AN: Apologies for the prolonged delay between postings, and thank you for your patience. We do intend to 'finish' this. There are no promises for timing, however, given happenings in real life jobs and families. It is frustrating to no longer have as much time for such creativity, but it cannot be helped. Also, one of our original team is no longer with us due to being so incredibly disappointed in the movie ("fabulous costumes, actors, acting, sets; but such a waste with no plot of merit and poor dialogue") that she is 'done' with DA. We hope to carry on anyway. As always, thank you for reading!
"Did you have a good visit with Amelia and the children?" Isobel asks her husband over lunch.
Dickie smiles and nods, "Yes, it was delightful! Catherine and I played with her dolls and went for a very short walk whilst Amelia slept and the nanny watched the baby."
Isobel smiles, happy for her husband that he is developing the relationship with his grandchildren that he should have had from the start.
"I understand from Amelia that Robert has invited Larry to the hunt at the Abbey with Henry's racing team," Dickie says. "She believes Larry is planning to attend."
"With the way Larry has behaved when visiting the Abbey I am amazed that Robert included him," his wife states, surprised.
Dickie looks up at his wife and says, "I did ask that Robert help..."
Isobel sighs and nods, "And Robert is a good friend to you. Also, he does not seem the type to carry grudges. Does your son know you will be there?"
"I do not know. I did not tell Amelia that I was also invited. If this will give a chance for Robert to speak to my son, then I do not want to give Larry a reason to decline the invitation."
"But you are planning on going, are you not?" Isobel asks, confused again.
"I am," Dickie confirms, with a finality to end that topic.
After not too long of a time, Dickie asks, "By the way, are Sybbie and George still coming for lunch tomorrow?"
Isobel nods, "And Marigold, too."
"Delightful!" Dickie says, smiling. "I may not have been the best of fathers, but I am trying my best to be an adequate grandfather."
"Dear, you say that on occasion, yet I would like to know what you mean. You are far too kind of a person to have been cruel to your children," Isobel says with an enquiring look on her face.
Dickie is surprised at first at her question. He glances away from her, not knowing how to respond. Finally, he comes to, "I was absent from my sons' upbringing ... merely because I did not want to be near their mother. Is that not cruel?"
"Oh," Isobel says. She cannot relate in the least. "I am sorry, dear. I did not mean to bring up a sore point."
Dickie shakes his head, reaches for her hand across the table, and gives it a small squeeze, "I know you didn't, dear. Therein is a tremendous difference between you and Ada. That you even thought about my feelings, and cared that you might have offended me, is more than my first wife would have done."
Isobel sees that her husband's animosity toward his deceased wife is still strong. She had asked him once why he had married Ada if he did not like her. He had replied that things were different then. Loving, or even liking someone, was irrelevant if the match was appropriate for wealth or status reasons. And he thought that he had not disliked her in the beginning.
It always saddens Isobel to hear about such situations. She loved her first husband, Matthew's father, immensely. And she had been overjoyed that Matthew eventually married a woman he loved, who loved him back, and they had happiness together. At least for as long as it lasted...
Unsettled with a stab of grief, Isobel takes a sip of tea to recover. She comes back to the present, and looks over at her dear husband, who smiles back at her in a way that makes her heart flutter.
"You are being more than an adequate grandfather, dear," Isobel says, then adds with a shy but telling smile, "And more than an adequate husband, too."
"Thank you for visiting," the Dowager Lady Shackleton says to Cora and Mary as the three depart a small dining room at Tees' Landing. "It is nice to mix business and leisure like this at times."
"It was our pleasure," Cora responds. "Lunch was delicious. Please pass on our compliments to your chef."
Lady Shackleton smiles in acknowledgment of the compliment.
As the small party arrives in the reception area, they note a number of women loitering together whilst a small queue of men transact their room assignments with clerks at the desk. Prudence whispers to a footman who immediately heads to a small alcove containing a telephone and places a call. Through a window, Mary sees several cars from which baggage is being unloaded by staff.
"If things continue on as they have, we will be able to freshen the wallpaper and draperies in the remaining guest rooms soon," Mary says. "I admit to being a bit surprised that bookings are good at this time of year."
"Mr. Spratt and I have conjectured that people are staying here merely because they can, finally," Prudence remarks. "Perhaps it stems from curiosity about what it is like to live in one of these grand houses, or maybe just wanting to be treated like they do, for a short while."
Both Mary and her mother evince no emotion, but both are a bit surprised at first that Lady Shackleton admitted to conversing on such subjects with her butler.
"That makes sense. There are always lines of people coming to tour the Abbey when they can," Cora says.
"That we opened this estate to anyone who can afford a room, regardless of status or background, is what has contributed to our success, so far at least. As much as I would have loathed the prospect years ago, it is our salvation," Prudence observes.
"We can thank the Turners for that," Mary says.
"We will see you at tea next week?" Cora asks the dowager.
"Yes, I am looking forward to seeing the children again," Prudence smiles.
Soon, the Grantham car pulls up to the front entrance followed by the dowager's car driven by Mr. Spratt. The Shackleton butler acts the part of chauffeur perfectly at first, opening the passenger door for his employer. But after she adjusts herself into the car's back seat, and he closes the door, Spratt hastily approaches Lady Mary, who is about to get into their car after her mother.
"Pardon me, Lady Mary, but, if you will be seeing Mrs. Edmunds or Lady Hexham this evening," the butler enquires quickly, "Will you give this to one of them?" He holds out a large envelope.
Mary is a bit surprised that the man accosted her thus, but she does know that the man provides material for the magazine at times. Mary has been wary of her late grandmother's butler since he mentioned seeing her in Liverpool. Yet at the moment his beseeching look is almost amusing, so at least he is aware of the presumptuousness of his request.
"Of course, Mr. Spratt," she replies, then gestures slightly toward the dowager's car in admonishment for leaving his lady unattended.
