Missing scene around S2E1 with Mrs. Patmore and our favorite couple. One-shot.
In the lowest level of Downton Abbey, the youngest Crawley daughter mulls about in the servant's hallway. Her hair is tied back, she wears no jewelry, and her most sensible shoes are on her feet. Even so, she looks out of place. And she feels it.
She jumps when Mrs. Patmore loudly addresses her from behind. "Are you lost, milady?"
Sybil blushes but brightens at the sight of the cook. "Mrs. Patmore, you're precisely who I wanted to see."
Mrs. Patmore makes no attempt at civility "I can't imagine what your ladyship would want with me, unless I'm a map nowadays too." The comment is blunt, but appears to go right over Sybil's head. Mrs. Patmore assumes it's because of her naïveté. Not everyone is as pure and kind as yourself, she thinks irritably. In reality, Sybil has Mary Crawley as a sister and is used to being a bit deaf to sarcasm.
Mrs. Patmore walks into the kitchen, Sybil trails behind her - not recognizing that the cook was trying to shut down any potential conversation.
"I was hoping you could help me with cooking. I'd like to learn - and what better teacher than yourself!"
Mrs. Patmore tries and mildly succeeds at stopping her laughter. It comes out in one sharp guffaw instead. "And what would your ladyship need to cook for? Are you planning on putting me out of a job?" Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Mrs. Hughes lingering in the doorway. Her expression is sharp: a warning to Mrs. Patmore.
"No, of course not! I wouldn't dream of it. You see, I'm enrolling in a nursing course in Yorkshire and I want to be able to handle myself on my own. I'll be sharing a room, and cleaning, and Anna's going to help me learn to dress myself completely and be entirely self-sufficient. It would be so helpful to have some cooking skills as well so I don't stand out…." Sybil falters as she realizes how long she's been talking - Mrs. Patmore doesn't typically wait this long without interruption. Daisy and the other girls have gone quiet too.
Mrs. Patmore is somewhat bewildered. An earl's daughter, wanting to cook?
"And what do Lord and Lady Grantham think about this?"
"Well, it would be our secret. A- a surprise. You don't mind, do you?" Sybil's eyes are full of hope.
It's not often that Mrs. Patmore remains silent. But she does now.
Still flustered, Mrs. Patmore begins to consider it. She isn't particularly fond of Mary or Edith, but she doesn't mind Sybil. She thinks Sybil will be willing to listen. And Sybil isn't the type to complain if Mrs. Patmore was a bit harsh. The meals have become simpler since the war started - she'd have the time. And in the very back of her mind Mrs. Patmore relishes the idea of giving orders to her employer's daughter. But she is still uncertain. "Oh, it's not that I mind, milady."
Sybil continues, still trying to sell the idea. "And I only need the basics. How to boil an egg. How to make tea."
Mrs. Patmore is abruptly pulled out of her thoughts by this astonishing fact. "Don't you know how to make tea?"
"Not really." She looks down at the ground, bites her lip.
Daisy giggles loudly, and the other servants stifle their own laughter after seeing the hurt on Sybil's face.
"You're right. It is a joke." She says. Her face is flushed but she says it fiercely. "But when I start my course, I don't want to be a joke. Will you help me?"
Daisy interrupts. "Of course we will, won't we?" and looks at Mrs. Patmore. After some careful consideration, the cook makes up her mind.
"If you say so," she mutters. "Let's get started."
Lady Sybil stands there as the servants bustle about. She already looks overwhelmed by the fast pace of the kitchen. Though her outfit is simple for her, it makes her shine next to Daisy's greasy apron and stained hands. Mrs. Patmore feels a twinge of pity and tries to put her at ease.
"Do you know how to fill a kettle?" she asks.
A smile comes to Sybil's face. "Everyone knows that!"
She takes the kettle from Mrs. Patmore and goes to the faucet, overeager to prove herself. In an instant there is water all over her clothing and the floor.
