Hi, It's me. Yes, I'm alive. I would promise that next chapter won't take nearly as long as this one did, but every time I do that even more time passes than the last time. The truth is I started working on this in June and then the summer just took over and went crazy. In any case, despite the fact that I often seem to disappear for long stretches, I think about this story often and do intend on continuing it until it's done, hopefully sometime in the next decade (ha!).
Anyway, part of the challenge lately has been the fact that we're entering a phase of the show in which there a A LOT of time jumps. My intention with this story was always to mirror the action of the show, but slightly differently, so I've also always intended to jump from the end of the first series to the start of the second. Since the first series ending has so many cliff hangers, I'm sure you, dear reader, have lots of questions. This chapter and the next are only going to create more. I ask you to please bear with me, all will be answered. This chapter and the next jump the two years between where we left off and when series two begins through letters. The first one is the one Tom received from Sir John at the fated garden party. The letters will explain some of what happens in the interim but not everything and, like I said, will create more questions for you. I have a plan. I promise.
I did not intend to break this chapter and the next one up, actually, but the writing of it has been slow, I came to what seemed like a reasonable place to stop and I figured I wouldn't make you wait any longer. This update is short (by the standards of this story), but its ending will be satisfying (I hope). The next chapter, which I've already started will also be a series of letters that will take us through 1915. I'll add notes on my tumblr sometime soon (magfreak dot tumblr dot com). As always, let me know what you think, and ENJOY!
ALSO—all you new readers who have emerged in the last year, WELCOME! Stay a while!
August 1914
Tom looked around his empty room at Crawley House one more time, wondering if and when it would be his again in the future—a future that held everything and promised nothing.
His eyes landed on the small desk and a memory made itself known. He set down his two suitcases and walked over to it. Opening the top drawer, Tom smiled at the sight of the envelope, in the exact position in which he'd left it that hot day he'd written the letter.
The first time he'd kissed Sybil.
As he picked up the envelope and closed the drawer, there was a light knock on the door. Tom turned to see Moseley coming in.
"I thought I'd come help with the cases."
"Thank you, Moseley," Tom said with a smile. "But I can manage them, if you can manage something else for me."
"And what's that, sir?"
Tom looked down at the letter then handed it over. "Will you see that this gets delivered?"
Moseley's brow furrowed as he saw who it was addressed to. "Sir?"
"Just see that she gets it. By post or personal delivery. Whatever suits you."
Moseley smiled. "Of course, sir." He paused for a moment, then added, "It's been an honor serving you, Mr. Branson. I hope I can do so again soon, if that's what you want."
"I'm not quite sure what I want Moseley," Tom said, "but I appreciate the sentiment."
Tom tipped his hat at Moseley and leaned over to pick up his cases before heading out. Moseley stood in the empty room only for another moment before following Tom and closing the door behind him.
July 10, 1914
Sir John,
I am writing to inform you that, per your instruction, I searched our employment logs for the last five years for one Ciaran Harrington. Both Ciaran and Harrington are rather common names, though orthography and penmanship seem not to have been the strong suit of our current records keeper, I'm sorry to have discovered. I have reassigned her and have already begun the process to find a replacement more capable in the areas necessary for this work.
With regard to the search, this meant that if variant spellings are included, there were five men. Two are still working with us this summer and were easily eliminated as the ones the young man, Mr. Branson, is searching for. I made inquiries with the foremen who were likely to have worked with the remaining three and found that one was much older. Another was a local lad who has gone to America but whose parents remain here in town.
The last only worked for us last summer. His foreman didn't have much to report except to say that he was a decent worker. I couldn't find any local record of him before that, but I was able to track down the boarding house where he lived. The mistress said he hadn't been there but two years and recently joined the Army. He left behind some personal effects that she believes he will return for, but no certain word on when that might be. I'm afraid she wouldn't relinquish his things to allow me to determine his identity with certainty, but she said she'd be willing to do so for next of kin.
It is as promising a lead as Mr. Branson is going to find, I believe. If he can convince the woman to let him see what has been left behind, he may have confirmation one way or the other. I will be happy to aid him if he does choose to travel, and I would advise him doing so as soon as possible. If it is true that his Mr. Ciaran Harrington joined the Army, the longer he is in, the deeper he will get in the bureaucracy of it and the harder he will be to find, especially if there's war, as so many seem to believe. The easiest course, if it is determined that this is the man he is looking for, may just be to remain here indefinitely and wait for his return.
I've kept a file on the findings I've summarized above and await your further instruction on this matter.
Respectfully,
Mr. James Keely
July 24, 1914
Esteemed Miss Crawley,
I hope this letter finds you well. My reasons for writing are two-fold. The first is to thank you for the note you sent. I am glad to know you enjoyed the tour and the lecture. As I have said now on both occasions we met, we really could not be more grateful for the help and support you and Miss Wilkes have given us. I had hoped that we would remain in contact and so am happy to begin our correspondence.
My second reason for writing is to let you know that if you remain interested in joining the medical field, the time is now to act. The recent declaration of war has lit a fire under all of us here at the Royal Free. The Army's Medical Corps has already been in contact with regard to the doctors and nurses who will be supporting the legions sent to the continent. New courses for volunteer auxiliary nurses will begin in two weeks in the hope that we will have enough women prepared for the theaters in France as well as here at home. I don't know if you have given much more thought to my suggestion, when we met last, that you take some training as a nurse as you prepare for the school entrance exam and your eventual training to become a doctor. This would provide a perfect opportunity to do as much for yourself as for your king and country.
If you are interested and able to write me back within the week, I will save you a place. I believe the experience will serve you well and offer a look at the medical profession you will not get from books. If this is truly what you want from life, there will be no doubt once you've had a taste of it.
I hope to hear from you soon, but I imagine there are other pressures on you I am not aware of, so if you choose to delay you won't damage my impression of you or your prospects here. I am intrigued by the idea of a woman such as yourself choosing such a path in life and feel compelled to offer my encouragement. My parentage is not so high as yours, but my choices were rather odd to my parents, who believed I had it in me to marry above our respectable station. I did just that—though to their disappointment I am married to my work! Early on I had many doubts and would have liked to have had someone tell me that I had chosen the right way forward. I hope that I can do that for you now.
Regardless of what you choose, I look forward to the day when we see "Doctor" along side "Lady" as a title to which women are invited to aspire.
Sincerely,
Dr. Augusta Wentworth
August 30, 1914
Dearest Mam,
I have found him! I have found my brother! I have not yet reached him, but I am on the trail and so close to him that I know meeting him will happen someday as you and I both hoped and prayed for. I have much to update you on, but I'll start with this, the most important piece of news.
First, our hunch about him coming to Cork was right, and I'm glad I asked Sir John Wilkes for help. His right-hand man here, Mr. Keely, has been so helpful I can't imagine ever being able to repay him. After traveling here from Dublin with Paddy, whom I convinced to move here with me—more on that later—I reached out to Mrs. Herron, the woman who ran the boarding house where Mr. Keely believed Ciaran had been staying.
It belonged to her parents, and she has made a living off of it for more than twenty years so she's come to be a quick study of the people she boards. She said Ciaran came with little and said even less, beyond expressing his necessities. He found a job straight away, having come at the peak of hiring season on the docks. She added, however, that it didn't seem to her that the job was his purpose here.
"He seemed like a young man—not troubled, perhaps—but in search for answers." Those were her words.
She said he left only once, for about a week, but he did not say where he'd gone off to either before he left or after he returned. I must wonder whether it was related to his family in Belfast. I still plan on going there and finding them as soon as I am settled and have exhausted all avenues of inquiry about him here in Cork.
Of his departure to enlist, very shortly after he returned, Mrs. Herron said it seemed rather final to her, but it was the fact that he told her of his plans and what he left behind that makes her believe he will return. Having seen for myself—and, of course, there is so much wishful thinking—I tend to agree with her. Something of a busybody, she took it upon herself to look through Ciaran's things. She admitted as much to me, though she said it was only because she needed to use the room and was left no clear instruction as to what to do with the trunk.