Spratt says, "Thank you!" and then hastens back to his duty.
"Andy, d'ya know wot's wit Mr. Barrow?" Daisy asks her husband as the footman takes a rare break in the servants' hall mid-afternoon. "'E seems quieter'n than usual today."
Andy shrugs, "He's sometimes like that …, especially when there are visitors here. 'Thinks a lot … to make sure he and Mrs. Hughes've thought of everything that needs to be done."
Daisy scoffs, "'S only Lady Hexham..."
Andy looks as if he is about to shrug that it doesn't matter who the visitors are; it means at least some disruption to the day to day routine. Then he thinks of something else that could be impacting the butler's demeanour, and lowers his voice, "And with Lady Hexham comes Mr. Marlowe."
Daisy looks surprised, and says, "Wot's wrong wit' Mr. Marlowe bein' 'ere? 'E's always nice to everyone."
Andy shakes his head, as if to shush her more than counter her, "'Course he is. 'Tis only that … I think Mr. Barrow doesn't want to be too nice back."
This makes Daisy even more confused at first, then dawning shows on her face. She blushes slightly, but then looks puzzled again. She cocks her head and leans in to whisper her next question, "But … why not? Wouldn't that be… y'know… good?"
Andy shrugs, "I'm not sure why not, but I have a guess… Mr. Barrow wouldn't want to get caught … that'd push his luck … with Lord Grantham, that is."
"'Never stopped 'im before…," Daisy scoffs.
"What do you mean by that?" Andy asks, surprised at his wife's derision toward the butler.
Daisy looks guilty, and replies, "Nothin'... well, y'know 'e's gotten himself inta trouble before..."
"But not in a long time, has he?" Andy asks.
Daisy shrugs her agreement.
"So that wasn't a very charitable thing to say, Daisy," Andy says, "And not like you, either. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Daisy says, defensively. She gives her husband a double take, then explains, "Readin' the serial piece again got me thinkin', is all."
This surprises Andy even more. "You told me you were the one to tell most of the stories to Mrs. Edmunds … and you read it over the summer," Andy says with a chortle. "'Should be nothing new at this point."
Daisy demurs, "Yeh, well …before, 'twas excitin' just to think the stories would be in the magazine. Now …'s made me think more o' back then. How different I was … how different everyone was."
"You all were a lot younger," Andy says, then realises his wife mentioned other people. "Er, are you worried about everyone's reactions? Like, Mr. Barrow? That he'll feel badly about something he did?"
Daisy looks slightly pained while trying to explain, "That's the thing … what's got me thinkin' … 'tisn't much ta 'ave 'im ... or anyone else ... feel badly about… the story, I mean … doesn't seem ta be 'nuff now... After I read it again, it made me realise I didn't tell Mrs. Edmunds much 'bout 'im or the others downstairs that were 'ere … 'xcept 'bout when I was sweet on Thomas and 'e used it ta make William—"
Daisy stops talking and gets a guilty look on her face as she sees Barrow about to enter the room. The butler has on his overcoat and is donning his hat and gloves. He doesn't seem to have overheard the conversation, Andy is glad to see.
"Andrew, please see to tea upstairs if I am not back from the village in time," Barrow says.
"Yes, Mr. Barrow," Andy says.
Carson straightens and cleans the cottage kitchen after preparing as much as possible for dinner. He looks around, gives a nod of approval to himself, then rolls his shirt sleeves back down and takes off his apron.
It has been two years since, out of necessity, he had to adopt a different lifestyle, but more recently he has come to realise that he is content. With the cottage, with his life. More than content with his wife, too.
He no longer minds not being as busy as he was when butler at the Abbey. He had loved that job, and serving Lord Grantham had suited him. But he no longer misses the full day of household-running stresses that came with the post. This cottage, and teaching, including training Christopher, now suit him. He has time to read more, and therefore the variety he is reading has expanded. Periodicals such as The Sketch, for example. The new cooking book that he had received as a Christmas present from Mrs. Patmore. And of course the works of Mrs. Christie.
He believes having been away at Brancaster for the holiday had been the catalyst for his changed perspective. The former butler understands even more now the look of delight and love on Lord Grantham's face whenever he returns home to the Abbey after being away. Carson had felt it himself after the holday. How good it had felt to be home again! To their own cottage, in particular. With their own furnishings, that they had selected and placed, where they had wanted things.
He looks around their main room and smiles as he reaches for his outerwear. After so long living in and loving the Abbey, he is now enjoying being the master of his own holding.
Carson is looking forward to going to fetch his wife even in the cold air; he can almost feel the warmth of her hand on his arm as they walk home together. He dons his muffler, overcoat, and hat and puts on one glove. The other he puts on after he has locked the door behind himself. He is leaving a little earlier than typical because he will stop in the village to drop off a letter first, and they will have tea at the Abbey in the servants hall before they walk home together.
Barrow walks swiftly in the brisk winter afternoon. He is not really in a hurry, and does not really need to run these errands today, but he wants to get some fresh air, and have a chance to think about things without worry of being interrupted every two seconds. Getting his blood flowing always seems to help.
He is tired from not getting enough sleep last night, but that is not the only cause of his distracted demeanour. The reasons for his sleeplessness still nettle him.
The serial in The Sketch …
Barrow knows it must be based on stories Daisy told Mrs. Edmunds, because that is what the assistant cook said. But there is something … not quite right about it. Now, he thinks he has it: the characters. He thinks he has pieced together which character might be who, but there do not seem to be enough. If they are based on people here at in Downton, many either are missing or not yet introduced.
It seems Daisy started her tale with the sinking of the Titanic, so Barrow has been thinking back to then, and who was here on staff.
God, that was a long time ago…
Mrs. Bates was just Anna back then. When did Bates get here? Yeh, 'twas around then, Barrow remembers. He had wanted to be valet himself, and resented his Lordship hiring a cripple instead.