"Not everyone, apparently!" It occurs to Mrs. Patmore that she should have mentioned the difference in water pressure from the upstairs to the downstairs, but Sybil laughs and starts to wipe up the mess. Her ears are pink as she refills the kettle and sets it on the stovetop.
"So," she asks, "what's next?"
Sybil comes downstairs every day for a cooking lesson. She's a quick learner, and Mrs. Patmore is quietly pleased with the progress.
"Don't get me wrong, she's made her fair share of mistakes," Mrs. Patmore mentions over tea with Mrs. Hughes. "She burned a huge pot of oatmeal her second day! But the cake for her Ladyship turned out very nicely. She picks up recipes as fast as any kitchen maid I've had. She'll do very well for herself in York."
"I'm glad to hear that Mrs. Patmore," says Mrs. Hughes. "She's a sweet lass. And as eager as I've ever met. She asked me yesterday if she could come down and practice in the kitchen by herself."
"And what, pray tell, did you say to that? And why didn't she ask me? It's my kitchen, after all."
Mrs. Hughes rolls her eyes. "You weren't around. I told her that she can't use the kitchen unless she's supervised by a member of staff. She seemed perfectly contented by that." She takes a sip of tea and adds under her breath, "And it's not your kitchen."
The moon is out when Mrs. Patmore trots down to the kitchen. She's normally sound asleep at this hour, but her neck is hurting so badly she can't sleep. She remembers a bottle of cream that sometimes helps and curses herself for setting it on her kitchen desk instead of her nightstand. The stairs creak beneath her as she makes her way down.
There's appears to be a light left on in the kitchen, which is uncommon but not alarming. Stupid Daisy, thinks Mrs. Patmore. But as she continues down the hallway she hears voices. They're hushed, but clearly laughing.
Her mind immediately goes to Ethel. And one of the hall boys, maybe? She's sure they're up to no good, and she means to catch them in the act. In my kitchen, of all places….
It's dark enough that she has no fear of being noticed. She peeks through the window.
Light comes from a few lit candles, but she has to squint to see who they are through the dark windowpane.
Mrs. Patmore clamps her hands over her mouth to stop her outburst. Lady Sybil. With Branson. In my kitchen? Her mind races - they are unchaperoned and all the staff have gone to bed. If they are caught they would each be in unimaginable trouble. But they weren't - doing anything, were they?
Mrs. Patmore has gotten to know Sybil well over the past few days, and of all the daughters, she cannot imagine Sybil to have any ill intentions. She sits in silence, her curiosity dampening her urge to alert Mr. Carson.
She peeks in the window again. There's a mess of a crust on the counter, and Sybil is currently washing a dish. There's a warm scent in the air… have they been cooking?
Mrs. Patmore has been suspicious of Sybil's natural talent, now she knows it comes as a result of extra practicing. She continues to observe them through the window.
She can tell that Branson lights up around Sybil. His usual gruffness fades away, and he is engaging and pleasant. He's overly familiar - Mrs. Patmore watches as he orders her about and gives her simple instructions.
"You've got to scrub a bit harder to get it off."
Sybil sticks her tongue out at him. "I think it'll give the next dish extra flavor."
"Is that what Mrs. Patmore says?"
"Naturally."
He lays a hand on her shoulder. "How was your lesson today?"
"It was splendid. Mrs. Patmore is such a dear. I feel like a bother every time I'm in the kitchen, but she's always patient and kind."
Branson does an uncanny impression. "You'd be patient too if your job depended on it."
Sybil laughs loudly - then gasps and covers her mouth with a soapy hand.
"She won't be such a dear if you wake the whole house up." He cautions, but a smile remains on his face.
Sybil has finished the dishes and dries them. She puts them away on tiptoe. Tom disposes of vegetable peelings and wipes off counters. The kitchen appears as it was before: untouched, save for the aroma of good food. Mrs. Patmore continues to peek in.
Sybil smiles at Tom. "Another night, another recipe. I'm getting quite good at this."
"I'd rightly say so. I think you'll dazzle the folks at York. They'll think you worked as a kitchen maid half your life."
