Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey.
Summary: What if Doctor Clarkson had been forced to leave the garden party early, before Thomas had had a chance to speak to him? What if, following a suggestive comment by a colleague, the First Footman had decided against joining the British Army at all? What if, instead, he'd decided to join the Royal Navy? How different might things have been for him?
Warnings: Slash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Violence, First World War.
A/N So the idea for this particular story has been rattling around in the back of my mind since I attended the 'Mountbatten Festival of Music' back in 2016 during which there was a memorial piece for the 100th commemoration of the 'Battle of Jutland.' I knew then that I wanted to do a story focusing on the naval aspects of the First World War which isn't as well known as the land based aspects, mostly due to the fact that the evidence of the battles are at the bottom of the ocean and can no longer be seen. Now, I don't claim to be a historian so please excuse me if I get anything wrong despite my research in this particular subject.
A/N 2 please be aware that whilst HMS Warrior was a real ship and I have managed to find a list of her crew I have opted to used entirely fictional characters for the use of this story so as not to dishonour any of their memories. In terms of the naval facts that I am including in this story I am from a naval family, my great-grandfather was killed during World War Two, my grandfather served during the final year of the war and my husband served back in the 1980's, and as such want to be as accurate as possible so have done as much research as possible (mostly using a fantastic book from the Jutland Museum at Portsmouth Historic Dockyards called '36 Hours. Jutland 1916. The Battle That Won The War.' Which I would highly recommend to anyone interested in the subject.) I am, however, not a historian and so there may be some factual errors so please forgive me and enjoy my work of fiction.
THE BOYS IN NAVY BLUE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Downton Abbey
April 1919
With three days to go until the wedding of Mr Matthew Crawley and Miss Lavinia Swire the house, the estate and even the village was in a state of barely controlled chaos as the final preparations for the blessed day were made. It had all been going as smoothly as a wedding of such magnitude could do until just that morning at breakfast when Lavinia had enquired,
"Matthew, darling, why aren't you getting married in your uniform?"
And that had been all that was needed to throw a politely formed spanner into the works.
The main reason, he had argued, was that he was no longer in the Navy.
Lord Grantham had pointed out that everyone who had served during the war and was now getting to marry their wartime sweethearts would be getting married in uniform regardless of whether or not they remained in the Army, or the Navy as was the case with Matthew.
Such an explanation had pleased Lavinia greatly. His fiancé had met and fallen in love with him when he was in uniform, she had announced over her plate of toast, and would dearly love to walk down the aisle towards that handsome young Lieutenant if it were possible.
Matthew had next tried to argue that his new suit had already been paid for.
"Nonsense! There'll be other occasions to wear it, I'm sure!"
Cousin Robert was right, of course, so that argument had done nothing to help him.
Finally he had argued that his uniform hadn't seen the light of day in almost three years and would therefore be in a rather sorry state; it might not even fit him anymore, he'd added as he'd patted his stomach, not after almost three years of Mrs Patmore's wonderful cooking.
"Nonsense!" his fiancé had echoed Robert's earlier exclamation. "Surely three days is enough time for Barrow to sort out your uniform and make any necessary alterations?"
They'd obviously had no idea of the state of Matthew's uniform.
His entire uniform had been returned along with the rest of his belongings following his stay in hospital whereupon it had been hung up in his wardrobe and forgotten about…until now.
Thomas hadn't been able to hold back a curse when he'd retrieved it from its resting place.
Even now, hours of work later, he felt like cursing some more.
The Navy had replaced his employer's trousers whilst he'd been in hospital, the original pair having been scorched and torn beyond repair, but had deemed everything else repairable.
And, yes, it probably was…if he had three weeks instead of three days!
"Are you alright, Mr Barrow?" Anne enquired from where she was sat opposite him doing some minor repairs to one of the young ladies dresses. "Only you've been…mumbling…"
Thomas exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair as he met her concerned gaze.
"No," he finally answered honestly. "No, I'm not alright, Anna."
"Well, can I help at all?" she offered. "A trouble shared is a trouble halved, after all."
He chuckled, shaking his head as he observed dryly,
"You're far too nice for your own good, you know that?"
Anna smiled across at him before looking pointedly at the uniform.
"Well, if you're serious about your offer to help I'd be a fool to say no," he finally decided, moving to pick up the white shirt. "Could you repair the torn seams in this shirt for me?"
