August 9, 1914

Sybil Crawley wandered the house feeling terribly low. She had been for days. Her mind felt heavy, and she could hardly begin to sort through it all. Sitting still doing embroidery or reading a book just felt impossible. She would have gone out on the grounds for a walk but it was terribly hot this afternoon, and the heat would only make her feel worse. And so she was left to wander the halls of the house.

She made her way into one of the drawing rooms where she found Mama on a settee with her shoes off and her legs curled beneath her as she worked on her needlepoint.

"I think you've been working on that since I was born," she quipped.

Mama looked up and smiled. "It isn't nice to tease your mother. I have been working on it a long time, it's true, but certainly not your whole life. Besides, that's the purpose of this one."

Sybil came over to sit beside her mother. "What do you mean?"

"Oh the pattern is terribly complicated and difficult, so I leave it for when I just need something to do with my hands. I don't know if I'll ever finish it, and I don't think I care to. I just like knowing it's always there if I want it," she explained.

In response, Sybil gave a hum of understanding.

Mama put her project aside. "What's the matter, darling? You've been quiet for days now."

"I suppose I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm at a bit of a loss, really. We've had so much going on and I've had things to focus on. Preparing for the London season and then being in London with all the parties and things. And all the while, I've been helping Gwen get a secretarial job. And now she's got one and she's leaving next week, and I don't really have a purpose anymore. And with the war, I don't know what we're supposed to do."

"My darling girl," Mama said, reaching out to take Sybil's hand comfortingly. "With the season over and no Duneagle this year, I can sympathize that there's nothing much for you to do just now. But your charities will have things for you, and you can always find another project for yourself. Your Papa doesn't approve of your interest in politics, but I don't see any reason why you shouldn't be reading the newspapers and informing yourself about current events. After all, with the war, there's more going on than ever. And as for the war, I know you were too small to remember what it was like the last time we were at war and Papa had to go away, but it is our duty to remain home and be the strength and comfort of the community. We will celebrate the successes and we will mourn the inevitable losses, and we will do all we can to ensure that the people living here are living good lives. And besides all of that, I certainly need you."

Sybil was amused to hear her mother say those words. "Why do you need me?"

"Well, I know we'll have a nanny when the baby comes, but I know I'll need help managing it. And Edith is engaged and Mary…well, we'll see about Mary. But your sisters aren't really the helpful types most of the time."

The mention of Mary's predicament made Sybil pause. She had been the one to encourage Mary to tell Matthew the truth, and Mary had told her that Matthew hadn't spoken two words to her since, and they didn't know where they stood. Mama was right, unfortunately. They would just have to see about Mary. But while Mary was distracted with all that and Edith was distracted by her new engagement to Sir Anthony Strallen, it did leave Sybil as the only one who would pay any attention to Mama. "I'll help," Sybil promised.

"Are you unhappy about being an older sister?" Mama asked, suddenly quite serious. The gentle smile of comfort on her face evaporated.

Sybil hesitated. "I think I was when we first learned you were expecting. I don't know that I'll be a very good older sister to anyone. It's not as though I know at all what to do with a baby boy, and I'm hardly a role model for a baby girl."

"Why would you say that?" Mama's tone was almost hurt at Sybil's words.

"Mama, you can't want another daughter to turn out headstrong like me. For one thing, I don't think Papa would survive it."

She chuckled at that. "No, maybe he wouldn't. But I could not be more proud of the remarkable young woman you are, Sybil. And if I had another daughter just like you, my pride would double."

"Political opinions and all?"

"Of course. But don't tell your Papa that," she added conspiratorially.

Sybil laughed and kissed her mother's cheek. She pulled back, looking at Mama and seeing the changes for the first time. "What's it like to be pregnant?" she asked.

Mama considered for a moment. "Most of it is wonderful. For me, at least. To have a life grow inside you like this is indescribable. One day you'll understand, I know, but I can't really put it into words. But it's also quite hard work. More, now that I'm older. I'm always tired and I feel vaguely ill on occasion. I didn't get sick with you or your sisters, but I've not been so lucky this time. And then as the baby grows, it gets harder to carry the extra weight and everything hurts. My feet have already started to swell, particularly in this heat, which is why I took off my shoes. Granny won't be coming by today, so I think I can get away with it."

"Did you try to take your shoes off and get scolded by Granny?" Sybil inquired with a peel of laughter.

"I tried a lot of things when I was pregnant with you girls. I was just so happy all the time and nothing bothered me, not even proper behavior. I walked around the house without stockings one time. And once, I even wandered into the library in my dressing gown. I think I nearly gave your Grandfather a heart attack. Granny scolded me, but thankfully your Papa came to my rescue," she laughed.

"Did he?"

Mama smiled at the memory. "He steered me right out of the library and brought me back up to my room and had me lay down on the bed and rubbed my feet and my enormous belly, and I felt much better. I was just too uncomfortable to get dressed and I didn't want to stay in my room by myself, so he comforted me and kept me company."

"My, that's terribly sweet of him."

"He does have his moments. That was when I was pregnant with you, actually. He was much more used to me by then. I think the first pregnancy was overwhelming for us all, what with everything being so new. And then the second came so soon after that it was just a whirlwind. By the time you came along, we were much better settled," she explained. "But he's always been very considerate of me whenever I was with child. He's a good man, your Papa."

Sybil smiled at that. "Bit stuffy sometimes, but I know he loves us all very much."

"He does," Mama assured her.

"Mama, if your feet hurt, would you like me to rub them for you?" Sybil offered.

"No, darling, but thank you. I'm very comfortable just like this. Why don't you tell me about the goings on in the world? What ought I know about?"

And very happy, Sybil spoke about what she knew of the newspaper report of the Defence of the Realm Act just passed by Parliament yesterday.