It was full of Da's letters. All of them. And Miss Cunningham's as well. The entirety of his parents correspondence. I've read it all now several times over, Mam, and have cried many tears over them too. They are not so much love letters as the aspirations of two young people who had little in common but a desire to change their lives. I see so much of myself in Da's ambition for himself, his future family, for the world and for Ireland. I am indebted to my brother for having kept them, and to all the circumstances that guided me to them. Short of Da still being with us, this is the closest I have ever felt to him.
But all this and I've not explained how precisely she agreed to give them to me. As Mr. Keely said in his letter to Sir John, Mrs. Herron is conscientious enough that she resolved to share the letters—they being of such a personal nature—only with Ciaran's family. When I spoke with her, she said she recognized me immediately! We look like, my brother and I! Enough that she was convinced we were related right off. Once I knew it was the letters that he had left behind, I explained to her where they had come from, who I was and why I was looking for him. Seeing how well I knew what they were, she allowed me to read through them. For this I am grateful, though she insists on remaining their guardian until such time as Ciaran returns. I appreciate this and am glad that my brother earned her loyalty.
Mr. Keely, ever helpful, has already sent an inquiry to His Majesty's Army, and I look forward to following the trail. The war will complicate things of course, but I am determined now to remain here until Ciaran turns up. I had suggested to you coming to Cork when we first traveled to Dublin after receiving Ciaran's letter, and now having had my instincts confirmed, I cannot return to Downton. Not yet. You knew that this was my intent—to search for Ciaran until I located him—when I came here, as did the Crawleys, though I think it may still come as a shock to them. Particularly with everything that happened with Sybil.
My heart aches to be without her, but this is a mission I must see through. I know, too, that her pursuit of medical training is better served without me. It hurts not to know exactly where she is and what she is doing at every moment, but I couldn't be prouder of her, and I feel in my heart that when we are reunited our plans will finally come to their fruition. Perhaps if fortune favors us, all of this—the war included—will be over before the year ends. That said, however, I cannot imagine that I will be home before the fall.
I am not without things to do. Along with following up on the work Mr. Keely has begun in looking for Ciaran, I have also begun working as Sir John's attorney here. Few things move capital like war, and already there are legal contracts to be drawn with regard to Sir John's shipping company's role in transporting goods in demand as a result of what's happening in Europe. I am being well compensated, and learning of shipping law as it applies here in Ireland and around the ports where Sir John's ships dock throughout the world—all of it is new and challenging.
With Paddy here, I'll not be corrupted and forget the plight of the working man. He tells me this every day. The truth is, mam, I'm terribly glad he agreed to come with me. When I arrived in Dublin, I hadn't been planning on inviting him along, but he never found meaningful work again after the lock-out. I could easily see the restlessness in him, so even if Aunt Aoife hadn't pulled me aside and asked if there wasn't some position I could find him in Cork, I might have suggested it myself. The change has done him good. Mr. Keely helped me find him a post, and his work has been well received. He remains passionately political, and we've already attended some local meetings together. Living so far away from my Downton family, his presence here has been quite a salve, I don't mind saying.
Thank you for your news about Aunt Isobel and Matthew. Once you know where he has been posted after officer training school, please be sure to send along his address. Matthew was never much of a letter writer, but for my own peace of mind, if I can write him letters it will feel as if he is not in harm's way.
I love you and miss you dearly, mam, and hope that we shall be together again with Ciaran sooner than even both of us can imagine.
With love, your son, Tom
November 1, 1914
Dearest Imogen,
I was so glad to receive your letter last month and know that you and Lady Priscilla are back safely in New York. I know the voyage is not a particularly treacherous one, but since the tragedy of the Titanic and given the current turmoil brought to us more recently by the war, I can't help but worry over those whom I love and with whom I must part. Your presence here meant so much to me the last year. I am grateful Sir John and Lady Priscilla brought you to come out here and allowed us to be reacquainted. You said returning to New York after so much formative time here in England made you wonder where you really belonged, but I have no doubt you will find useful and important ways to employ yourself there and look forward to hearing about all of it.
I had a chance to see our friend Mr. Bellasis only yesterday. Lord and Lady Merton held a send off for their son Larry Grey here in their London house, as he is set to begin his service in France next week. You may have met him this summer, or perhaps remember him from childhood. He has grown up to be a mostly unpleasant person, but it takes no small amount of mettle to be willing to fight when the option not to remains open, so I'll not begrudge him a measure of respect as least as far as that goes. The mood was rather festive, considering the circumstances. Larry seems convinced that the conflict is more than half over now and will not last another year. Mr. Bellasis is of a different mind, and his opinion seems to stand on firmer, more knowledgeable ground. We spoke of you, of course, and I must report a rather becoming twinkle in his eye when he mentioned you. You may continue to doubt his interest in you, but I cannot. I made him promise to keep me informed as to his whereabouts, for he, already a captain, is also posted on the continent.
Perhaps this is what previous generations have felt in similar moments, but I cannot help but think that it feels as if all our young men are leaving us. My dear Tom, though not gone to war, remains in Ireland in the hope—I truly hope not vain—that his lost brother may be found. It was a cruel trick of fate that pulled our lives in different directions so suddenly, but the search is too important for him not to undertake. And, naturally, he wouldn't hear of me going with him if it meant not taking the opportunity offered to me to come to London to study medicine. I cannot say I regret it, but being without him just when we both believed we'd be together and married has tested my faith quite thoroughly.
The only comfort I can take from his absence is that he is not on a battlefield, though even as I say those words, I understand that Ireland is trudging through a different sort of conflict, no less bloody. I remember thinking when we were apart in June how difficult it was not to see him everyday and how very sure I was that I could not endure a longer separation than those few weeks. It seems like an age ago now, though merely months have passed. I know more of what it means to sacrifice than I did before. Letting Tom go to do what he must so that in the, I hope, not too distant future he may live a fuller life could hardly be called sacrifice when compared with what I've seen here in London.
Upon completion of the training course, absolutely no time was wasted in putting us in the thick of it. The expectation that we manage the work immediately and without complaint was daunting but satisfying as well. And the feeling when I was first addressed as Nurse Crawley! Oh, Imogen, I wish I could bottle it. To have earned that title and to be asked to live up to it daily. Never has so much been expected of me. My own expectations have been confounded as well. It's all more savage and more cruel than I could've imagined, but I feel useful for the first time in my life, and that must be a good thing. I sincerely hope that this war comes to a swift resolution, but just as sincerely must admit that I can never go back to life before it began. It's funny, when I saw Miss Perry that day we went to the debate at Speakers Corner, she said that becoming a doctor was not the only path to arrive where I wanted to go in life, and only now do I understand what she meant. In fact, I must admit I have put off applying for the medical college for another year. Nursing in aid of the war effort feels much too important to leave at the moment.
I'll stop going on and on, but before I sign off I'll not forget to mention that Edith is now married! She and Sir Anthony had a lovely ceremony at Downton a fortnight ago and have gone to Scotland to honeymoon at our cousin's invitation. Not so much pomp as Edith might have hoped for under happier circumstances, but despite the gray cloud of war, it was a happy day and she the happiest bride. Sir Anthony distinguished himself in the Army in years past and has been asked to re-enlist, but he has held back at least for now, in deference to Edith's wishes. I hope the best for them and for you, dear friend.
Yours sincerely, with my best wishes,
SPC
November 9, 1914
TELEGRAM
His Lordship Robert Crawley to Mr. George Murray
The Lady Grantham was delivered of a child on the evening of Sunday, November 8, 1914 at six o'clock and twenty-five minutes.
STOP
The child was female.
STOP
The child is healthy as is the mother.
STOP
Dr. Richard Clarkson affirms Lady Grantham will bear no more children.
STOP
A letter is being sent to Mr. Matthew Crawley to confirm his position as heir apparent.
STOP