Of course, Barrow sighs inwardly, he resented everything back then...
William Mason was here, of course. And Gwen. And...O'Brien.
Just thinking about her now makes Barrow shiver involuntarily, and not from the cold. He was friends with the lady's maid, back then. They trusted each other even.
Or so he thought.
But no characters like these, nor anyone like himself, were introduced in the first part of the novel. There was mention of servants coming and going, but other than the first young girl, and perhaps the lord's advisor (meant to be Carson?) none merited further text.
If it weren't for Daisy's involvement, Barrow would have thought it the typical upper class perspective that the servants should be invisible, the butler thinks with a huff. If so, he actually would be a little surprised, since that is not an attitude he would have expected from Mrs. Edmunds. Maybe Lady Hexham directed the serial's development...but even she has never been a complete snob.
The butler picks up a few items at the chemist, then reviews an order at the wine purveyor's shop, then turns to head back to the Abbey. Small distractions from his ruminations.
He wonders where the story will go. If he didn't know Daisy had provided some of the details, he would have guessed that based on the first chapter, the focus will be with upstairs people. Mostly women, it seemed. Several of the marrying age, so there are bound to be various samurai, or perhaps other landholders, vying for them, no doubt. There were certainly enough ups and downs in that vein with the Crawleys. The visiting samurai could be any of the titled men or heirs that were considered.
Yet the servant girl is the one servant who is important enough to have warranted so much text-?
He suddenly knows one trail the story will take, one that Daisy and Lady Hexham know about intimately: Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk.
Barrow smirks to think that the old skeleton may be publicised after all. Not that it really matters any more for Lady Mary.
Then he wonders … how much does Daisy know about his own role in the scandal? What could she have told the editor…?
Barrow recalls his anger at Lady Mary at the time for helping the Duke find and retrieve the letters from his room in the servants' quarters. He had thought it would give him a way of getting back at her. After showing Mr. Pamuk to her room, Barrow had thought he might be able to blackmail her somehow, someday about the tryst.
But the death of Mr. Pamuk made things more complicated.
The damn Turk. Got what he deserved, Barrow thinks, not for the first time. Threatening him like that. All Barrow had wanted was to give a bit of physical pleasure to the man. Maybe get a more exciting position elsewhere.
Barrow takes in a deep breath, that last thought bringing him back to the other cause of his befuddlement today.
...read the signs…
His own words haunt Barrow now. He has been reminded of them and has found himself pondering them throughout the day.
Thinking he had read the signs in the past had not led to anything meaningful, and most of the time the results left him pained. Hurt. Lonelier than before.
The Duke. Mr. Pamuk. Edward. Jimmy.
Involuntarily, Barrow groans, thinking of these again. His failures in these and other attempts to read other men had depressed him immeasurably. Jimmy in particular. Nearly landed him in jail. Everyone here knows that his being let go from the Abbey precipitated his deep depression, even Carter knows now.
But he wonders how many have made the connection that his despair at being different … in having no hope for love ... had contributed nearly as much.
He takes in another deep breath and lets it out.
That was the past.
Today …
Barrow is not a different person in some ways, but in others he is. He feels … no, he knows that people, both upstairs and downstairs, care about him. Further, he has gotten an increasing belief that the people at the Abbey do not truly care that he is different in the way he is. Or, at least it seems they have come to understand that it is who he is. Perhaps Carson aside….They all may not be as encouraging as Mr. Talbot was when letting him use the flat, but they will not turn Barrow into the police.
As long as the butler does not flaunt it, he thinks.
Which is why Barrow is so thoughtful today.
Barrow would have to be an idiot not to read the signs from the Hexham valet. There is no mistaking the invitation that Mr. Marlowe has given.
Barrow has been trying to sort out how he feels about the situation. When he was younger, he would not have hesitated at returning the flirtation in private. He knew so few men of his inclination that any such opportunity for excitement was appealing. In hindsight, he knows he made some very foolish moves at the mere hint of a possible liaison.
Now, his brush with the law, and Lord Grantham's support of him throughout, make him consider the circumstances very carefully.
Surprisingly, Barrow is not as drawn to the offer as he would have been in the past. What is it about the Hexham valet that makes Barrow hesitate? He recalls his discussion about Marlowe with Mrs. Molesley… and he finds he has not changed his opinion of whether or not he is attracted to the man.
Emotionally, that is.
Physically, though…Mr. Marlowe takes care of himself and is good-looking. Some would say objectively handsome… Barrow shudders, thinking about how long it has been since he has been with anyone. The idea has a modicum of appeal.
But how would it work? How could they have a liaison without someone knowing… Carter at least?
Is it worth the risk?
"Mr. Barrow!" A voice hails from a short distance behind. "If you are heading back to the Abbey, I shall walk with you."
Barrow sighs inwardly in frustration as he recognises the voice. He turns to await his former superior, but keeps his face from betraying his disappointment at having company. He had been thinking of taking a longer route back, just to extend his outing a few more minutes to think some more. There is no reason he could give as to why he would want to do so that Mr. Carson would understand.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Carson," the younger man greets the elder, and the two take up a brisk but not hurried pace up the lane.
Barrow tries to think of a conversation topic so it is not an uncomfortable silent walk. Carson beats him to it.
"Were you successful in your errands?" the former butler asks, noting the small sack in Barrow's hand.
"Hm? Oh, yes," Barrow replies. "I wanted to make sure I put the wine and spirits order in early enough for when the racing team is here. And Mr. Bates asked me to pick up some epsom salts whilst I was in the village."
"And may I ask what wines you have selected?" Carson asks, his smiling face telling the younger man that the two will have a good conversation the rest of the way to the Abbey.
Tom helps Sybbie wrap her muffler around her neck as they prepare to depart for the Abbey in the morning. He reminds her, "I will find you to say goodbye before going to York, as usual, but remember I will not be at tea nor home for dinner."