"Of course," she agreed, accepting the article of clothing with another smile which quickly turned into a grimace when she caught a whiff of the shirt. "This needs another washing…"
"I know, but there's no point in scrubbing at it until it's been repaired," Thomas agreed, his hands moving to set the collar and tie aside. He then picked up a clothes brush, the stiffest he'd been able to find, and used it to attack the stains covering the jacket. "At least we can give the shirt a proper wash once you're done; the best I can do with this jacket it soak it in cold water once I've brushed the worst of the stains off; using hot water will make it shrink."
Anna screwed up her nose in response to that and Thomas couldn't blame her.
As he scrubbed at the jacket the smell seemed to get stronger and stronger, the stiff bristles of the brush doing their job by churning anything that was caught in the fabric into the air.
Mostly it was the scent of old smoke which was understandable, given the number of fires that had raged throughout the ship during the battle, but there was also a trace of blood…
"The aft dressing stations been hit!"
Thomas barely suppressed a shudder as his memories surged to the front of his mind.
"They're dead! They're all dead! They have to be! No one could survive that!"
A particularly deep stain on the right should churned out an all too familiar scent, one that caused him to inhale so sharply that Anna shot him a worried look as he turned away from the jacket, burying his face in the shoulder of his own jacket in an attempt to block it out.
Cordite.
The scent of battle.
"Barrow, what happened to your hands?"
His hands spasmed, the jacket and brush clattering onto the table as he dropped them.
It was just a couple of thuds, one soft, one sharp, and yet in his mind he heard an explosion.
He gasped, choking loudly on the fabric of his suit jacket.
"…where's the Invincible gone?"
"…Thomas?"
A hand settled on his other shoulder and before he could stop himself he'd launched himself sideways, tumbling from his seat so violently that he struck the floor with an almighty crash.
"Goode! Where's Goode?"
A dull ache spread throughout his shoulder even as he scrambled backwards, his eyes clenched shut even as his mind supplied images of torn metal and impenetrable flames.
"What's going on?"
"Somethings wrong with Thomas," Anna said, her voice strangely distant within his mind. "He was working on Mr Crawley's uniform for the wedding when he suddenly just…well…"
"He was right beside me when…when…where is he? He's only a boy!"
Someone crouched down beside him, hands reaching out to rest heavily on his shoulders.
He couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs…
"What was he doing exactly?"
"He was using a clothes brush to get the worst of the dirt off of it…"
The weight as removed from his shoulders a few moments before he heard the sound of the clothes brush being dragged across the fabric of the jacket, his mind transforming it into the sound of one of the guns firing as the scent of cordite grew even stronger. He whimpered.
"I think I know what happened."
It was Mr Bates, Thomas vaguely realised, who was speaking with Anna.
Shame flared up deep in his gut at the thought of his former rival seeing him in such a state and it was almost enough to pull him out of whatever it was that was tormenting his mind.
Almost.
"What?"
"Do you smell that?"
Thomas cracked his eyes open just in time to see Mr Bates drag the brush across the jacket again, a plume of dust visibly appearing in the air above his hand. Beside him Anna frowned,
"What is that?"
"The scent of battle. That's cordite; cordite and smoke. It's been almost twenty years since I last smelled anything like it and even then…" Mr Bates answered, his voice trailing off even as his hand reached down to press against his injured leg. "…I can feel the sun on skin and the heat in the air…I can hear the shouting and the…scent is a cruel trigger for memories."
A grunt of agreement escaped Thomas as he gained a little more control over himself.
"Thomas?" Anna gasped, immediately moving to crouch beside him. Her eyes, filled with more concern than he had ever expected to be directed towards him, met his. "Are you…?"
"I'm…" he trailed off, unable to think of a way to describe his current state. His body was shaking, he realised, and his hip and shoulder were throbbing in pain. "I'm myself again."
"Here, let me help you," she insisted when he attempted to get up from the floor, helping him to his feet. When a pain whimper escaped him, the pain in his hip transforming from a dull ache into a sharp stab, she frowned and all but forced him to drop down into the chair by the fire. Once seated he pressed a hand against his hip. "I'm sorry I startled you before."
"There's no need to apologise," he promised her, carefully kneading his fingers into his hip in an attempt to ease the pain. He ignored his throbbing shoulder for now, his eyes moving back and forth between her obvious concern and the surprising amount of concern present on his former rival's face as the older man draped the jacket over his arm before picking up the brush and heading for the door. Thomas frowned at him, confused. "Mr Bates? Wha…?"
