It was coming up on Tally's first year at Downton. She still wasn't used to some of the servants being mean to her, mainly Thomas. Today she was hiding from Miss Patmore after she had yelled at her, finding solace in the library. She had found a book and started reading. When she heard voices, she hid her small frame, further behind the depths of furniture.

Lord Grantham, and a middle aged woman with amber hair had entered. He called her Rosamund, that had to be the aunt. Rosamund complained how drab the room was, that it should be remodeled, for the soldiers, starting with the wood paneling. Tally didn't notice Mr. Matthew coming in with them until he spoke.

"That's how it's supposed to be." Mr. Matthew commented. "It's a man's sanctuary and a good place to hide and loose yourself in." His gaze went to the corner she was in. He was looking directly at her. He'd seen her. He was going to them. Now I'm done in. But then he gave her a smile, like this was their secret, she smiled back.

Then her face flushed. She knew she was acting like a child. Because she was. She had lied about her age. She wasn't sixteen when she started. She had been fourteen. The requirement age to work at Downton was sixteen, but she had really needed the work.

"The soldiers don't come up here. This is our own private library." Robert said, as the two retreated. Matthew stayed behind.

"You can come on out now." He said to her.

She stood up from her hiding place, brushing herself off. She wasn't afraid of him, realizing that she didn't need to be.

"What's that you got there?" He eyed the book that was almost slipping out of her apron.

"I don't want Thomas or O'Brien to think I was snitching, I was going to put it back."

"You like to read?"

She was so glad that he didn't ask her if she could, not judging her. She was lucky enough that he was even talking to her. "My mam taught me." She said with excitement, then she thought about the memories of her. They still made her sad, "before she died. Then I had to go the grubber."

"The workhouses?" He had heard nightmarish tales about those places from his mother who used to visit them. That was just the conditions. No one ever talked about what went on behind the closed doors. Just like they wouldn't talk about the war. He went silent for a moment. He wouldn't ask her about it, "Tell you what, I have a better one for you."

He didn't hand her a book of fairy tales like she expected. Often she was treated like a child because of her small frame and girlish looks and soft spoken voice. (She hadn't always been. Years of the experiences under the cruel master and workers, children her own age, not just the adults, had stayed with her. More real to her than the memories of her mother.) She looked younger for her age, she could pass for thirteen, fourteen at the most. Never had she been treated like an equal. She'd come to see him as a father figure, she never had one of those, that she could remember, and a close friend.

She'd bring trays up to him, when Ethel wasn't. Ethel was a force to be reckoned with, she got Mr. Matthew to do his exercises, even though he thought it pointless. The nurse that they had hired, Nurse Crane, could only stay for a month. She had confidence in Ethel that she could get him to do them, you're much prettier than me, lass. And she had showed Lady Mary to do them as well. Tally would clean the room or start the fire for him while they did them.

He looked so maudlin after Lady Mary had been to see him. Tally thought he'd be happy. Most days he seemed more please to see her. They, most of the downstairs, were not pleased to have Ethel spend much time with Mr. Matthew, that she was 'ruined' and they were not aloud to talk to her. Lady Grantham had allowed her to stay, after Mrs. Isobel requested her help, and had put the downstairs in order, that it was her house. That had been when Ethel had been pregnant. It had been no secret. But she had lost the child just a few weeks past, December of 1917. Mr. Matthew had only been home for six months. Maybe helping Mr. Matthew, attending to him as his sick maid, was helping her.

December, Christmas Eve, 1917

He heard her telling stories, to the servants. Ghost stories and Irish folklore, about the solstice and how the veil between the living and the dead became thinner. He asked her about it.

"My family told them for generations, sir. They're just that, stories."

"I hope so. I wouldn't want to know what they think of me."

His fallen soldier friends. "I think they'd say you were mighty brave, sir. Just as they all were."

He gave a sideways smile, half doubting.

Later that night he was sitting up in his chair before bedtime. He hadn't come down for the festivities with the rest of the house. Bates would soon come up and help him get him ready for bed. It was Tally's turn to stoke the fire before he turned in, Daisy and her would often take turns.

She could tell he had fallen asleep. She didn't want to wake him just yet, so she turned to the fire, grabbing the poker. It made a noise when she withdrew it from the holder, which fell down with a clatter.

He was startled awake by the sound.

"Sorry, Mr. Crawley. I didn't mean to startle you. Mr. Bates should be up in a moment." She got up to go over to him.

By the light of the fire, she saw that his eyes were open. They had a glazed over look to them, almost glassy. She was alarmed at first before she realized what was happening, when he suddenly shouted,

"No! I couldn't save you!" His eyes were now staring straight at Tally but it wasn't really her he was seeing. He wasn't fully awake yet, still caught in a dream. She could only wait till he came out of it. Maybe if she spoke to him. This was her fault after all, talking about dead spirits.

Then slowly he began to stir, the upper part of his body that he could move. She didn't feel sad or sorry for him, she felt angry, that many great men like him would bear the price of their sacrifice for the rest of their lives. His slight movement didn't mean he was fully awake yet. She had to try.

"You had a night terror. I get those sometimes too." She had for years. Her only friend at the workhouse who would comfort her when she had hers was dead. They hadn't been allowed to make friends, as disease and illness ran rampant. Jaime had fallen ill, partially because they worked him to death, she thought. He had always been frail. She remembered crawling in his bed one night, both of them curled up from the cold. Then one morning she had opened her eyes to see his lifeless ones staring back at her. She would never forget it. That was five years ago. More clear than the memory of her mother though she remembers that the same illness had taken her.

She wanted to do the same thing for him but it would be inappropriate, even taking his hand in hers. She just stood where she was, waiting for him to come around.

He finally did, after a few seconds. He just sat, silently, his breathing starting to ease. He just stared at her, till he could find his voice. "What...?" He looked dreadfully confused.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Bates voice, announcing himself.

Tally had told Daniel about Mr. Matthew's nightmare. It wasn't just that, that worried him, it was how she described it. He told her she needed to be careful who she told these things to.

"I won't tell anyone else about it. I can only trust you. I'm not sure I can even trust Anna about it."

"My dad used to have them." Daniel said to her. It wasn't what he told just anyone. It was strange that this young girl had that type of hold one him.

"I had them to. Not knowing where I were, thinking he's still chasing me."

"Who was chasing you?"

"No one."

Daniel shrugged it off. It wasn't his place to ask. Thomas Barrow hadn't made his life at Downton any simpler either. He felt he had to compete. Auntie had to step in a few times. He hadn't seen her in years not since dad died. He debated about weather or not about telling her about Mr. Crawley's nightmares. He didn't know if he could trust her. But his father had been her brother. By the sounds of it, his father had been way worse perhaps he could manage on his own. He had stood up for him, along with Lord Grantham when those ladies had been handing out feathers. Now he would never stand. Many men lost their lives, damaged them. He'd seen what it had done to the father in the Boers. He'd rather be a conscientious but now with Mr. Crawley's injury, it made him feel guilty. Did the chauffeur feel the same? Branson talked about his thoughts about it. He shared his reason.

"I have a heart murmur. Still even if I wanted to...it's all rather pointless, let alone fighting another countries war. What about you?"

Daniel was hesitant to answer. "I saw what it did to many great men." Branson nodded and Daniel left it at that.