"Yes, Daddy, I remember," Sybbie says.
Tom lays a blanket across Sybbie's lap in the passenger seat of his Tom's motorcar and then gets into the driver seat.
"Have you got everything?" he asks.
Sybbie gives her father a curious look with a shrug, "What else do I need except for myself?"
Tom lets out a chuckle, "I guess you and George are not old enough to have homework assignments yet."
He puts the car in gear and heads out the drive. On the way to the Abbey, as the dawn lifts,Tom drives carefully. They wave as they pass by people walking toward the village. Many are small groups of children, apparently siblings, or parents with younger children, on their way to school. It is not unusual to see such pedestrians, but today Sybbie becomes pensive.
"Will George and I ever go to the village school?" she asks her father.
The question takes Tom by surprise, but he replies honestly, "For the time being, probably not. Your Aunt Mary believes having a private tutor will help George learn better. She asked that you have classes with George at the Abbey for now."
Sybbie nods, "So he can have someone else there closer to his age than the twins?"
Tom smiles, "Something like that, but she thinks it would be better for you, too. You know she loves and cares about you very much."
Sybbie smiles back, "Yes, Daddy, I know."
"It seems Mr. Carter is a good teacher, so it is working out, isn't it?" Tom asks.
Sybbie smiles again and nods, "And Donk and Mr. Carson, too!"
"And Donk and Mr. Carson, too," Tom agrees with a chuckle.
"Hello, darling," Henry says with a smile, rising from the desk, as Mary walks into the car showroom with Tom. "I am glad you could come." He gives his wife a welcoming kiss.
Tom begins to look through the paperwork that Henry had been preparing on the desk.
Mary shrugs, "There is not much 'agenting' to do this time of year, and I thought I would look for something for Evelyn and Millie and the new baby while I am here in York."
Evelyn Napier had rung to the Abbey that his wife had gone into labour this morning. That happening had disrupted multiple social plans. Cora and Millie had planned on having lunch together today, and Evelyn was to join Henry and Tom at Morley's pub this evening.
Henry smiles, thinking he sees through his wife's rationale. Mary had suggested her excursion for today not long after she had found out that the men were having an evening out in York tonight. So Henry suspects that his wife is really here in York so that they can have lunch together. This pregnancy has tired Mary as much as the other one did, and she retires to bed shortly after dinner. With Henry not being there for tea and dinner tonight, they would barely see each other and have no time to talk. Henry wonders if there is something in particular on his wife's mind.
"Where would you like to go for lunch?" Henry asks, knowing that Mary's tastes seem to change from moment to moment these days.
"Mrs. Joyner's cafe, of course," Mary replies, as if there would be no other answer.
Henry turns to Tom and asks, "Shall we have Mary bring something back for Laura and Sybbie for dinner?"
After she has done her errands, Mary will be meeting Edith and Laura at The Sketch office and returning to Downton with them.
Tom chuckles, "Not a bad thought, but I think they'll be fine."
Henry dons his hat and overcoat, Mary takes his arm, and they head out.
"Millie is doing well?" Henry asks on the way to the diner.
Mary gives a little shrug and says, "We have not heard otherwise."
"In this town, I am sure news will travel fast. In particular if it is a boy," Henry says.
Mary sighs, "Yes, too true."
After they have settled into their seats at the cafe, Henry enquires, "I did not mean to upset you."
"Oh, it is not you, darling," Mary states. "It is that everyone will rejoice a little more if the Napier babe is a son. I am just as guilty. Even when George was born, I felt we had done a great duty to the family."
Henry looks concerned. He gestured slightly with his head toward her midsection and begins, "You know I care not if this-"
Mary smiles, "I know. Thank you for that. As I said, it is not you. The unfairness of male inheritance has irked me since I was old enough to understand. I cannot deny it."
Henry says, "If it makes any difference, when I was younger I thought it unfair that James would inherit the majority of my family's assets."
"That is not quite the same, but I do appreciate you trying to understand," Mary gives a small smile. "Your parents were not traditionalists in that way after all." Seeing Henry glance away briefly makes Mary aware that his loss is still fairly ripe. She adds, "Of course you would rather them be-"
"I don't know what the two of you are talkin' 'bout, but I think you need to change the subject. To get smiles back on your faces," Pearl says as she sets two cups of tea on the table.
"You are right, of course, Pearl!" Henry says, rising and pulling a chair over so that the proprietress can sit, which she does. "And your company and cooking will be just the thing to help."
"I'll sit for a short bit," Pearl says. "But 'tis lunch hour…"
"We understand, of course," Henry says.
"What's got you bothered?" the cafe owner asks.
Henry smiles as he sits back down, turns toward the pie baker and says, "What are your thoughts on male inheritance?"
"Pardon?"
Henry yields the floor to his wife with a glance.
"Mrs. Joyner, you have a successful business that you might want to have a family member continue when you are no longer able. Who would carry on? Your eldest son?" Mary asks with a genuinely curious tone. "Or if you have none, then a brother, or male cousin?"
Pearl lets out a laugh, "I see what you're asking, e'en if I am not from the type of people who it really makes a difference about."
Mary cocks her head a small bit, affecting an expectant look.
The cafe owner pauses, then frames her response initially with a question. "Y'see, it depends, don't it? On who is in the family? I have a sister who can't cook without burning the place down, and a brother who would gamble away the receipts so there wouldn't be 'nuff to pay the bills. My own brood, well, they're different from each other, too. All of 'em started out wanting to see what they could do on their own. One's in London, a sales clerk at a Harrod's, and she doesn't like to cook. My boy likes to work with his hands, but not in the kitchen."
Then Pearl gives a nod of her head toward a younger woman across the room who has delivered plates to a table of patrons, then goes back to the kitchen. "My oldest tried her hand at being a secretary at the confectionary, but is back here after all. Said sitting at a desk was easier in some ways, but, 'twas boring. She likes to see our food make people feel good."