"I thought I'd take this outside and get rid of the worst of the dirt for you, Mr Barrow, so that you can finish working on it without being affected by the smell of the cordite," the older valet explained simply. Thomas blinked at him for a long moment before offering a heartfelt murmur of thanks, the kind gesture meaning a lot more to him than he would've expected it to. "A cup of tea might be a good idea; always seemed to work during the war."
Nodding to herself Anna scurried out of the servant's hall, disappearing into the kitchen.
A final memory surfaced once he was alone, a weak voice echoing through his mind,
"Thomas, I can't feel my legs…"
Only the fact that he had helped his employer take a very slow turn around the gardens that morning stopped him from sinking back into the overpowering memories as he sat waiting for Mr Bates or Anna to return to the servant's hall. In the end Anna returned first, carrying a cup and saucer over to Thomas; she'd even managed to get a biscuit for him to nibble on.
His hands shook as he accepted the refreshment from her.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, cheeks flushing with shame. "I don't know what came over me…"
Anna offered him a grimace of sympathy as she responded with a deep sigh,
"…the war…"
It was an overly simplified answer, of course, and yet it was the most accurate one either of them could have given. Anna had witnessed several of the patients suffering from the after effects of their wartime experiences; in comparison to some of their "fits" as they had come to be known to the various staff below stairs Thomas' behaviour had been relatively tame.
He hadn't screamed...
He hadn't wept...
He'd simply…stopped…
He'd only reacted violently when she'd touched him, something she should have known not to do given her own experiences working in the convalescent hospital albeit as a housemaid.
Mr Bates returned, laying the jacket back out on the table before turning to Thomas.
"Hopefully that should've gotten the worst of it out for you," he announced calmly, pulling on the sleeves until they lay perfectly straight. "I had to go careful in a couple of places as the fabric is a little bit worse for wear, particularly around the cuffs. Some of the gold also appears to be coming away, if you hadn't already noticed, and a button is on its last thread."
"Thank you, Mr Bates," Thomas murmured, grateful that his fellow valet wasn't making a fuss about his behaviour as well as for the information regarding the jacket. "As it's only to be worn this once I think I can get away with tidying up the fabric rather than patching it."
"I agree. You might have difficulty matching the fabric."
"Quite," Thomas grunted. "As for the gold braid and button I can fix those easy enough."
"I don't envy you the task of cleaning up that cap, however," Mr Bates chuckled suddenly, reaching over to pick up the offending item. It was misshapen, the peak no longer forming a smooth curve but rather a pyramid with a clear peak, and badly discoloured. "I used to hate cleaning His Lordships cap, especially when the sand got into it. Does he have a spare one?"
Thomas chuckled dryly, shaking his head.
"I had a feeling you'd say that…"
"Luckily the white cover comes off so worst case scenario he'll just have to get married with a black cap instead of a white," Thomas chuckled, his smile growing as he watched Mr Bates pull at the discoloured cover with a frown until it finally slipped off to reveal the black layer underneath, by far the cleanest bit of the entire uniform. "It being removable does make it easier to clean, though, so with any luck I'll be able to rescue it from its current sorry state."
By the time he'd finished his cup of tea, sickeningly sweet as it was, he was almost restored to his usual self and was able to rise to his feet so that he could get back to work, ignoring the stabbing pain in his hip and the throbbing pain in his shoulder for the time being. Anna returned the cup and saucer to the kitchen, returning with a cup for herself and another for Mr Bates which they took to the other end of the table. He could feel their eyes on him as he worked on the jacket, making the various repairs, but mercifully they said nothing more.
It wasn't until that evening when he was taking his turn in the bathroom that he was able to assess the damage he'd done to himself; his hip was one big bruise, so dark it was already turning black in a couple of places, whilst his shoulder was covered in dozens of bruises no bigger than a fingerprint. He used a damp towel on both sites to ease the pain so that he could go to bed, thinking through the events of the day as he lay struggling to fall asleep.
The ladies of the house had spent the entire day making even more decisions about the wedding; where to lay out the gifts the happy couple would be receiving, where they'd place the table of refreshments, where they would stand to greet the guests and so on.
Matthew had spent his day doing his exercises to strengthen his legs and spine, offering his opinions on certain matters when pressed by his fiancé and cousins and then, towards the end of the day, he had dressed in the uniform Thomas had spent most of the day working on and held perfectly still as his valet marked up any adjustments that needed to be made.
Thankfully they only needed to let it out by a couple of inches around his waist which was well within the allowance given within the design of the jacket; had the shoulders become too tight it would have been a different story altogether. Matthew had been impressed by the state of his uniform, confessing that he'd fully believed that it would be beyond saving.
