A/N I know it's been too long since I updated this. But I needed a break. So this is the epilogue now and it comes in several parts (I think at least 4). And all will be finished before Christmas I hope :). Enjoy reading and thank you all for your support!

EPILOGUE

Everything was different after his return to Downton Abbey. The young Earl of Grantham had married a young American, Cora Levinson. He had met his bride in New York City and brought her with him to Yorkshire. His father had arranged the marriage in the end, to secure the existence of his house, his fortune and the estate. As happy as Charles was for his employer, he also felt a bit jealous. Men like him could simply go out and find a woman, get married and start a family. He ignored the fact that it was not love that united Lord and Lady Grantham, the affection would come soon enough. It was the simple possibility that Robert Crawley did not have to ask for permission, that he would not lose his job when he courted a woman. For men like Charles, a relationship was unthinkable. Not if he wanted to keep his position at Downton Abbey. Most of the time he did not even think about this. There were important things on his mind than falling in love and getting married.

He had shut away every memory he had of her somewhere deep inside his mind, where he would not be tempted to search for her. Meticulously he had replaced everything that reminded her of him with new images. Dickens for example now did no longer mean a night on a corridor in a castle in Scotland with her hiding behind a shut door, laughing at him. It now meant reading on the bench underneath that large pine tree in the gardens of Downton Abbey. However, sometimes, at night, when he lay awake and sleep would not come, he thought of her, remembered her face and smile, could not resist the temptation.

He had become a perfect servant over the years, tried hard not to break any more rules, stayed away from everything pleasurable. Did not even join the other servants to walk down to the village during the annual fair. He was afraid to get lost in his memories again. His past would not haunt him anymore.

Three years after their journey to Scotland, and one year after young Lady Mary was born, Mr. Wilkinson died. It was a shock for the whole household. The butler had been in his mid-sixties and never complained about his health before. They all thought he would outlive them all, especially his mother who relied too much on the man.

One morning Mr. Wilkinson did not come down for his breakfast and one of the footmen was sent upstairs to fetch him. They waited patiently for his return but when he did enter the servant's hall again, they knew something else had also changed at Downton Abbey. Charles had never seen a young man run down the stairs that fast. He was white as a sheet and stammering something incomprehensible, trying to make Grace Carson understand what had happened.

Charles knew that something was wrong when his mother sank down onto her chair, covering her face with her hands and started to cry. She had never done that before, not in front of the other servants. "What's going on?" He took the footman aside and was given the answer immediately.

"Mr. Wilkinson's dead."

=o=

He advised one of the housemaids to lead her mother to her sitting room. She had to calm down, get herself under control again. Charles on the other hand went upstairs to inform Lord Grantham. They needed to act fast now.

The old man was in the dining room, together with his son. They had started with their breakfast already not minding the absence of the butler obviously. One of the footmen was there to assist them. "Carson, what's the matter?" Robert Crawley looked up from his newspaper.

"It is Mr. Wilkinson, milords. He is dead."

A spoon fell onto a saucer with a loud clatter and the young footman spilled the tea he was pouring into Edward Crawley's cup, mopping it up with a napkin, murmuring his apologies over and over again.

"Are you sure Carson?" The old Earl asked, not even taken notice of the young footman.

"Not entirely, but Ralph said he was unable to wake him and that he felt cold. I can fetch the doctor."

The two men nodded and send him out of the dining room to walk down to the village. Charles did not walk, he almost ran and arrived at the small village hospital completely out of breath.

"I am very sorry milord, but I have to confirm everyone else's suspicion, Mr. Wilkinson has passed away."

Charles had led the young doctor into the library where Robert and Edward Crawley were waiting. Instead of leaving the room, he was not a footman anymore and had nothing to do in the library, he stayed near the door, waited for the doctor to finish his explanation, observed what happened. Lady Violet was shocked, covered her mouth with her hand. He had never seen the woman react like this before. She usually was so unemotional that he often wondered how she and Lord Edward managed to stay married for so long.

It was the look on Cora Crawley's face that affected him most. She was new to their traditions, did not grow up with so many servants, butlers, underbutlers, first, second and third footmen, cooks and assistant cooks. One would have thought that she had gotten used to it by now but in contrast to the composed faces of her husband and father in law, Cora Crawley looked as if she wanted to cry. Cry for a man whom she had not really known, who had been a simple servant.

Charles had never cared much about the young American woman. For him she was his Lordship's wife, just another member of the family he served. But that small moment made him realize that as much as you tried to fit in, suppress everything that was seen as a flaw in your character, you would never entirely succeed. There would always be a different, a more private person inside you underneath all the layers of professionalism.

=o=

"Charles, I need to speak to you." His mother addressed him at dinner two days after the tragic death of Mr. Wilkinson. Her eyes were still red after sleepless night she had spent crying. He did not really understand why his mother had been so affected by the butler's death when he knew her as a strong woman who was able to cope with a crisis. Of course she had known Mr. Wilkinson for a very long time, and Charles grew up between the groom's cottage, his mother's sitting room and the butler's pantry. Mr. Wilkinson had always been there for as far back as he could remember. But that did not explain his mother's grief.

He followed her into her room and shut the door behind him quietly. She sat down at her desk, closed her eyes for a moment while Charles waited patiently for her to start the conversation.

"I knew this would happen." Her voice was very quiet, not a whisper but to soft that he almost missed what she had said. "He had asked me not to worry about the future the night before he died."

Charles remained silent, waited for his mother to continue. When she did, he was surprised by the change of tone. "Please sit down. I cannot talk to you when you look at me like this." The scolding voice she used reminded him of the time when he was a little boy and he managed to smile at her despite the sad atmosphere in the room.

"But he was never ill." He managed to say when he had finally sat down. "At least I cannot remember it."

His mother shook her head. "He had a problem with his heart. No one knew about it, except me." She took a deep breath. "He had not even told his Lordship because it never was a real problem."

"Did he say anything else?" Charles was sure there was more. His mother had not asked for this talk without having a good reason or a plan.

"He did, my boy." Grace Carson stood up and sat down next to him at the small table, covered the hand that lay on the table top with her own. "He suggested that you should follow in his steps. For him you would make a perfect butler."

Charles stared at her, speechless, did not know what to say, how to react, what to feel. The highest position a man could have in a household, offered to him? After all he had done to change his life completely? After his ridiculous escape so many years ago? He had changed, he had accepted his old and yet new life once again, had made himself comfortable with it. But he had never seen himself as a butler. "Why me?"

"Charles, can't you see it?" Now there was even a smile on his mother's face. "You have lived outside of this house for some time, yet you returned, got a higher position, earned respect. You never break the rules, you are kind yet you can be very stern when you want to, and you have a wonderful sense for order. Besides, you grew up here, no one knows the house better than you."

TBC