Just then, the woman in question comes out of the kitchen bearing two plates laden with steaming food. She sets them down before Mary and Henry, smiling.
"I recognised Mr. Talbot here," she says, straightening. "Two daily specials."
Mary and Henry give their thank-yous, and the woman gives a friendly nod and turns toward other tables.
Pearl rises from her seat, saying, "I think I always knew it'd be her, but she had to know herself. 'Twas hard to do it, but we had to let 'em go. Enjoy your lunch." With that, the pie baker heads toward the kitchen.
Henry looks toward his wife with a questioning expression.
She gives a knowing smirk, "You knew what her answer would be."
"I met her daughter last week," her husband acknowledges.
The two begin to eat before continuing the conversation. After a few small mouthfuls, Mary gives a little sigh. Henry has figured out that that is a good sign, that having hunger sated usually means her mood improves. Now he feels he can venture a guess at what might be on her mind.
"I am planning on changing my will after this one is born," he says. "But I still want to include George."
Mary says with a small smile, "That is understandable but only for sentimental reasons. It is not necessary but I wouldn't expect differently from you."
"Alright," Henry says, seeing that is not what concerns his wife. "Is there something else you want to discuss?"
"Sybbie," Mary says. "Something has bothered me now and again, but occurred to me again this morning after seeing Tom help Mr. Mason herd the pigs into the barn. Sybbie is the first born Grantham grandchild, and her father works very hard for the sake of the estate."
"Yes, he does."
"Yet at the end of the day, she will get nothing."
Henry understands that his wife has always shown love and care for her first niece. That Mary is concerned about the unfairness of any future inheritance is new, though.
"If it is any consolation… Tom has said on several occasions that he is in Downton, working for the estate, because he knows she will always have a family and a home there. That is not nothing," Henry says. "And our car business-"
Mary interrupts her husband, finishing his sentence, "Is doing very well, and will eventually provide something Sybbie and any future Bransons can count on."
"But…"
"I would like to try to do more. If I can, I want to make right in some way what has been wrong for me, and Edith, and was for Sybil. I haven't decided precisely what yet. I want you to know … in case something happens to me during childbirth."
Henry looks alarmed, "Are you feeling ill in any way?"
Mary shakes her head slightly while taking another bite of her lunch.
She then says, "I am telling you so someone else, someone who may be able to do something, is informed of my wishes. You see, Sybil confided in me about her agreeing to raise their child Catholic, and I supported Tom in that. Matthew wrote a letter saying he wanted me as his heir, and that served as his will. "
Henry nods, thinking he understands, "I would rather we not speak of such possibilities... But I understand, and, God forbid it be warranted, I will carry out your wish."
"Thank you, darling. Also, I do not want you to say a word to anyone else," Mary requests.
"The Sketch, Laura Edmunds speaking," Laura says into the telephone receiver. Edith has met Mr. Marlowe for some errands and neither Maude nor anyone else is at the office at lunchtime yet and therefore the editor is answering the telephone.
"Laura! This is Sir Richard Carlisle," Sir Richard begins on the other end.
Laura fleetingly wonders about his use of his full title but decides to use his informal address as they have discussed before. The magazine editor responds, "Good afternoon, Richard. Your usual telephone call after the release of a new issue. I am a bit surprised this was not earlier."
"As it happens, I had no time … so many other matters to attend to during the business day," he says.
"I understand, of course," Laura says. She pauses, awaiting whatever the newsman's next comments will be. She expects they will be flattering per usual.
"In fact, I was not able to even scan through the magazine, unfortunately. I expect it is as well done as always," the newsman says. "My wife said that she did read some of it, though."
Laura frowns, disappointed. Not only that the words and his tone are minimally complementary, and Carlisle is not nearly as effusive as he typically is. But also because of why. He usually reads and appreciates the quality of the magazine. Laura has grown accustomed to that positive reinforcement from someone so successful in the industry. Then, she realises he mentioned Phoebe. Perhaps he is delegating to his wife more Sketch-related work than the fashion show.
"I hope she enjoyed what she read," Laura says.
"I believe she did," Sir Richard says. "I asked her if she had read the new feature … the first part of the serial novel."
"Pardon, but if you did not read the magazine, how-?" Laura begins.
Carlisle chuckles as he anticipates her question and answers before she can finish, "Lady Rosamund mentioned it the other night. We had them and a few others for dinner."
"Ah, I see," Laura says. "Did Phoebe share her opinion of the magazine?"
"She said that the story is in Japan of long ago," Carlisle relates. "About a landholder with several wives and daughters … but his male heirs may be lost at sea."
"Yes, that is correct," Laura says.
"I can imagine the idea is to engage readers with a scenario - the lost men - that is a parallel to something that has caused so much grief in England …all the men who died in the War. Am I right?"
"Yes, to some extent," Laura replies.
"I understand your readership includes a whole range of classes … will the serial give something for all of them?" Carlisle enquires.
"I am sorry... perhaps you could elaborate?" Laura asks in return, not sure of his meaning.
"A large number of your readers will not relate to such inheritance angst," Carlisle explains.
"Oh... well, the story includes perspectives from the servants, too," Laura says. "The young servant girl, especially, who we meet in the opening paragraphs."
Carlisle makes a quiet, "Hmmm" noise, then says, "Well, Phoebe did not mention her." He chuckles, then adds, "You'll have to excuse that … my wife was raised to ignore many of the more lowly staff who work for her family."
Laura bites her tongue, since her first instinct is to chastise him for having such a dismissive and snobbish tone about this. She knows that his own upbringing must have been closer to a servant's life than an aristocrat's.
Instead, she says, "All of the characters will be important in one way or another." Then she decides to add, "As people are in real life."