Of course it had been then that Matthew had suggested that Thomas wear his own uniform to the wedding which he would be attending with the rest of the servants, if it was possible.
"Sir, all mine requires is a quick brush off, an appointment with an iron and a bit of boot polish," Thomas had chuckled in response. "So if you'd like me to wear my uniform, I will."
He'd fetched his own uniform before heading back downstairs so that he could work on them together, his statement about the state of his own uniform completely true; whilst Matthew's would hopefully be ready in time for the wedding Thomas' was already done.
His dreams that night were, unsurprisingly, plagued with memories of Jutland.
He woke early, too early, and leaned against the wall beside his open window smoking his way through half a packet of cigarettes until he heard his fellow servants moving about as they started getting ready for the day ahead. After finishing his last cigarette he visited the bathroom to perform his morning ablutions before returning to his room to dress, pausing in front of the mirror to study his injuries which had continued to darken through the night.
Anna greeted him with a smile when he entered the servant hall,
"How are you feeling this morning, Mr Barrow?"
"A little tired but other than that I'm perfectly well, thank you," he answered. "Yourself?"
"I'm very well, thank you," she answered, seemingly delighted with their ever so simple conversation although, upon reflection, she was no doubt remembering Thomas as he'd been before the war. Back then he would never have considered entering into an inane conversation revolving around simple pleasantries, not one of his fellow servants anyway, not unless he'd needed to get on their good side or press them for information. "Have you seen what's been delivered for Miss Swire?" she enquired, nodding to where a wooden crate was sitting on the floor in front of the empty fireplace. It had The Gramophone & Typewriter Ltd stamped on the side, along with a large notice warning them that the crates contents were fragile and he highly doubted that anyone would have sent her a typewriter.
"A gramophone?"
"And twenty-five records."
A generous gift, Thomas mused even as the gathered servants all automatically rose to their feet as Mr Carson entered the room followed closely by Mrs Hughes, and an expensive one.
Miss O'Brien hurried into the room as they were all taking their seats around the table, idly fussing with her hair and apologising for her tardiness. A gruff nod of acceptance was all the response she received from Mr Carson who was more focused on the appearance of the hall boys, one of whom was missing not one but two buttons on his shirt whilst the other hadn't bothered to button up his ill-fitting waistcoat before sitting down. Thomas felt a bit sorry for them but reasoned that the young men needed to learn to care about their appearances if they wanted to advance in their chosen careers just as Thomas had when he was their age.
As an added punishment the hall boys were ordered to take responsibility for carrying the heavy crate up to the great hall and helping Miss Swire unpack her gift after their breakfast.
Another day passed filled with seemingly endless wedding preparations and the house had been almost completely transformed, Anna and the other housemaids having spent the day hanging garlands of the most beautiful flowers wherever they could before adding vases of equally glorious flowers on every available surface. Thomas himself was particularly pleased with his efforts as he'd managed to get Matthew's uniform pressed and ready to go by the end of the day, putting the creases in where they were required. He'd even managed to get the white cover for his cap clean enough that it could be used without anyone questioning its battle worn state and his smart shoes had been polished until the toes looked like glass.
He was just getting to work pressing his own uniform when Mrs Hughes approached him,
"Mr Barrow, might I have a word?"
"Of, course, Mrs Hughes."
It wasn't the fact that she wanted to speak to him in the middle of the afternoon that concerned him; rather it was the fact that her usual smile had been replaced by a frown.
She waited patiently for him to switch off and secure the iron before speaking,
"Mr Carson has been taken ill."
Thomas felt his eyebrows rise into a shocked expression.
In all his years at the Abbey he couldn't remember Mr Carson having so much as a sniffle.
"I've sent him up to bed as he's in no fit state to be working but he was worried about diner tonight so I was hoping to ask you to step into the breech, as it were, and look after things."
"I'd be more than happy to help out, Mrs Hughes," he answered honestly and without hesitation, pleased that someone he had always looked up to thought him capable. As immediate as his response had been her look of relief was just as quick. "Are there any specific requirements or requests for this evening? Did Mr Carson have anything planned?"
"Nothing planned, no, although he did suggest we ask Mr Molesley to come up to the Abbey to assist," Mrs Hughes answered, watching as he carefully folded his bell-bottom trousers on their hanger so that he could come back to it later on. "What do you think, Mr Barrow?"
