever have hoped. During this time, myself and Anna probably appeared two of the least competent maids ever, seeking the help of William for every little thing. Mostly, Anna would make me be the one with difficulties, as she didn't want to completely lose her head housemaid status. This, unfortunately, caused a backlash on me from Carson, though. And I also had to put up with taunts from O'Brien regarding my lack of aptitude. But, in my opinion, it was worth it, and this was confirmed further one morning when Thomas sought out my presence in the courtyard.
I had been out there, on the pretence of doing something useful, when in reality, I was just hiding from an angry Mrs Hughes, who had lost some keys and was consequently very highly strung. I was just debating how long would be a reasonable time to stay out there when the door opened. Not wanting to be discovered doing nothing at all, I darted behind a pile of crates that conveniently concealed me from view. However, when the door opened, I realised it was only Thomas and O'Brien, cigarettes at the ready. I was about to reveal myself from behind the crates, when something indescribable kept me rooted to the spot.
"Well," said Thomas. "That was fun."
"No mercy for the poor lad," said O'Brien.
Thomas drew on his cigarette. "Fools are born to be taken in; if it's not me doing it, it's someone else."
"Why do you want the boy sacked, anyway?"
"You know why; I'm not telling you again."
"You surely don't think he's gonna leave over a few misplaced keys, do you? They all like William; they'll only believe it's some accident."
I could not believe what I was hearing. Well, actually, I could, but it did not make it any easier to digest. The very idea that Thomas had framed William for Mrs Hughes's missing keys was so typical, so characteristic of him, that I could hardly believe I had not thought of it sooner.
I waited just long enough to hear the two disappear back inside, before springing from my hiding place, literally shaking with fury. The only thing that seemed straight in my head was that I had to get to William, had to help him as he had helped me. Curse Thomas! He was undoing all of mine and Anna's handiwork!
I rushed back into the house, down along to a room I knew about, but never actually entered—Mrs Hughes's room. Forgetting myself completely, I burst in without knocking and my eyes fell upon Mrs Hughes, who was sitting at her desk. Upon my intrusion, she practically jumped up out of her seat, looking shocked.
"Nellie!" she exclaimed. "What on earth do you mean by bursting through doors in this way?"
"I'm sorry," I gasped. "But there is something most pressing I must tell you."
"Well, then," said Mrs Hughes. "Tell away, girl. For I expect you have good reason for entering my room without knocking in such a way."
I nodded, and then realised that I did not, as Mrs Hughes had put it, have any good reasons. For if I did possess any, I would surely have thought about what the devil I was going to say before entering in upon Mrs Hughes like this. What could I say? I was not about to tell tales about O'Brien, or, more importantly (though I wondered after why I considered this more important), Thomas. But, yet again, I did not want to be given the sack either. However, I realised that something must be said to help William, and that something must be said immediately, for Mrs Hughes was already fixing me with an oppressive, disbelieving stare.
"I—it was me," I said. "I'm the one that had your keys. I didn't steal them," I said, hurriedly, my brain and tongue alive with lies, "but I found them in the kitchen, and decided that it would probably be best if they were to be returned to you. I...I had been trying to find you to give them back to you, I promise."
Mrs Hughes's face said it all; she did not believe me in the slightest. "And yet you did not feel the need to speak up when I have been mentioning the missing keys all afternoon?"
"Oh, you'd been mentioning them?" I said loftily. "I hadn't noticed, honestly."
Mrs Hughes sighed. "You really are impossible, Nellie Dean."
"The impossible is often the untried," I said, without thinking.
My philosophical quotes did not seem to have quite the desired effect upon Mrs Hughes, and she raised her eyebrows incredibly high at me.
"Indeed," she said. "Well then perhaps the 'untried' could tell me her explanation for how the keys ended up in William's pocket? Hmm?"
Ah. I had forgotten that minor detail.
"We-ell," I said, slowly, mind running in overtime. "I put them in there," I said, a wave of possible insane inspiration coming over me. "That's it. There was sudden an emergency in the pantry, and I had to attend it at once. I didn't want to lose or damage the keys, so I put them somewhere for safekeeping until I was finished. That place just happened to be the pocket of a jacket I found. I realise now that it was William's jacket."
"Oh, really?"
"Oh, yes."
"And what was this 'sudden emergency' in the pantry?"
"A carton of spilt lentils," I said without hesitation.
"An emergency indeed," said Mrs Hughes cynically. I looked down at the floor. "Nevertheless—" continued Mrs Hughes, and I looked up—"If what you're saying is true, then it is not fair that William should bear the burden of your errors. I must go to Mr Carson at once and discuss this. Meanwhile, you," and at this point she fixed me with her most severe look, "must accept the consequences of your actions. Now, go and try and stay out of further trouble while I discuss things with Mr Carson."