Sir Richard chuckles a bit, then continues, "Good … From what my wife said, I do hope the story builds from where it started … perhaps in a scandalous direction even. These days readers expect a bit of … shall I say 'excitement'."
"Richard, your wife does not seem the type to want to read anything risqué," Laura asserts, but with humour.
"That is true, but she is only one of thousands of readers," Carlisle says. "One can never please everybody."
Again Laura rolls her eyes again at the newsman's attitude. "Well... you may warn your wife that, later, there are some passages that may make her blush," Laura says.
"Ah, very good to hear," Richard says. "Readers grow tired of the same old stories …What has been the reception so far?"
"Quite frankly, nothing special, I am sorry to say," the editor sighs. "We have had a few readers ring, and some new subscribers, but nothing out of the ordinary."
Richard hears the disappointment in Laura's voice, recalling that Lady Rosamund had indicated the editor was primarily responsible for selecting the serial to publish. Which means Laura will feel she has let Lady Hexham down if it is not a successful feature.
While Laura continues speaking about coordinating the new subscribers with the newspaper's circulation office, Sir Richard mulls things silently for a moment. He would like the serial to be popular as much as Laura does. Yet Phoebe had said there was nothing especially engaging about the way the story started. Perhaps his wife cannot relate to old Japan. Or maybe she feels it does not have a gripping original storyline. He will have to read it himself.
He realises that based on what Laura just said, other readers must share Phoebe's opinion. If the new story is indeed dull as it stands ... is there something he can offer to help, to change it? Mrs. Morse is a talented storyteller, or perhaps one of his own ed- no, neither would be a wise suggestion by him. History has shown that Lady Hexham and Mrs. Edmunds keep their content close when it comes to competitors. Wise for them to do so.
Still, for reader engagement sake he would like to provide assistance if he can.
"Mrs. Wilson will let the circulation office know, per usual. But back to the new serial … based on what you just said, it seems my wife's perspective is a good barometer after all," Carlisle muses aloud, with a tone that suggests to Laura that he is self-pleased about that. Almost as if he was responsible for it. "I shall have her ring you after she has read each piece … to give you her honest opinions. That is, if the author is willing to make adjustments along the way for future sections."
Laura's mouth drops open. She is thankful the newman cannot see her face. The gall of the man! To suggest that his wife could improve on the serial novel is ludicrous. She takes a deep breath before responding.
Think a moment, she tells herself.
Sir Richard puts his business priorities first, Laura knows. Alright … so with the business partnership, he would want the magazine, and therefore the serial novel, to be successful.
The editor realises that Carlisle is trying to help. It is the type of misguided idea like his having Mrs. Morse print that gossip column about her and Charles Blake.
Laura closes her eyes, and decides she will take the high road. She does not want to imply that she is anything other than grateful for the offer.
"That is very considerate of you, Richard. " Laura defers. "But shouldn't you confer with your wife first?"
"From what I can tell, she enjoys working on the fashion show, and will be delighted that the magazine is interested in her opinion."
Laura cannot say that they are not really interested in Mrs. Carlisle's opinion.
"Alright," she says, "If you are sure she will not mind, I will ask the writer." Then she decides to add, "But … I will want to hear Phoebe's comments first. Then Edith and I will decide which points to bring to the author's attention. We may have to be delicate, so as not to seem overly critical."
"Of course," Carlisle agrees with a small chuckle. "I am well aware of writers' egos. Well, I need to run, but I did want to offer my best wishes to you and Tom. On your coming child, that is."
"Oh!" Laura says, caught by surprise at the remark, and not really knowing how to respond. She manages, "Thank you, Richard."
"I trust you and Edith will work out any details of who will cover for you during your convalescence, but do let me know if I can help in any way," Sir Richard says.
Laura and Edith have not had any conversations yet about their respective holidays when the babies come. It is months away, still, yet for some reason Sir Richard bringing it up makes it seem like they should have resolved things already. "Why, erm, thank you, Sir Richard. That is very generous of you. I will let Edith know."
Henry turns the 'Open' sign to have the 'Closed' side facing toward the street, closes the blinds, and locks the front door. He picks up his coat and hat as he heads toward the door to the service area where Tom is straightening the workbenches and tools with Gus. Henry does his part by unpacking a box of parts into a cabinet. When the three men have finished, they wash their hands, don their jackets, overcoats and hats, and head out to Morley's in good spirits.
The pub is only a couple of blocks away, but per usual they are alert and look around as they cross the streets since it is dark. As they step into one street near an intersection, suddenly a car comes barrelling around the corner. Apparently only upon starting the turn does the driver realise that there are pedestrians. He cranks the steering wheel hard so that the car swerves and narrowly misses hitting any of them. One side of the car lifts up off of the ground from the sudden change in direction at speed, but not so much to tip it over, so it settles back down. Luckily, too, no cars were coming from the opposite direction to have caused a collision. The top of the car is down, and the driver, not someone any of them recognises, snarls "Get outta the road!" at the three men as he speeds away.
Frustrated more than fazed, Tom, Henry, and Gus shake their heads in disgust.
"I fear that man will end up in a car accident before long," Henry remarks.
"I hope nobody will get hurt if so," Tom adds as the threesome arrive at the pub, "Including him. He may have a family…"
They wave at Morley who is tending the bar, who nods back and reaches for glasses.
"Not everyone learns to drive from you two," Gus says with a sigh as they take a table. "Rather than thinking of simple courtesies, they think they rule the roads."
Tom nods, "'Tis a shame other driving instructors do not see the need for a pamphlet on road manners, or even mention of them."
Henry ponders that remark for a moment, then says, "Say, Tom, this will be our next column topic."
"Haven't you already written something like that?" Tom asks, trying to remember.
"It was a long time ago, not long after I'd given up racing. I wrote about how adjusting to married life in the country was like learning to understand the differences between race driving and ordinary driving. The rules on the track are different-you have to be aggressive to win."