"I think that's an excellent idea," he agreed, following her into the servant's hall where Miss Featherstone was carefully preparing Miss Swire's shoes for the wedding. "Perhaps, as long as he's willing to, Mr Bates could serve the wine whilst Mr Molesley and I serve the food?"
"That's an excellent idea."
A warm feeling of satisfaction settled in his chest as she agreed with his suggestion.
Mrs Hughes offered to telephone Mr Molesley about the situation they found themselves in which left Thomas to seek out Mr Bates, finding his fellow valet putting away a large stack of freshly laundered and pressed undershirts, loose-fitting drawers, socks and handkerchiefs in His Lordship's dressing room. He was understandably concerned by the news of Mr Carson's sudden decline into ill health and more than happy to lend a hand with dinner that evening,
"If you're certain that I'll be more of a help than a hindrance?"
"I can't look after the wine and serve the food at the same time, not with my hip the way it is after yesterday," Thomas explained, waving off Mr Bates' concern. "It's fine, just bruised. And as much as I know he'd try his best the idea of relying on Mr Molesley for the wine…"
"I see your point," Mr Bates chuckled, thinking of the earnest valet-come-butler who was forever getting himself into unnecessary difficulties by trying just a bit too hard. He was by no means a poor servant, far from it in fact, and as far as his personality went he was nice enough if a little bit helpless. "I'll get this lot put away and join you downstairs in a minute."
As he prepared to act as butler for the evening, informing Matthew of what had occurred so that his employer wouldn't mind his absences throughout the evening in terms of his duties as a valet, he couldn't help but wonder how different this situation would have been had he not made peace with the people he had wronged before the war, particularly Mr Bates. Mrs Hughes probably wouldn't have even considered asking him to step in to take charge never mind everyone doing their best to help him, Mr Molesley coming as soon as he could ready to work. They certainly wouldn't have been quite so willing to obey his orders if he hadn't.
Approaching the servery, Mr Bates a couple of steps behind him, they heard Anna's voice,
"Mr Carson likes to serve two white wines, which you should open and decant just before they eat. A light one for the hors d'oeuvres, then a heavy one with the soup. He keeps that going for the fish, and then changes to the claret, which should be decanted now. There's a pudding wine, and after that whatever they want in the drawing room with their coffee."
"Blimey," Mr Molesley exclaimed. "It's a wonder they make it up the stairs."
"Oh, no, they don't drink much of any of it," she reassured him, smiling warmly towards Thomas and Mr Bates when they stepped into the servery. "Mr Molesley was curious in regards to the wines so I was just explaining how they're organised during a family dinner."
"It pays to know how the wines work," Mr Bates agreed, offering her a smile as he moved over to decant the claret under Mr Molesley's close watch. "Each house will have their own quirks, as it were, their likes and dislikes but they'll always be in basically the same order."
Between the three of them they managed to get through the starters without issue, the family even complimenting them on how well they were holding up without Mr Carson.
In fact it wasn't until they'd reached the main course, which looked and smelt delicious, that the evening took a disastrous turn. It began with Thomas failing to hold back a wince of pain when he bumped his injured hip into Matthew's chair whilst offering him some vegetables.
Matthew frowned up at him in concern,
"Mr Barrow, are you quite well?"
"I…I'm all right, thank you, sir," Thomas answered quickly, still holding the tray of perfectly cook vegetables out for him to select from. "It was just a slight twinge in my hip, that's all."
Matthew didn't appear to be at all satisfied with his answer but wasn't able to protest as just at that moment Lady Cora seemed to wilt in her chair as she turned to her husband,
"The awful truth is, I'm not quite all right and I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to excuse me."
For the briefest of moments nothing happened, everyone shocked by her uncharacteristic breach of etiquette which only confirmed how poorly she must be feeling, before the Earl al but leapt out of his seat with an apology on his lips, watching with concern as his wife stood.
Matthew, acting on instinct, rose as she did.
"Would you like us to call Dr Clarkson?"
"No, no, darling," Lady Cora murmured. "It's far too late to be calling…"
"He's coming anyway, Your Lordship," Mr Bates spoke up. "For Mr Carson."
Understandably concerned for her mother Lady Edith quickly announced,
"I…I'll bring him up when he arrives."
"I can sleep in my dressing room," Robert offered, his soft words prompting his wife to pause at the door to offer him a thankful smile before exiting. For a moment he stood perfectly still, clearly fighting back to urge to go after her, before he finally turned and returned to his seat. "I'm sure she'll be perfectly fine in the morning," he offered up as positively as he could. "Now, we'd better not let Mrs Patmore's hard work go to waste."