"Yes, Mrs Hughes," I said meekly.
x-X-x
The incident with the keys earned me my longest and strictest punishment to date. Mrs Hughes's 'discussion' with Carson about the whole affair seemed to convince her further that I had committed a terrible crime, and O'Brien delighted in implying that she had overheard her discussing my dismissal with Lord Grantham.
This, of course, was untrue, but it was true that I was not about to get away from this lightly. Though William had practically sobbed while thanking me again and again for what I had done, I had to insist that I had merely been speaking the truth. It occurred to me at that point how complicated my life had become. My whole existence seemed to have become a web of lies that was growing horribly sticky and complicated. I kept forgetting who I had told what to, and what I was supposed to believe had happened.
I accepted, however, my punishment with grace, even though it meant public scolding and a demotion. 'Indefinitely', I was to eat meals alone, and was not allowed to join in evening entertainment with everybody else.
"I accept that it was a mistake," said Carson, his deep voice sounding strangely distant in the small enclosure of his office. "But I cannot let standards drop. The housekeeper's keys are very important; it's where the china's kept. These sorts of…mishaps create confusion, cast suspicion. You understand, I'm sure. And I must not shown to be lenient with you. It's bad business, very bad business."
This was, possibly, better than I had expected. Angry though Carson seemed, he had not sacked me yet.
It was lonely, however. No one wanted to associate with me anymore. They were all acting as though I might contaminate them and bring down the wrath of Carson on their heads too. Or else that I was cursed and everything I touched turned sour. Some scullery maid even spoke to me so timidly one morning that I felt like I was a bomb that might explode at any moment. William still attempted to keep up our friendship whenever possible, but even he, after his initial gratitude, drifted somewhat. Anna, also, evidently felt that she was in some danger by associating herself with me, and I found myself having to put up with my own company most of the time. O'Brien seemed to enjoy seeing my solitude, and made no effort whatsoever to even acknowledge my existence. At least I had that advantage.
So, I was lonely and miserable indeed when I decided to seek some fresh air in the courtyard, though it had grown dark and late. It was not especially cold, Spring having officially arrived, and I thought the air might soothe me somewhat.
Outside, I settled myself down upon the permanent pile of crates and closed my eyes, allowing the breeze to play across my face pleasantly. The air smelt faintly of chimney smoke, cold, and burning wood. And then, another familiar scent filled my nostrils, so instantly memorable that I snapped my eyes open immediately. Thomas stood, smug as ever, looking jubilantly down at me.
"Hello," he said.
"What do you want?" I sighed exasperatedly, making preparations to stand up. "You shouldn't be talking to me. I'm in disgrace, remember?"
"You're forgetting," said Thomas, placing his hands in his pockets and running his foot along the ground in front of me, "I spend more than half my life in disgrace with everyone here. It makes a change that I'm not."
"Well, you should be," I said, angrily remembering that it was really his fault all this had happened anyway.
"Oh, really? Why's that?"
"You're the one who actually took the keys and put them in William's pocket," I said.
Thomas, whom I expected to deny this completely, or else at least become meek at the mention of his crime, smirked. "That's true," he said.
"You don't deny it, then?"
"No? Why should I? I'm not the one who was stupid enough to lie to protect somebody."
"No," I said, standing up, annoyed. "That doesn't really seem like something you would do. Helping others."
"You flatter me," he said drily.
"Look," I said. "Could you leave me in peace? Please? I'm already melancholy. You can hardly make me feel any worse."
"Oh, I probably could."
This was most likely true, but I did not say that. I sighed again.
"Are you going to leave any time soon?"
"Don't plan on it, no."
I sighed once more, feeling as though I would soon surely deflate from having exhaled so much air in frustration.
"Why is it so insanely difficult to be rid of you and ignore you?" I asked, wondering why on earth I was still standing there.
Thomas, for some reason, seemed to find a compliment in this question. "Oh, I don't know." Smirking, he brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it. "Possibly 'cause you wouldn't have lasted two days here without me."
It was my turn to smirk at him. "You know, somehow I really doubt that," I said.
"You shouldn't." Smoke flowed from the cigarette, clouding his face. "Why d'you think Carson's put up with you this long, if I hadn't put in a good word for you now and then?"
I looked at him, trying very hard not to gape. "Explain."
"Told him you were a good lass, dedicated to the family name an' all that rot. Ate it right it up, he did. You see," he continued thoughtfully, plucking out his cigarette so he could talk freely, "I told him you'd be an eventual asset to Downton, as you'd always be grateful to Lady Grantham for takin' you in. Finely done, if I don't say so, myself." His speech finished, he put the cigarette back in.
I must say, it took me a while to collect my wits. "That still doesn't excuse you for framing William," I snapped, rather half-heartedly.
But Thomas was smiling anyway.
