Second Update today! Make sure you read the other one first!


Charles grabbed the spirit lamp from Elsie's desk and started for the backdoor. He heard a scream just as he opened the inner door. Rushing out into the courtyard, he saw Mrs. Patmore lying on the ground.

"She…she fainted." Daisy stuttered. The girl was pale and looked even more frightened than she had before.

"I expect it's because she saw a ghost." Molesley teased weakly. Miss Baxter was kneeling beside him fussing and weeping. "Phyllis, love, I'm fine. I'm going to be fine."

Joseph pulled her in for a hug with his uninjured arm. Joseph Molesley had always considered himself a coward. He'd gone out of his way to avoid facing the trenches and the bullets in France. Now that a bullet had found him, he was astonished at how calm he could be. The pain was more than anything he'd ever experienced and he felt weak, but his mind had achieved a clarity that was more than he'd ever experienced as well. He knew he would live. He knew he would marry Phyllis. He knew he was strong enough, man enough to make her happy.

His embrace calmed Phyllis and she remembered why she had come to the Abbey. She'd seen the smoke and had heard the shot. Unable to wait passively in the Carson's home anymore, Phyllis had ventured out. She had seen Mrs. Butte driving Mrs. Carson before her. She had seen what Mrs. Carson was carrying. "Mrs. Butte and Mrs. Carson…they've gone to…"

"The ice house. I know." Carson finished quickly. "I'm going there now. Daisy, send Mr. Bates to find a policeman and tell them to be careful when they approach."

"There's more, Mr. Carson." Phyllis warned as he turned to leave. "It looks like Mrs. Butte has taken one of the barrels of gunpowder from the gun shed. She was making Mrs. Carson carry it."

"Thank you for the warning. Please tell the police that as well." Charles knew exaclty what Miss Baxter meant. They kept small, five pound kegs of gunpowder in the gun shed as His Lordship preferred that they fill their own shells rather than purchase already assembled ammunition.

"You should take a gun, Mr. Carson." Molesley advised.

Charles set his jaw and shook his head. "There isn't time and a gun isn't going to solve this." He turned and ran off towards the lake.

The estate ice house had not been used since the fourth Earl of Grantham fell on hard economic times. As he ran, Charles remembered taking part in the ice harvest several times when he as a young lad. Men with saws and drills had cut blocks of ice from the lake's surface while the hall boys slid the blocks across the lake to waiting handcarts. The lads had made a game of trying to bowl each other over. Many an unsuspecting hall boy had fallen victim to the ice during these hours of joyously hard work. Once the blocks were brought to the shore, strong farmhands transported the ice up a slight hill in the carts and unloaded them into the ice house.

Charles cast back in his memory for details of the building. From the outside, the house was just a small stone dome. It was less than fifty feet in diameter and looked like a burial mound or one of those igloos built by native tribes who lived in the far north of Canada. Inside, it felt much larger than it looked from the outside. Most of the building, indeed, was underground. The floor of the ice house was conical, with the center almost twenty feet below ground level. The cone was made of concentric circles layered like steps; each one slightly smaller than the one above it. It looked like a tiny amphitheater.

The bottom was filled with gravel and there was a small grate where the water from the melted ice would drain out to join the small creek that ran back into the lake. It was rare to actually see the bottom of the building while it was still a functioning ice house. During the harvest they would lay down alternating layers of ice and straw until the dome was packed. During the year, the temporary, icy floor would recede slowly as the blocks were used or the ice melted.

When money woes had led to the reduction of staff, harvesting the ice was too expensive an operation. Ice truly became a luxury at Downton. On the few occasions when cook required ice, the estate bought blocks from a company in Thirsk who imported their ice from Norway. The ice house had fallen into disuse and had been forgotten by most at Downton. Charles wondered very much how Mrs. Butte had come to find it, but he had no doubt that was where she had taken Elsie.

When Charles arrived at the now moss and grass covered dome, he saw that the short door had been forced open. Even though ice had not been stored here in years, the air coming from inside the dome was frigid compared to the summer breeze. Charles paused briefly to light the lamp in his hand. He had to stoop his massive frame to fit through the doorway. Charles called out as he ducked his way into the ice house.

"Hello? Mrs. Butte?"

Charles saw the light of a lantern, but little else as his eyes adjusted. He took a step down onto a lower level of the conical floor so that he could now stand upright.

"You came." Lucille's voice echoed in the stone dome. "I knew you would."

"I came for my wife." Charles said, disdain dripping from his words.

"There she is." Lucille's shadow indicated a heap in the middle of the floor. Charles heart clenched until he saw her stir.

"Elsie?"

"I'm okay, Charles. Just a wee bit tied up at the moment."