Sybil beams with excitement. "I'll make sure to credit my wonderful teacher!" She embraces him, laughing lightly.
Mrs. Patmore's seen enough to know they weren't up to any real trouble, but she also knows the risk they're running and intends to nip it in the bud. She steps into the kitchen.
"Now what reason would a young man and young lady have to sneak out of their rooms and meet in my kitchen the middle of the night?"
Tom yelps and the two instantly pull away.
Sybil speaks quickly, her apology immediate and sincere. "I'm sorry Mrs. Patmore, it wasn't Tom's fault. I asked him to help me practice. Nothing happened, I swear." She bites her lip nervously, and Mrs. Patmore can see the fear in her eyes.
"I know that, milady. I've been watching a minute. What I want to know is why you'd risk Branson's job and the wrath of his Lordship to get extra cooking practice."
"I wanted to help!" Branson interjects, but Sybil starts again.
"Please don't tell Papa! I only wanted to learn, and I felt I was becoming a nuisance to you being down here all the time. Tom, I mean, Branson, offered to help on the side before I go take my course."
Sybil sounds desperate now, and Mrs. Patmore notices that she clutches Branson's hand, for comfort or to apologize she can't tell.
"So you took it upon yourself to practice in the wee hours of the morning."
"We didn't want to be in your way," she mutters, sounding sheepish. "And Mrs. Hughes said it'd be alright with a member of staff..." She trails off after a look from Mrs. Patmore, and a secondary one from Branson. "Please don't tell Papa."
It's not often that Mrs. Patmore remains silent. But she does now.
Her mind is processing the scene. Although Mrs. Patmore knows she should at least report to Mrs. Hughes, she also knows that Elsie confides everything to Mr. Carson. His Lordship would hear about it in no time at all. It's a highly inappropriate scenario, but they haven't done anything wrong, have they? If she hadn't caught them, she would have no idea they had been down here using her kitchen. She's keenly aware that Tom's job and Sybil's future may rest on her confidence. And although Mrs. Patmore would never admit it, what turns the favor is Sybil's kind words about the cook earlier.
The Lordship's youngest daughter gives praise and thanks easily in public, but when she thought no one was around she was still kind. Mrs. Patmore doesn't know what comes over her, but she finds herself saying: "Your secret is safe with me."
Apparently Sybil knows no bounds because she jumps with glee and embraces the cook tightly. Mrs. Patmore stiffens, but accepts it.
"Thank you, thank you Mrs. Patmore!"
Branson mutters his thanks in the corner as well, but she is grateful he doesn't also embrace her.
Mrs. Patmore has had enough and gently shoves Sybil off. "But might I remind you, milady, that I am paid to supervise all cooking in this household. From now on, you're not to meet Branson down here. At any hour. If his Lordship finds out he'll have my hide as well as Branson's. Do you understand?"
Sybil looks stunned, but nods.
"And you Branson, do you understand?"
"Yes Mrs. Patmore, yes."
"And," Mrs. Patmore starts her sentence before the aroma of warm cottage food reaches her, but quickly amends her thought. "I - I'll need to taste that pie you've made. Make sure you've done it right."
When Mrs. Patmore isn't looking, Branson and Sybil exchange triumphant looks.
The first time Sybil took something out of the oven she dropped it on the floor, but now she reaches in with the air of professionalism only a confident novice can have. She plops the pie onto the counter, cuts a clumsy slice, and deftly scoops it onto a plate that Branson has grabbed.
The three wait anxiously for it to cool - Branson and Sybil because they anticipate a harsh judgement, Mrs. Patmore because she skipped dinner and she hasn't had someone else cook a meal for her in over 10 years. She finds it felicitous that the Earl's daughter is serving her.
It finally does cool, and Mrs. Patmore pierces the crust with her fork, examines the chicken and vegetables with a calculating eye, and tastes it. She is surprised and overwhelmed at the familiarity. She closes her eyes to savor the next few bites, and Sybil's hand finds Branson's again - this time from relief.
She turns to the chauffeur. "Branson, where did you learn to cook?"