Once everyone had been served they servants were free to leave the room for the duration of the main course, allowing them to catch up with preparations for the remainder of the meal whilst the family got the chance to talk in private. Anna was waiting for them, face pinched with worry, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the family she requested that Mr Bates accompany her downstairs for a moment. When his fellow valet hesitates Thomas waved him away, Anna's expression having shifted to one of pure determination.
Whatever she wanted to talk to Mr Bates about was obviously very important to her and Thomas knew better than to get between a determined young woman and her quarry. He decided to nip down for a quick cigarette before returning to the servery where he helped himself to the remains of a glass of the lighter white wine whilst clearing away the glasses.
It was only then that he noticed Mr Molesley.
The other man was leaning somewhat precariously against the wall in the corner of the room groaning to himself, a hand encased in a pristine white glove pressed over his eyes.
"Mr Molesley?"
"I feel awful…"
Even with the distance between them Thomas could smell the alcohol on the other man's breath and let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he moved to pour a glass of water.
"Here," he offered it to Molesley who took it with a wince. "May I offer you some advice? There's nothing wrong with sampling a little of the wine they leave behind; it's only going to be thrown out anyway. However it's never a good idea to have more than one glass as the wine they drink is far superior and therefore stronger than the stuff you'll have had before."
"…but it was so light…"
Returning to the servery Mr Bates offered Thomas a somewhat unsteady smile, whatever Anna had spoken to him about clearly having affected him. He frowned across at Molesley.
"What's wrong with Mr Molesley?"
"He's been sampling the leftover wine," Thomas answered simply but without disapproval given that he himself had done the same thing only with more moderation involved. There was also the fact that he was used to having a tot of rum every day, something he was still able to keep up thanks to Lieutenant Greenaway's generous gift, and so his body was used to handling stronger drinks than the rest of the servants. "There's no way you can go back into the dining room like that so why don't you go and get some fresh air," he instructed Mr Molesley who nodded dejectedly. "Mr Bates and I will be fine until you're fit to work again."
Scurrying off with his head hung low Mr Molesley was a sorry sight indeed.
As they stepped back into the dining room to continue their duties the Earl was saying,
"…the Spanish Flu has found its way to Yorkshire."
"And to Downton," Mrs Crawley confirmed. "Dr Clarkson says he's got ten cases already."
It was at this moment, almost as though fate had planned it that way, that Lavinia gasped.
All eyes turned to her, taking in the way her head was hanging forward as though it was too heavy for her to hold up properly and the fact that her usually pale skin was now ashen. Her eyelids appeared to be having trouble staying open, fluttering uncontrollably, and even from where he was stood a little way away Thomas could hear how laboured her breathing was.
"Lavinia?"
She fixed her glassy expression on Lady Mary, finally managing to utter weakly,
"Do you know, I'm not at all well either."
No, that much was evident.
Matthew looked at his bride-to-be with understandable concern.
"I wonder if I could lay down for a minute?"
"Of course," Lady Mary responded immediately, moving to help the unsteady young woman up from her seat. Her father rose to his feet automatically, looking a little bit helpless, whilst Matthew was visibly holding himself back from stumbling over to his fiancé. His mother and Lady Sybil looked deeply concerned. "Come up to my room. They'll have lit the fire by now."
Lavinia excused herself weakly, allowing Lady Mary to steer her out of the room.
"Do you think we should take her home?"
"No," Matthew answered his mother tightly. "Let her rest for a moment."
"Well, I…I think I should go and help."
Having come to her conclusion Mrs Crawley rose from her seat and hurried out of the room, hurrying up the stairs after her future daughter-in-law leaving behind silence in her wake.
It was the Dowager Countess who finally broke the silence,
"Wasn't there a masked ball in Paris when cholera broke out?"
If anything the silence grew heavier, all eyes now turning to stare at the Dowager in horror.
"Half the guests were dead before they left the ballroom."
"Thank you, Mama," Robert huffed deeply. "That's cheered us up no end."
A/N I've been catching up with my writing during my time off due to the lockdown and in an attempt to keep myself on a schedule I've put them in order. Well, I reached this story and realised that by some twist of fate it's just reaching the climax of the Spanish Flu…I can tell you even writing this brief section about it felt a bit weird so writing the next chapter might be a bit of a challenge. Comments/Suggestions welcome. Hope you're all staying safe. X