Morley brings a tray of pints to the table, so he has heard the last statement.
Henry continues with a smirk of a smile, "And in marriage, one better not be too aggressive about winning…"
"Ah, that's right!" Tom says with a smile. "I'd wager that driver does not have a good marriage…"
"What's this about?" Morley asks.
To Morley, Gus says, "On the way here, someone nearly ran into us." He turns back to his employers and says, "I think it's a great idea to put some of the things from your pamphlet into the column. Maybe more people will read it and think about it when they drive."
Tom shakes his head, "I love cars, and I have done my share of fast driving … well, not like Henry here ...but I do pay attention to my surroundings. I cannot imagine living with myself if I caused an injury or death from bad driving."
All around the table nod.
"I'll second that," Morley says with a nod. "There're so many cars on the roads now. 'S almost too many."
"Now, Morley, there are certainly not too many cars on the road yet!" Henry says with a smile. "Otherwise Tom and I would not have a future for the shop."
Morley smiles, "Alright. Let me know when you are ready for your next round."
"With our next round, we'll have whatever your wife has available for dinner, too," Tom says as the bartender is about to go back to his station behind the bar.
"I figured as much," Morley smiles.
"Why don't you and Sybbie stay for dinner tonight?" Cora asks at tea. "I should have asked earlier. With Henry staying late in York, Robert has abandoned us, too-he's taking dinner at the Grantham Arms. It will be quiet here. We ladies are not even changing."
"Thank you, but I am looking forward to an evening at home," Laura smiles.
"Pregnancy does that to you, on occasion," Mary empathises.
Laura merely smiles whilst sipping her tea and watching the older children play cards.
Mary understands that what is bothering Laura is a bit more than being tired during pregnancy. The editor had relayed Sir Richard's comments from the telephone conversation to Mary and Edith on the drive back to the Abbey. Edith had encouraged her editor to not let it bother her, but Mary thinks Laura is probably still fuming inside.
It is not long before Laura puts her cup down, rises, and joins Edith with the younger children. Soon they are sitting on the floor rolling a ball back and forth between little Robert, Viola, and Roger whilst Nanny Shelley hovers nearby, ready to help if needed. Mary is glad to see a genuine smile on the editor's face again. If not the cause of stress, family and loved ones are important to help lessen it. Mary glances over at her son, who happens to look up at his mother and gives her a smile in return.
oOoO
"Is something wrong, Mum?" Sybbie asks her stepmother over a simple dinner at Downton House of some reheated stew and bread.
Laura looks surprised, and gives her stepdaughter a curious look. "Wrong? Why do you ask?"
Sybbie shrugs, "You seem distracted about something. Not really upset, but … ?"
Laura looks over again and says, "Really? I am sorry… I didn't realise…. Perhaps it is the midwinter blues or something…"
"Does the baby bother you?" Sybbie asks.
Laura chuckles a little, "Not any more than expected."
"Is everything going well at the magazine still?" Sybbie asks.
Laura smiles in amusement at her stepdaughter, "Sybbie, I am alright, truly. It has been a long week with your Aunt Edith here, but it usually is. We like to get things accomplished when she is in York."
Sybbie gives her stepmother a smile as if she is satisfied with the response. But the young girl is not, in truth. And she does not know what to do to help.
"It is too bad Laura did not want to stay," Cora says at dinner.
"I did not want to say anything when she was still here," Edith says, "But I think she is taking it personally that there has not been a better reaction to the first part of the serial."
"Give it time," Mary says with confidence as Barrow pours wine into her glass. "If the stories were not scandalous, then we would not have been worried about them all these years. Laura should not take Sir Richard's comments to heart."
With a few sentences, Edith and Mary inform their mother of Laura's call with Carlisle.
"It is a little presumptuous of Sir Richard, I agree, but is it really any different from thinly disguised negative comments from other readers you have mentioned in the past?" Cora says, trying to put things in perspective for her daughter.
"That is what I believe, but unfortunately, Laura sees Sir Richard differently. He is not your ordinary reader-he's successful in the industry," Edith says. "She respects his experience and instincts. At least some of them, anyway.
"The timing is ironic, actually. What Mr. Spratt gave to Mary yesterday is a draft of pieces to insert about Carlisle's character's background. I have not read it yet, but the intent is to give a reason why he is so cold hearted… to make the readers feel a bit of sympathy for him."
"You'll have to excuse me … Did you say Mr. Spratt?" Cora asks incredulously.
"Yes," Edith replies with a little chuckle. "Both Laura and I are so busy that we asked him to help with some new sections of the novel. Carlisle's character development, for one."
Cora raises her eyebrows a little as Edith is talking, and takes a sip of her wine.
"He does a marvelous job with Cassandra's column, Mama," Edith says. "And he penned the part about Tomiko and Katsumi for Granny. I am looking forward to seeing what he has done."
Like a good butler, Barrow is listening closely to everything said at the dinner table. He is not surprised to hear about the lackluster reception for the serial given his own opinion of the start. But he had no idea Mr. Spratt is one of the writers.
"This is an odd night, isn't it? All of us being home so early," Anna says to her husband as they sit down to dinner with their children. She adjusts Annemarie in her arms and on her lap-the babe is not sitting yet, but is starting to squirm more.
It had been decided by Lady Grantham that since the family members were not changing into formal attire for dinner, she and her husband could do without their maid and valet tonight. Robert was a little miffed at first at the unilateral decision, but relented after only a small look from his wife.
"'Tis nice," Anna shrugs, "Even if it is such a simple meal…"
"It's a wonderful meal when we can have it together like this," John says. He reaches for one of his son's hands and Anna takes the boy's other. The two adults bow their heads for the mealtime prayer.
"Thank you, Lord, for this time and meal that we will share together," John begins.
Before he has a chance to finish with the words of grace, his son intervenes.
"A-men!" Jack states with exuberance and a smile. He removes his hands from his parents' grasp, takes his spoon, and digs into his meal. His parents are taken off guard enough that they do not think about reprimanding him for the poor manners.
"I guess you were hungry!" Anna says with a smirk to her son.
Jack looks curiously at his mother and nods while spooning some carrots into his mouth.
Molesley snuggles with his wife in bed, encircling her with his arms and kissing her gently. She returns the affection with a smile.
"A year ago, we were planning our wedding," he says. "I never expected to become a father, but I cannot imagine life without you and William now."
"Me either," Phyllis says as she cuddles even closer. "Oh, Joseph, I am so thankful for you."
The earnest tone in her voice makes Molesley chuckle a bit, "I'm not that good of a catch."
This makes his wife pause and rise herself on an elbow to look directly into his face, "To me, you are. What is more important than friendship, respect, love? That is what you have given to me." She gives him a peck, "You respected me when I did not think I deserved it … I am not sure I respected myself then."
Molesley listens as she speaks, not wanting to interrupt her words with how filled with love they are. He then says in return, "And you did not think me a fool. You gave me confidence in my worth, and my dream of teaching."
After another short kiss, they give each other big smiles of happiness with each other. The baby moves in his crib, and they both turn toward him, alert. Sure enough, what started as a noise begins to build into a true fuss and then a wail. The parents' smiles become laughter; they both rise to attend to the baby.
"Isn't it my turn?" Molesley asks.
"He seems to be nursing more today," she replies with a knowing look. "So if I have to get up anyway..."
"You get settled," Molesley says, "I'll bring him to you."
Phyllis kisses her husband again, amazed at how content she is with her life.
"Come in, Mr. Marlowe," Carter says as the valet walks by the open door to the teacher's study. Carter has removed his dinner jacket and tie but still wears the balance of his formalwear from earlier. Marlowe accepts the invitation, enters the room and removes his own nice but not formal jacket before he sits in one of the chairs. He loosens his tie slightly. Carter takes out three glasses and begins to pour small amounts of scotch into two of them.
"Oh-not too much for me, thank you, Mr. Carter," Marlowe requests politely. "The wine at dinner was excellent and I am feeling quite relaxed already. I do need to drive everyone back to Brancaster tomorrow."
"Alright, I understand," Carter says with a small chuckle and then hands one of the glasses to the valet. "It was an enjoyable evening! Thank you for joining - I could tell the children liked having you there."
"It was my pleasure to attend the dinner, even if I was not appropriately attired," Marlowe smiles and gestures with his eyes between the two men's clothing. "Perhaps I should treat myself to a proper dinner jacket if they are to hold these types of dinners at Brancasrer for Miss Marigold and later Master Robert."
"Treat yourself? You are a rare sort if you think starched collars and such are pleasures," the teacher says with a smirk. He sits in the other chair.
"I suppose I am," Marlowe says, gaily and unapologetically.
The valet and teacher raise their glasses to each other and take a sip.
Marlowe continues, "Really, I was thrilled to be included tonight. It has been a very long time since I have enjoyed such upstairs treatment."
Carter is a bit puzzled at that remark since many valets rise from other service ranks. But he knows little about the man's background. He says, "I believe it was Mr. Barrow's idea to have you join us."
Marlowe's eyes widen, "Really? I am touched he thought of me…" He cannot help smile while taking another sip of his drink.
Carter notices the expression but infers no meaning from it. He is still more curious about the valet's other remark. He says, "I get the pleasure of dining with Nanny Shelley and the children like this every Saturday now. How long has it been since you ate so finely?"
"Golly, almost twenty years, I would say!" Marlowe replies. "Not since univ-" He realises what he is saying and then stammers, "Er…. Mr. Carter, please forget I said that. I did have an opportunity to start university, but never finished. Erm, a personal tragedy happened and I do not like to think of that time."
"I am dreadfully sorry, Mr. Marlowe! Forgive me," Carter says sincerely. There is a brief pause, and then the teacher says, "You have been very busy between here and York this visit - is it for the fashion shows?"
The valet is visibly relieved that the teacher is sensitive enough to have changed the subject. He replies, "Yes! They will be completely different events. We are planning on a modest show first at Hillcroft College. It will serve as practice for the young women who will be models for the grander show later in the year."
Barrow appears at the door and does not even wait for an invitation to come in. Per usual, he winds the clock and then takes his drink. He lifts the glass in appreciation to Carter, who nods in return, then sips. He closes his eyes and enjoys the scotch in his mouth and throat.
"A little libation before you finish downstairs, Mr. Barrow?" Carter asks.
Barrow nods and murmurs in agreement.
"It is delightful to have this camaraderie, isn't it?" Marlowe says while smiling between the butler and teacher. "I have nicer rooms now at Brancaster, but sadly noone to share my nights." He says the last while timing his turning gaze straight at Barrow, but with Carter in the room cannot put any overt emphasis to his message.
To the valet's chagrin, Barrow does not open his eyes, still savoring the drink. Carter does not seem to notice the innuendo.
"You are welcome to join us any time you are here, Mr. Marlowe," Carter offers. "Will you be coming with Lady Hexham every month?"
"I expect so, Mr. Carter," the valet answers. "Aside from any work with the magazine, Lord Hexham prefers his wife and family not travel alone."
"I think that is very wise of him," Carter says. "Especially given the distance."
"D'ya ever talk with Lady Hexham?" Barrow asks. "On the drive?"
Both Carter and Marlowe look surprised at the enquiry.
Marlowe responds, "Erm, not in a very conversational way. Of course she is in the back, and she often makes good use of the time napping whilst Master Robert does. Marigold likes to sit in the front passenger seat and we do talk. She is such a sweet child to me. Why do you ask?"
The butler shrugs. He was wondering to what extent the valet is aware of the serial novel. From the answer, he guesses not much, so he gives an ambiguous, "Curious, is all."