He struggled not to burst into tears as he heard his brave woman's signature sarcasm. She sounded as angry as a wet hen, but she wasn't hurt. He wasn't too late. There was still hope for them both.

"Mrs. Butte, please let her go."

"But she's part of this, Charles. She's the one who came between us."

"Mrs. Butte, I am truly sorry if you misconstrued any of my actions towards you, but let me be clear; there has never been, nor shall there ever be anything between you and I."

"I know that isn't true. Your kindnesses to me are more than could be explained away by mere politeness."

"You've not been well treated in your life, Mrs. Butte. I understand that. I understand that you might mistake ordinary actions for extraordinary declarations, but that is not the case. I did nothing for you that I would not have done for anyone else."

"You're wrong. You can tell yourself that, but deep down, you love me and that's why you were so kind to me." Lucille's voice was low, but becoming agitated. "She blinded you to your love for me. She's to blame."

"It is you who are wrong, Mrs. Butte. Elsie brought love into my life. But for her, I would never have known what it is to love as deeply and completely as a man can love." Tears were falling from his eyes now. Fear gripped his heart, as he struggled to remain calm. "If you care for me at all, you will repay my kindness with kindness. Let her go."

"But if I do, you'll leave too."

Charles paused for only a brief moment before whispering, "I promise to stay if you let her go."

"Charles, no!" Elsie could stay silent no longer. "She's mad; she'll kill you."

"I hope that she won't, but one thing at a time, my dear." Charles stepped away from the door and slowly inched to his left. Lucille matched his motions to remain exactly opposite him with Elsie between them. They continued to move until Lucille was standing beside the doorway.

"That's the only way in or out, Mrs. Butte. You are in control." Though his face was still wet with tears, she could not hear it in his voice. "Please let her go."

"And you'll stay?"

"I will."

"Agreed." Lucille moved down the steps of the floor towards Elsie.

"No." Elsie said simply.

"Elsie, you need to leave." Charles voice cracked with emotion. "I need you to leave."

"I won't go." Elsie's determined voice declared.

"Elsie, for once in our lives, will you please just do as I say?" Charles raised his voice and gritted his teeth in frustration. He needed all his wits to deal with Mrs. Butte. He could not fight with Elsie as well.

She could hear the fear in his voice, but leaving him was not an option in her mind. Through tears, she told him, "I can't leave you, love. I can't."

"I need to know that you are safe. Please."

"She's brought a powder keg with us. I'm sure she means to blow this place to pieces and you with it."

"I know that and I'm sure you are correct, which is exactly why I need you to leave." His tone was the one he adopted when trying to explain to her why certain place settings could never be used with certain crystal ware. He knew he could not convince her. The best he could hope for was that she would let him win simply because she knew it was important to him.

"If she is going to blow you up, then she is going to blow me up." Her voice rose as her fear flowed out as anger.

"I don't think she'll mind that at all. But the goal is for nobody to be blown up, you infuriating woman!" Charles snarled back, frustrated and frightened. "How am I supposed to reason with Mrs. Butte when I can't even convince my own wife to save her own life?"

Though he had just referenced her, both Carsons seemed to have forgotten that Mrs. Butte was there.

"And what use is my life to me without you, you pigheaded fool?"

"It's of more use to you than your death is to me! Get the hell out of here, Elsie. I command you!"

"You command me? Charles Edward Carson, so help me…"

The echoing report of a gun rang out inside the ice house. The fighting couple were at once silenced and deafened.

Lucille looked down at the pistol in her hand in confusion. She hadn't fired it. Before she could look up, someone smacked her across the face and sent her tumbling to the gravel floor beside Elsie.

The echoes died down and the Carsons looked up at their rescuer. Two silhouettes stood in the entry; one broad and tall beside another much smaller.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carson," Miss Baxter's small voice filled the chamber. "I'd like you to meet my husband, Kenneth Fletcher."

TBC…


AN/ Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say.

I know an ice house has never been mentioned on the show, but I really think one would exist. It is likely that the lake was created for that express purpose back in the day. Here's what I found on wikipedia…

The ice house was introduced to Britain around 1660. Various types and designs of ice house exist. However, British ice houses were commonly brick lined, domed structures, with most of their volume underground. Ice houses varied in design depending on the date and builder, but were mainly conical or rounded at the bottom to hold melted ice. They usually had a drain to take away any water. It is recorded that the idea for ice houses was brought to Britain by travellers who had seen similar arrangements in Italy, where peasants collected ice from the mountains and used it to keep food fresh inside caves. Ice Houses may also be known as Ice Wells, Ice Pits or Ice Mounds.

Until the early 1900's harvested ice was still being shipped from Scandinavia and other colder regions. By the 1920's most ice in Britain was produced in plants and the import business died out. That's what I gathered, at least.