A/N: So here's the much-anticipated chapter fourteen!

So...um...I don't think there's any timeline things to note, other than Tom is gone by this point, married to Sybil and all that. So this is the beginning of Mairead's life getting interesting, I guess.

Disclaimer: Don't own Downton Abbey, but you knew that already, I bet.

Enjoy~

April 1919

Thomas waited until the rest of the staff cleared away and headed to their usual evening haunts before entering the servants' hall, where Jane was teaching Mairead a new stitch for repairing lace. He watched as the two maids worked side-by-side, Jane completing stitch after stitch without slowing her pace, while Mairead's lips were pressed tight as she practiced with the sleeve of a housemaid's black uniform dress, her needle stopping and starting like a faulty engine.

Neither woman seemed to notice the valet, and he made no effort to make his presence known, at least not yet. His goal didn't depend on whether or not he was noticed, as long as he was clever enough to play every advantage he had, should the need arise. Jane gave him a wide enough berth that he could easily get her to leave him be, and he trusted that Mairead would play her part well enough for him to beat her to the upper hand.

Jane noticed Thomas first, and he watched as she set aside her sewing and rose from the long table, making some whispered excuse to Mairead before making her way towards the kitchen. As the woman swept past Thomas, she fixed him with a warning glare, her usually soft eyes glinting like bluish steel in the electric light of the hall.

He rewarded her attempt at a challenge with enough attention to see her disappear down the hall and out of sight. One less thing to worry about, he thought as he turned his attention to Mairead, who was still practicing the stitch Jane had been showing her.

"It seems like you'd know how to do that already," he commented, leaving his post at the open threshold in favor of keeping this as private as possible. It wasn't ideal, the possibility that someone could walk in on them any second, but Thomas had waited long enough.

"Well then I'm glad Mrs. Moorsum offered to show me," she replied without so much as looking up from her work.

"Lucky, too, I'd imagine." He stood against the plaster wall, watching the housemaid for a reaction of some kind, anything to show him that he might be able to strike up some sort of alliance with her in the event that Mrs. O'Brien turned on him in favor of her nephew.

"Sorry?"

"I said it's lucky that you're learning now, before you get promoted to lady's maid and you have to mend Lady Edith's clothes. I imagine it'd be difficult to explain you never learned to fix lace."

"I don't think I'll ever be a lady's maid."

Thomas couldn't help but crack a smug grin. "Why not? I heard Mrs. Hughes mention how well you're coming along, helping Lady Sybil." That was a lie, of course, but he needed to test just how far her humility went, to see if it would be more worth his while to coerce her with promises of a higher position than what he had in mind. "I reckon she'd appoint you to Lady Mary instead of Anna, if you wanted."

The housemaid set down her work and finally acknowledged Thomas with hard, light brown eyes (if her eyes were blue, he would swear she was the chauffeur's sister) and a shake of her head. "I know it's a privilege t'ave that kind of opportunity, but if I'm to serve the Crawleys, I'd rather it be less direct."

His grin broadened by a hair.

She was giving him everything he wanted, and he liked what he was seeing, that was certain. She was one of those few who had ambition, but kept a tight lid on it, didn't let it become too obvious, and she didn't have any set loyalties (except to the chauffeur, but if the quarrel Thomas had heard coming from Mrs. Hughes's sitting room earlier was any indication, that loyalty would be shaky at best for a while) nor did she have any enemies. Her neutrality was the greatest advantage she would afford to him in a partnership like the one he and O'Brien once had.

Unfortunately, it seemed she would need a little…convincing, but Thomas was confident in his ability to bring her around. All it took were the right words, and never any unnecessary remarks. She seemed like the kind of person who wanted to cut straight to the chase, but knew better than to say so, and so Thomas would willingly oblige. All it would take were the right words and he'd have her, he knew it.

He came to sit across from her at the table, reaching into the breast pocket of his livery to retrieve a cigarette and a book of matches. "Is it because of what happened in Manchester?"

