The morning came and went as it always did, in a blur of dust motes and swept-away ashes, with the only sound being the sweeping of curtains and the soft steps of the housemaids through Downton's corridors.
The rainstorm had passed over by the first hours of sunlight, though light grey clouds still spread themselves across the sky, mirroring the waves of mist that washed over the grounds of the great estate. The woods on the edge of the property were tangled in thick woolen fog that would be combed out by the time the family was awake, and scattered this way and that by the slow winds of late summer. On the edge of those fog-wrapped woods, a doe walked with her fawn, who was just beginning to lose its spots, and swallows twittered silently from bushes and trees.
"Mairead, come on," Madge chided, taking Mairead by the wrist and pulling her away from the window of the study.
"Of course," Mairead said, shaking her head. "Sorry."
Madge smiled and released Mairead, placing the same hand on the head housemaid's shoulder. "No harm done," she assured the other girl. "I won't tell Mrs. Hughes, I promise."
This made Mairead laugh- it was small and rather strained, but a laugh nonetheless. "Thank you. It won't happen again."
"Don't go sayin' that, 'cause you never know, do you?"
"I suppose y'don't, no," Mairead said, surveying the study.
All was as it should be, she decided. The cushions had been adequately plumped, the curtains were open and the room was filling with light, and the new kitchen maid (who was doubling as the scullery maid, it seemed, at least at the moment), Ivy, had just finished laying the fire. The mantel of the fireplace had been swept clean of all the dust that might've settled in the night, as had the surface of His Lordship's writing desk, and the flower arrangement on the small table by the window had been examined and any wilting blooms removed.
"We ought t'head down, don't you think? Breakfast'll be soon an-"
"Mairead."
At the sound of Mrs. Hughes's voice, both Mairead and Madge turned their attention towards the housekeeper, jumping to attention like the hair on their arms stood at attention whenever a cold breeze blew the right way.
"Yes ma'am?"
"Might I borrow you for a moment? Madge, please head downstairs if you're finished."
Mairead knew that Mrs. Hughes's question was less of a question and more of an order, and despite the stern kindness that was always present in the woman's voice, Mairead couldn't help but worry.
What had she done?
Did Mr. Barrow tell Mrs. Hughes what had happened with her and Nathaniel?
Not the truth, but whatever twisted, tainted version he could concoct. Did he tell her that?
Dear Lord forgive me.
Mairead knew she shouldn't be so suspicious of Mr. Barrow, especially after all he'd done to help her, but there was no helping it. He'd helped her out of human decency- he'd told Sybil just that, hadn't he? He owed Mairead nothing, and she knew she owed him everything.
What might've happened if he'd just kept walking down the corridor, drowning out her screams with his own plots? Would she have been found, or would she have been left when Nathaniel had taken his fill of her to fend for herself? And what then?
"Mairead, is everything alright?" Mrs. Hughes asked, knitting her brows together.
Mairead swallowed the rising lump in her throat and forced her breathing to become steady before she answered: "Yes ma'am, forgive me."
"Madge, please go downstairs," Mrs. Hughes said, her attention still on Mairead, though her grey eyes followed the second housemaid out of the room, returning to Mairead when the door closed, leaving the two women alone.
Mairead did much the same thing, though her eyes remained fixed on the door, hoping her friend might come back. As long as Madge was there, Mairead was more sure of her ability to remain calm, and she knew Mrs. Hughes wouldn't ask about anything that Mairead would rather not talk about- though that was most things, nowadays.
"Come with me," the housekeeper instructed, already beginning to lead the way, heading out of the study and towards the servants' stairway.
Mairead followed, taking each step carefully in hopes that she wouldn't step on one of them the wrong way and cause it to squeal underfoot. When Mrs. Hughes led her through the servants' corridors and through the doorway of her sitting room, the head housemaid followed without a word until the door was shut behind her.
No running from it now, she thought, resisting the urge to look towards the door, which would surely give away her guilt. Might as well tell the truth...but only if she asks. Perhaps you can hide for a while longer.
"Please sit," the Scotswoman said, gesturing towards the settee. Her lips were set in a stern line, like Mrs. Hayes's, but her eyes glinted with a softer sternness than the other housekeeper's ever had.
"I would rather stand, ma'am," Mairead said, mindful of her tone. "If y'don't mind, that is."
"If that's what you'd prefer, I see no issue." The sternness was still in the housekeeper's expression, but not in her voice.
"Thank you."
Mrs. Hughes brushed the formality aside. "Mairead, I've noticed lately that you don't seem to be as...on top of things as you once were," she began, and Mairead's stomach coiled into a guilty knot.
So this is what she wanted to talk about. She's going to demote me, or worse, sack me.
"I don't deny it."
"Is everything alright? I know, what with everything that's happening in Ireland these days, you must be horribly worried, and recently with Mr. Branson, no doubt that played its own part in your behavior last night."
"I didn't mean to speak to Mr. Carson that way, ma'am," Mairead said, biting the inside of her lip as she felt sweat creep down the back of her neck, while some crawled between her breasts.
"I'm sure you didn't," the older woman said, "but please remember that I took Anna's word for it when I made the decision to place you in the position of head housemaid. I'd like to think that you're made of stern stuff when it comes to taking these things in stride. People die and it's a tragedy, I know, but life goes on, and you've always been a hard worker, no matter what the world's thrown at you."
The lump rose in her throat again.
She was going to be dismissed, she could feel Mrs. Hughes approaching it with the steady dependability of a train nearing the station. Would telling her what happened make a difference now, or was it too late?
"I'm sorry."
Was that all she had to say? Was she not going to rise and defend herself? She wasn't innocent of the offenses Mrs. Hughes had described, that was true, but she ought to at least explain why she'd fallen from grace, in hopes that Mrs. Hughes would be forgiving.
"You're worried for Lady Sybil, aren't you?"
Mairead blinked several times, mulling over the question before she answered. "Yes, I am," she admitted. "Ireland isn't friendly towards people like her, because that's who they want out, and with good reason." Stupid thing to say, what a stupid thing to say. "I trust Mr. Branson t'keep her safe, but I don't think even he can do that."
"I see," Mrs. Hughes said. "Well, I expect to see you return to your hard work, or else I will be forced to consider dismissing you or putting Madge in your place."
"Yes ma'am."
"I'm glad that we are understood. Now, if you would be so kind, please see to it that the Willow Suite is aired out properly for when Lady Sybil arrives. Anna will help you, as will Madge, but it is your job to see that it is done."
"Yes ma'am."
"I know you're a hard worker, Mairead. I've seen it, and Mr. Carson didn't miss it either. You could be housekeeper some day, when I'm gone"- a look of fleeting sadness, almost despair, crossed her face- "if you kept working as hard as you did when you first came."
"Thank you Mrs. Hughes," Mairead said. "I'll do my best, I promise."
"Good. Now off you go to breakfast. Don't look at me like that I'll be right along, I just have some things I need to see to."