"My mam taught me before she died. Don't have any sisters, and I took a liking to it."
"He's quite good." Sybil adds.
"Well, Mrs. Patmore, what is your professional opinion?" Branson is teasing, but she can see that he is nervous for her criticism.
Mrs. Patmore gives a large sigh. "Well, it's simple food. It's not going to win any prizes, I'll tell you that. The crust is lumpy and a bit too thick."
She can see their faces, both crestfallen, and she adds, "But I'll be damned if I've ever tasted a better filling. I'd order this at the Grantham Arms. And I can teach your ladyship how to make a better crust tomorrow."
Before Mrs. Patmore can be ambushed again by Sybil's excitement, she orders her off to bed with another promise that she will not use the kitchen without a member of the indoor staff supervising her. After a second thought she amends it to just her and Daisy.
"I promise, Mrs. Patmore."
"No exceptions. Alright milady, it's best if you're off to bed now. Branson, a word?"
Branson gives Sybil a weak smile as she trails out of the room, and then faces Mrs. Patmore.
Mrs. Patmore waits until she is sure Sybil is out of earshot.
"You know better, Branson. You're taking advantage of her kindness. If she was found alone with you, it would ruin her reputation. Is that what you want?"
She's found Branson hot-headed in the past, but he responds evenly, "That's not at all what I want Mrs. Patmore. I promise, I only wanted to help her feel confident in York. You don't give her enough credit."
"You care for her a great deal, Branson."
His next reply is without hesitation. "Yes, I do care for Sybil."
"Lady Sybil. You're playing with fire, boy. I know you think you're friendly with her, but let me give you some warning. Their kind don't think of us as equals. Don't deceive yourself. Nothing's going to come out of it but a broken heart, you hear me?"
She can see the hot-headedness now, in the way he clenches his jaw and sets his eyes stonily into the distance. "Mrs. Hughes has given me a similar warning," he says firmly.
"As she should." She starts to turn away.
"But we're closer than you think, Sybil and I. It sounds crazy, but I know there's a future out where the two of us can be together."
She turns back to him and chuckles. "And you, of all people, want to share your future with an Earl's daughter? It's late Branson, you better get to sleep before you lose all of your sense." She sees him falter, and adds, as a concession, "Best not to get your hopes up."
Mrs. Patmore knows Tom and Sybil have arrived safely, but it still takes her aback when she sees Tom coming down the stairs. She's in the kitchen and watches him take a deep breath before walking into the servant dining hall.
She hears the scraping of chairs as everyone stands to greet him. She can't catch all of their exchange, but she senses ice in Carson's voice as he acknowledges Tom.
"I just wanted to say hello. Didn't want you to think I was getting too big for my boots." Tom says in the doorway.
Mrs. Patmore can sense the awkwardness from the kitchen, but thankfully it ends quickly. Tom exchanges a few pleasantries with the staff and then excuses himself politely.
As he passes the kitchen he catches her eye and hesitantly enters.
"Hello Mrs. Patmore."
"It's good to see you, Branson."
Tom visibly relaxes at her address, then approaches her and gives a firm handshake. "I owe you my gratitude. Our lifestyle would be a lot harder if Sybil didn't know how to cook. Thank you for teaching her."
"It was more her doing than mine. A freight train couldn't have held Lady Sybil back once she put her mind to it."
Tom laughs heartily. "That's a lesson I've learned over and over again in our marriage."
"It seems she's not the only one with that ability. I doubted you, Branson, but here you are married to her Ladyship. I would've thought it impossible."
He shrugs. "There was a time I thought it was impossible as well. I count myself lucky every day."
A few of the other servants make their way into the kitchen and Tom leaves shortly afterward.
Thomas jeers. "Can't believe he has the nerve to come down here. What was he bothering you about, Mrs. Patmore?"
"He wasn't bothering me at all. Not like you lot."
"Oh come on, Mrs. Patmore. You have to admit that him coming down here rubs you the wrong way!" Thomas laughs, waiting for her answer.
It's not often that Mrs. Patmore remains silent. But she does now.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading!