Anna considered herself a relatively loyal lady's maid.
No. Scratch that. She was a very loyal lady's maid, considering she'd once dragged a body through the gallery wing in order to save her lady's reputation, among at least half a dozen other peculiar things. Not many other lady's maids were as close to their employers as Anna was, that was for sure. And for all that Lady Mary's sharp and sometimes spiteful demeanor could deter others, Anna had developed impressive patience almost as strong. Still, she did have her limits. And being woken at barely half-past six in the morning by a winded hall boy who'd run all the way from the big house to tell her that Lady Mary needed her now was well past said limits. It was highly unusual for anyone in the house to request a servant at such an hour. And to ask for Anna, who was at least a quarter of a mile away in her cottage? Mary could be demanding at times, but she wasn't ludicrous.
She arrived at the servants' entrance before seven o'clock, hurrying through the door and up the stairs after briefly speaking with Barrow. She reached Margaret's room quickly, then knocked lightly. Barely a second later the door opened to reveal Mary.
"Thank God," she whispered, tugging Anna into the room by her arm and shutting the door swiftly behind her.
"What's-" she trailed off, startled.
The room was dimly lit, with only the far lamp on the desk by the window currently switched on. Maggie slept fitfully in the bed, the covers having slipped down as she moved. Mary motioned for Anna to follow, and she crept to the bedside and pulled back Maggie's nightgown. Even with little light, Anna could make out the stark rash against the girl's pale skin. It already covered most of her neck and appeared to be covering her chest.
"She's had a headache all night," Mary explained, breathing shakily. If Margaret noticed them, Anna received no indication. "I thought that was all but. . ." She gestured to the rash. "Could you send for Dr. Clarkson? Immediately?"
"Of course, m'lady," Anna answered.
"And perhaps a new basin of cold water? This one's gone warm."
Anna nodded and departed quickly, heading for the servants' stairs. She descended the rest of the stairs quickly, catching sight of her husband at the bottom near the servants' hall. He'd clearly been waiting for her, concerned.
"What's the matter?" he asked as she reached him. He extended his hand, and she moved to take it for only a second before pulling away.
"Hold on a moment," she told him, and she immediately rounded the corner and made for the butler's pantry. Bates remained in the hall.
Anna barely knocked before pushing the door open. "Mr. Barrow," she said. "Lady Mary's asked that you call Dr. Clarkson to come to see Miss Margaret."
Barrow looked a bit confused, given the early hour, but he rose from his seat and pulled a small small, black contact book from a drawer in his desk and nodded to Anna. She hastily exited the room and made for the kitchen.
"What's the matter?" Bates asked again.
His wife paused by the kitchen doorway and took a step closer to him, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "I think Miss Margaret's got the fever," she said quietly.
Bates' brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"
Anna nodded, turning away and entering the kitchen. "Do you mind if I borrow a bowl and pitcher?" she asked Mrs. Patmore.
The cook shook her head, eyes not leaving the kedegree she was preparing. "Not a bit," she answered.
Anna had already opened the cupboard and grabbed the needed items. She set the pitcher in the sink and turned on the tap, letting it fill about a third of the way before shutting the water off and removing it. She exited the kitchen quickly and quietly, aiming to keep out of the way of the staff. Bates met her in the corridor as she headed for the stairs.
"Could you tell Mrs. Hughes?" she asked her husband. "When you see her."
"Of course."
"And keep William out of the house. Do you know if he's been near her since he came back?"
Bates shook his head. "He hasn't said but I'll ask him."
Anna nodded, then sighed. "Just...keep him down here if you can, or send him home." She motioned to the stairs. "I've got to go."
"Of course, go. Come get me if you need anything."
Anna nodded thankfully, giving her husband a small smile before hurriedly ascending the stairs. Bates sighed, turning and heading back towards the servants' hall.
They never could quite get a moment's peace, could they?
"I thought everyone had abandoned me."
Sybbie chuckled lightly at her grandfather's comment as she grabbed a plate from the sidebar in the dining room. "Well, I'm here now."
"Where are the others?"
Sybbie came round the right side of the table and set her plate down gently. "Am I not sufficient?" she asked.
"That's not at all what I meant."
Sybbie giggled. "I know what you meant." She sat down and draped the napkin over her lap. "I think George is in Thirsk. I'm not sure about Margaret. And Papa's gone to the shop."
Robert's brow furrowed as he eyed her over the top of his newspaper. "Does he manage all right without your uncle?"
"I think so. They hadn't really expanded like they wanted to yet, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise because I'm not sure they could've managed it now that Uncle Henry's away." She felt her stomach clench a bit at the thought of her uncle. Her father had heard from him twice in the past year and a half, despite the fact that Tom wrote him regularly to inquire about his wellbeing, as well as to update him on important matters concerning the shop. Mary didn't speak of him at all, and Margaret promptly avoided the subject when she'd brought it up a few weeks ago. Henry's communication (or lack thereof) was a sore subject in the house, and Sybbie quickly sought to change the topic.
"What's your day looking like?" Robert asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
She welcomed the change in direction. "Very boring, actually," she admitted. "I think I'm going to head down to the shop after breakfast and see if Papa needs any help."
"Why don't you go speak to your grandmother? She's terribly swamped planning the party for New Year's Day, I'm sure she'd love your help."
Sybbie bit her tongue and suppressed a chuckle. Her eyes rose to meet her grandfather's a bit teasingly. "I think I'd rather help fix a car, Grandpapa."
Robert peered at her a bit oddly for a moment, then seemed to catch himself as he plastered a rather forced smile on his face and returned to his breakfast.
A throat was cleared. "Begging your pardon, m'lord..." Mrs. Hughes' voice reached them suddenly from the doorway, and both turned in their seats.
"Mrs. Hughes," Robert said. "Please come in."
The housekeeper took a hesitant step into the room, eyeing the pair a bit uneasily. "I'm sorry to interrupt, your lordship."
"It's no bother. How can we help?"
"Lady Mary's asked if Miss Sybbie could come upstairs, please." She looked at Sybbie apologetically. "I'm sorry, Miss. I tried to catch you on your way down."
Sybbie shook her head. "That's all right," she said, setting her napkin on the table and rising. "I'll be back," she promised Robert, who smiled a bit as she followed Mrs. Hughes out into the hall.
"Lady Mary's up in Miss Margaret's room," Mrs. Hughes told her once they'd reached the stairs.
"What does she want?"
"She didn't say, Miss. She only asked that I fetch you."
Sybbie rolled her eyes a bit as she ascended the staircase. "This had better be good," she mumbled. Mrs. Hughes didn't chuckle like she thought she would, instead biting her lip as she followed quietly behind her. "What is it?" Sybbie asked as they reached the first floor and rounded the corner to head towards her cousin's room.
"Sybbie," came her aunt's voice suddenly, just as Mrs. Hughes had been about to speak. Mary was coming swiftly towards them through the hallway, her dressing gown fluttering open loosely as she walked. "Can you drive down and get Clarkson?"
Okay…that's not at all what she'd thought her aunt would say.
"Why?" she asked, now concerned. "What's the matter?"
"Margaret's been ill all morning and we can't get hold of him. The line is completely tied up. Can you drive? Or have Stevens go, if you'd rather not."
Sybbie shook her head. "No, I'll go. I don't mind."
"Please be careful. The road's dreadful this morning apparently."
She nodded, already heading for the stairs again. "Of course." She waited until Mary had rounded the corner before starting down the stairs with the housekeeper. "What happened?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "I'm not sure. They called for Anna early this morning, and I only just went up a short while ago. Mr. Barrow and I have been trying to get the doctor for the better part of an hour, but the operator says the hospital line's been busy all morning." Mrs. Hughes hurried ahead of Sybbie as they reached the hall and headed for the door. She took her coat from the closet and made to help her into it, but the 20-year-old waved her off, instead taking the garment herself and shrugging it on quickly. "I'm sorry your breakfast was interrupted, Miss. We wouldn't have minded sending a hall boy, only Lady Mary asked that you go."
Sybbie shook her head. "I don't mind. Um…if his lordship asks, tell him where I've gone. But don't bother him otherwise."
"Of course, Miss."
"I should be back within half an hour," she said as she pulled open the door.
"I'll be watching for you."
Sybbie parted with a small smile, not bothering to button her coat as she headed for the quarry. Mrs. Hughes sighed tiredly to herself before quietly closing the door.
It had been established when William was young that Bates wasn't quite like other fathers. He didn't swing him about like Mr. Talbot and Mr. Branson did with their own children. As a child, it was George who'd taught Johnny to play cricket, not Bates. He doted on his son, of course. Anna was older, and they treated William like he would be their only child even before they knew he would be. He was rarely cross unless William had done something to truly deserve his wrath. Even then, he was one of the fairest persons the boy had ever met. If given the option, he wouldn't have asked for another father. He couldn't. Bates was everything a father should be, in his son's opinion.
But again, it had been made painfully clear to him at a young age that his father was different. He tried his best to do things; I'm the man of the house, he would tell William, as you one day will be. It was his responsibility to perform certain duties. However, certain actions, heavy lifting and climbing, for example, were chores. He'd heard his mother yelling for him to stop more than a dozen times when he was young, only to find his father had been doing something he really shouldn't, or couldn't. And William had become sort of the second man of the house by process of elimination as he grew older. His mother was a small woman, but she could certainly hold her own when it came to household tasks. Housemaids did twice the work of normal people in an hour, she would say. Yet even she had her limits, and as William grew, so did his responsibilities.
Anna was discreet; she never asked her son for direct help if Bates was in the room. She'd told Willaim when he was still very young that his father couldn't stand pity, and William himself had seen the way Bates could snap at people for offering assistance. He never made the mistake of asking if his help was needed, and Bates never asked for it. If he needed something done that he himself couldn't do, it was casually left alone, until either William or Anna realized it. It was a mutual agreement, spurred by William's hatred of the pure helplessness that would sometimes appear in Bates' eyes when he attempted something he knew he couldn't do. He couldn't bear to think of someone feeling that way.
Bloody hell, he was one to talk.
He must've been mad, refusing the convalescent home. Genuinely, bloody mad. He'd arisen earlier than usual that morning; one of the hall boys had come pounding at the door before the sun was up, and suddenly his mother was rushing away to the abbey with his father following close behind. Johnny couldn't understand what Lady Mary could possibly need so urgently at quarter to seven in the morning.
He'd laid in bed for a bit; he was tired but unable to fall back asleep, but he dreaded getting up and facing the onslaught of pitying looks he was sure to receive from the people downstairs. He rose with a sigh, pushing aside the blankets and rubbing his good hand over his face while sitting on the edge of the bed as if a sudden jolt of energy would spur him into the day. It was when he'd began to get dressed that he realized what a true imbecile he was.
He would be sixteen in nearly two weeks, and he couldn't even dress himself.
His left hand hadn't lost all feeling, and it was slightly usable. But his entire arm was completely and utterly numb, and it was as though he had no muscle at all. It hung limply at his side, refusing to move no matter how hard he willed it. The bandage that snaked up to his shoulder needed to be changed too, but he threw that thought to the wayside as he wondered how on earth he was even supposed to get ready for the day.
The shirt wasn't too bad until he had to button it. That took some time, but it was nothing compared to his trousers. It took ages to get them up around his waist, and even longer to button them and cinch the belt just right. He couldn't reach completely around himself to fully tuck his shirt in. He managed his shoes all right but didn't even bother with trying to slip on his jacket. He could very well freeze before reaching the house, but he shrugged the thought away, settling for pulling his jacket over his shoulders and heading out the door.
He'd been lost in his thoughts, grumbling away to himself about how yes, perhaps he should've held off on sending that telegram and gone to the convalescent home so he could at least learn how to perform some basic tasks. He hoped Mrs. Patmore had something he could eat because he didn't dare risk trying anything with the stove.
He'd only just come through the stone doorway when his father suddenly stepped out into the courtyard from the kitchen corridor. He quickly shut the door behind him.
"Don't come any closer," he said urgently.
William stopped abruptly, taken aback by his father's tone. "What is it?"
The unease in Bates' eyes was clear. "Your mother thinks Miss Margaret has the fever. She doesn't want you in the house."
It took a few generous seconds before William found his voice. "Are you sure?"
His father shook his head. "No one's sure of anything yet, the doctor's not here. But I want you out of the house all the same."
"Dad, I was just with her yesterday. I've already been around her."
"What? When were you with her?"
"When Mama sent me to the village. I walked back with her. We were in the stables."
Bates rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Oh, son. . ."
"She looked fine yesterday," William insisted. "What's the matter with her?"
Bates sighed. "Nevermind that. Come inside. We might as well have Clarkson take a look at you too."
It took Sybbie over an hour to find Clarkson, driving away from a small neighborhood just south of the village. He'd agreed to come with her right away; Mary could make a fuss concerning her children, but it was worrying that she'd seen fit to send Sybbie to fetch him. That in itself was an indication something was genuinely wrong.
They'd returned to the house cold and damp from a light drizzle that fell steadily. The front hall was deserted, and Sybbie paid no mind as she got the door herself and led Clarkson up the stairs and down the hall to Margaret's room.
She herself had contracted the fever before she turned ten. Sybbie was incredibly pig-headed, however, and her body seemed to follow suit to her personality. It had been miserable, and her father had been incredibly worried, but it had passed after just a few days with little incident. She almost forgot she'd had it until moments it came up in discussion.
Maggie was much more sickly than her cousin, so Sybbie had expected the sight that greeted her to be bad. She did not expect it to be as bad as it was.
Maggie was absolutely out of her head, muttering incoherently as Mary bathed her face and Clarkson looked her over. She pushed weakly at the sheets and flinched at the touch of the cold cloth, and she gave little reaction to her mother and the doctor's words. He was not too concerned, he said. Scarlet fever was normally harsh, and Maggie didn't seem any worse off than the other healthy children he'd checked on that morning. Keep her cool and comfortable, and push fluids, he said. That was really all that was to be done.
Her aunt did not like that answer but had little energy left for arguing. She spent most of day with Margaret, even when Cora attempted to coax her out for luncheon with the rest of them. Sybbie felt awkward and spent what time there she could, but she was of little use and felt more like an obstacle than anything. She eventually took up residence in the front of the house, leaning against the stone as she rolled pieces of gravel between her fingers. It was cold but tolerable, and the air helped clear her head.
"You look enthralled," came George's voice, startling her. She glanced up as he approached, helmet and lunch clenched loosely in his hand. "Have you nothing better to do?" A chuckle. "A car would've been nice."
Sybbie grimaced as she stood, realizing that they'd completely forgotten poor George in all the commotion. "Oh, Georgie I'm so sorry. You didn't walk the whole way, did you?"
He smiled. "No, I caught a ride." He gave a half-hearted shrug. "I told Mama I wouldn't be long today but I suppose she's forgotten." His smile waned as he took in her expression. "What's the matter?"
She rolled a small pebble in her hands, uneasy. "Maggie's ill," she explained softly. "Clarkson says it's the fever."
". . .What?" he muttered, glancing at the house, then back at her. "She seemed all right yesterday." He moved for the doors, and she followed.
"I know," she replied, slipping through the front and waiting as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it by the door. They quickly made for the stairs. "Your mother found her this morning. See if you can coax her out of there, would you? She's been in there all day, she needs some air."
They reached Maggie's room quickly, and George knocked softly before calling, "Mama?"
"Georgie, come in darling," Mary's voice came through the door.
George entered the room quietly, meeting his mother's tired eyes before his gaze landed on Margaret.
Bloody hell, she looked terrible.
He looked to his mother again, and Mary mustered up a tired smile. "How was your day?" she asked.
Her son shrugged. "All right," he answered softly. He came forward, resting a hand on the footboard of the bed. "Can I do anything for you?"
Mary shook her head. "Clarkson says we just have to wait, that's all."
"Why don't you let Sybbie in here for a bit? Let her take over."
"No."
"Mama. . .It's almost dinner. You can go, get some rest afterwards and come relieve her later tonight if you really want to. I'll stay too, it doesn't have to be just her." His tone softened. "You know we don't mind."
Mary sighed, rising a bit reluctantly and running a hand through Maggie's hair. She didn't stir. "You're to inform me if there's any change," she said sternly.
George nodded. "You know I will."
She came around the side of the bed, planting a kiss on his cheek before heading out into the hallway. She and Sybbie exchanged thanks before the latter entered and leaned against the doorway, arms folded across her chest.
"I've just got to change," George told her, slipping by. "And then I'll be back."
"Go ahead. I'm not going anywhere."
"Am I dying?"
Sybbie's head snapped up from her book, only to find Margaret blearily peering at her from the bed. She quickly set the book aside, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the edge. "You're not dying," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Are you sure?" Maggie seemed thankfully more lucid than she had the last few hours, and Sybbie palmed her forehead. The fever didn't feel any lower.
"I promise," she answered, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and dampen the rag again. She pressed it to her forehead, and Maggie flinched. Sybbie frowned. "What can I get you?"
"An early grave."
Sybbie sputtered, trying to keep from laughing. "Maggie, stop it," she scolded, chuckling. They fell into a comfortable silence before she continued. "George should be back soon. He's in the servants' hall. God forbid he go half an hour without eating something."
"Typical man."
Sybbie chuckled, her smiling dissipating as she felt Maggie begin to shiver hard. She pulled the blankets up a little higher.
"You don't need to sit here all night with me," Maggie rasped, coughing hoarsely.
"Maybe I want to."
"But you don't need to."
Sybbie shrugged. "Humour me, hmm?"
Maggie didn't argue, instead swallowing hard and taking a wheezing breath before turning over and trying to sleep.
Sybbie frowned, straining to hear. "Maggie, can you breathe all right?"
Her cousin didn't open her eyes, only shrugging and offering a quiet, "Sort of."
Sybbie stood. "Let's sit you up then."
Maggie groaned. "Syb, I don't want to move."
"Then you can stay there, and I'll do most of the work, eh?" She hurried to rearrange the bed, propping Maggie up comfortably on the pillows behind her. "Is that any better?"
Maggie took a shallow breath, shaking her head. "No."
More than a bit uneasy, Sybbie moved to pull the bell rope just as the door opened quietly and George strolled in. She stopped him before he could even enter the room. "Go get your mother, would you? Now."
AN: Wow. . .so it's been about two and a half years, guys. I'm so sorry. I actually had most of this chapter written a while back, but I've had pretty bad writer's block concerning this story, and it took a while for me to finish.
I started this story when I was pretty young, and it shows. I'm in my twenties now, and my writing has improved a great deal since then. I have a lot of other story ideas that I'm working on, but I'd seriously like to rewrite this story, just so that the earlier chapters are of the same quality as my last few. I wouldn't delete it, just update the newer, revised editions as I go, since I wouldn't want to lose any of the incredibly supportive reviews I've received for this in the past. This was my first big story, and I still have a lot of plans for it, but I want it to be consistent. Would you guys be interested in a rewrite? Let me know!
I've already got the next few chapters planned. I had originally intended for this story to focus on everyone in the house; the entire family and all the servants. Now that I'm looking at my priorities and my plans for future chapters, this likely won't be the case. I like focusing on the children (although now this story is not consistent with the movie), and I think focusing on the entire house as a whole did not help the quality of previous chapters. This will be the plan moving forward. The adults will all still make appearances when seen fit, of course, and many will have their own plots as well. It just won't be purely ensemble as I'd originally intended.
I'm very grateful for everyone who's stuck with this, and the people who've encouraged me to continue even during this hiatus. You have my heart.
God bless and much love