Color drained from Mairead's face, and Thomas saw the muscles of her jaw tighten as her eyes softened from steel to stone

"Nothing happened in Manchester," she said, her eyes dropping to her work, though her hands didn't move to complete it. "I don't know who told you anything, but nothing happened."

He lit the cigarette, but he didn't bring it to his lips quite yet. "A certain Elliot Grant would say differently," he told her, naming the footman from the Downing household who'd been treated at Downton during the war.

"What'd he say?"

"Only that you and your employer's son were-"

"He was lying. He didn't know anything, I swear. Nothing happened for him to know about in the first place." She shook her head and gripped the edge of the table. "Whatever he told you was nonsense."

He took a drag of the cigarette. "Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson wouldn't think so if they didn't know better." He exhaled, sending a loose cloud of smoke tumbling towards her.

She flinched away from the smoke, her nose wrinkling at the smell of tobacco. "Why would you tell them?"

"So I'm right? Something did happen? A soured affair with your employer's son was what it sounded like."

"Keep it down!" she hissed, her eyes flickering to the entryway.

"What've you got to keep me quiet?" he challenged, thrilled by her response. It was almost too easy, how she'd responded so well to his ploy. Even better that she couldn't be sure if he was bluffing or not. "All I have to do is make sure it reaches the right people-"

"You wouldn't dare."

"You might be surprised what I would and wouldn't dare. Remember that I've worked here for longer than you, and I can easily put in a word to get you sacked," he said.

"What do y'want from me?" Mairead asked, the edge from earlier giving way to a measured, defeated tone. She raised her eyes to meet Thomas's, reminding the valet of the one time he'd seen a mouse cornered by a cat. The wretched creature had given up hope, clearly outmatched by the tomcat that'd chased it to exhaustion, yet it kept staring bravely in the face of its demise.

"Oh nothing," he said with a grin. "Just to let you know you aren't as good at keeping your own secrets as you think. Hopefully you won't force my hand, because all it would take is one-"

"What. Do. You. Want."

There it was again, the edge in her voice, the valiant (yet hopelessly ineffective) attempts at discouraging him. It did anything but that; if anything, her determination urged Thomas onward, to see just how far he could push.

"I'll make you an offer, Mairead," he said, letting her name fall into the space between them, hanging in the air with the smoke and dust that inevitably accumulated in the hall. Dust always accumulated in Downton, never seemed to stop, it seemed, but Thomas had learned to stop paying it any mind.

"You're making a threat, not an offer." she said bluntly, folding her arms across her chest and leaning forward on the table.

Clever girl. "Suppose I am," he said. "If that's how you'd like to think about it, be my guest."

She rolled her eyes. "Get on with it."

Snappish, but not as vicious as O'Brien, and not as easily cowed as Baxter; I think I can live with that.

"Be my eyes and ears upstairs and down, and your little scandal won't leave this room."

"If I refuse?"

He shrugged and let the cigarette rest on his lips, contemplating taking another drag before he decided against it and lowered his hand. "I might just slip up during a card game one night and you might find yourself packing your bags back to your industrialist lover."

"Will y'at least give me time to consider?"

Because you've impressed me, sure. "I'll give you a fortnight," he told her. "Deal?"

She nodded slowly, her shoulders rounding in and once more calling to mind the image of the mouse, this time before the cat snatched it up in its mouth. "Deal."

"I hope you'll make a good choice."

She only stared at him, her eyes filled with a dull flicker of resignation and her hands curled tightly in her lap. She would say yes, Thomas knew she would, but he also knew he had to hear it from her first, hear her admit defeat and agree to be his ally, otherwise it wouldn't be fair.

"Goodnight Ms. Hayes, you know where to find me if you make up your mind."

Mairead didn't say a word, and that was how he left her.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this bit. Things are getting moving, aren't they?

I wanted to bring up Baxter just because I could, if you were wondering about that.

As per usual, reviews mean the world, for this chapter especially so far, because Thomas is HARD to write, especially in this light. It's a good kind of hard though, like I had to stretch for it...Anyways, thank you for your support!