Phyllis Baxter got out of the carriage and stared up. Even from the back servant's entrance, Downton Abbey was terribly grand. Much grander than any place Baxter had ever worked in before.

She'd heard of Downton Abbey, of course, growing up in Yorkshire. There were quite a few grand houses like this one in the county, so everyone knew about them by name. And then later on, Thomas Barrow had gotten a job as a footman here. When her mother was alive, she would write Phyllis about what Thomas had been getting up to, as told to her by the elder Mr. Barrow. And when Thomas—who knew all about her past, of course—had written to tell her about a lady's maid position here, she was surprised and suspicious in equal measure. Thomas Barrow had always been a bit odd. A bit cold. Always trying to get ahead and not caring much for those around him. Though she supposed she understood why, him being the way he was.

His kindness in putting forward her name for the position was out of character, but surely it came with conditions. Tricks, perhaps. Baxter would have to be on her guard.

But oh! She wanted so very much to return to service in a fine house. It had always been work that suited her better than any other. She liked sewing, and she was quite good at it, but it was different, working in a shop. She missed the close bond that she formed with other servants in a household as well as with the lady she served. There were plenty of good things to be said for having a skill, but being needed was different. Better, to her mind. Service was not a position that fit everyone, but it fit Phyllis Baxter, and she was so hopeful she could find a home here at Downton Abbey, serving the Crawley family.

"Oh, hello," came a nervous voice.

Phillis was greeted by a young kitchen maid, her dark hair pulled back and her pale skin a bit flush from hard work. Her eyes were dark and wide with apprehension. Hoping to be friendly, Phyllis smiled and said, "Hello, I have an appointment with Mrs. Hughes. I'm Miss Baxter."

The maid nodded. "You can come this way."

Baxter followed down the stairs to the servants' hall. Every house had one, and they were all different, but they all felt the same. Downstairs in any grand house always felt the same. Separate from the upstairs domain, and warm and busy and full of devoted, exhausted people. It was a place that felt more like home to Phyllis than any she'd known in a long time.

She was led through a corridor to a door where the kitchen maid knocked and called, "Mrs. Hughes, there's a Miss Baxter here for you."

The door opened and a shorter woman perhaps about a decade older than Phyllis appeared. "Thank you, Daisy," she said in a Scottish brogue to the kitchen maid. "Miss Baxter, please come in and sit down. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I'm alright," Baxter answered politely.

The two women sat at chairs across from one another. "Right, well, I'm not sure how much Thomas has told you about what the position requires," Mrs. Hughes began.

"Only that the Countess of Grantham's last lady's maid quite rather suddenly and she's in need of someone. I've been a lady's maid for a long time, though I know you've seen my references and know it's been about four years since I was last in service. But I do have all the requisite training," Baxter assured her.

"I believe all of that. And what Thomas told you is true. Our head maid, Anna, and I have been seeing to Lady Grantham for the last two weeks. But I must ask you what might be an odd question," Mrs. Hughes said cryptically.

"Oh?"

"Do you have any experience with babies?"

Baxter blinked in surprise, entirely unprepared for such a question. She hardly knew what to say.

John Bates turned to get His Lordship's cufflinks, his mind wandering with the weight of his worries.

"You're awfully quite tonight, Bates," Lord Grantham noted. "Everything alright?"

"Everything is just fine, My Lord," Bates answered. "Though I have been searching for a way to make a request that I've not found a way to put pleasantly."

"I suppose you ought to come out with it plainly," the Earl said in that strangely genial matter-of-fact tone of his.

Bates finished the task with the cufflinks and reached for the dinner jacket. "I know that Anna has told you what she learned about my conviction from my mother when she was in London," he began.

"Yes…"

"I hope you will pardon my plainness when I say that my wife is a wicked woman and has been for many, many years. I had problems with drink, which no longer plague me now that I have nothing to do with her. And I went to prison after confessing to a crime I did not commit in order to cover up a crime that she committed due to my neglect and nastiness when I drank. I say all of this, My Lord, to provide context for the request I now feel I must make."

Lord Grantham gave an understanding nod for Bates to continue.

"I would like to ask for some time off so that I can seek out my wife and finally divorce her. I wish to cleave myself and my life from her fully," Bates finally said.

"You have grounds for divorce?"

It was an entirely reasonable question and one that Bates was not entirely comfortable answering. "I believe I have the means of sufficient persuasion for Vera to make the petition against me."

Lord Grantham's eyes went wide. "Are you intending to bribe your wife into petitioning against you for divorce?"

"I am, My Lord," Bates answered calmly. His voice and demeanor were calm, but his heart raced in his chest. Lord Grantham was a good, fair, kind man, but he was also a terribly tradition-bound man who devoted himself to convention, oftentimes to a fault.

The Earl sighed, perhaps in disappointment. "I cannot say I understand your predicament, Bates, but I can sympathize with your plight. I'll not bother you for details, but I trust you in this and all things."

It was a high compliment, one that Bates never anticipated being spoken aloud. "I'm honored by that trust, My Lord, and I hope to continue to be worthy of it."

Lord Grantham turned to Bates and said quite plainly, "You saved my life in battle, and you saved the life of my wife and unborn child. You have proved yourself again and again to be worthy of my trust, Bates. You are a convicted criminal and a cripple and soon, it seems, you are to become a divorced man committing some kind of fraud on the courts. All men have their faults, and yours are products of your circumstances. I can hardly blame you for that. I shall grant your request for leave to do whatever is necessary. When would you be going?"

"This week, if possible, Your Lordship. With the war, I want to ensure this is all done before things are too disrupted."

"Quite right," Lord Grantham agreed. "You'll inform Carson that Thomas will see to me after your departure until he leaves for the medical corps, and Carson shall see to me thereafter until your return."

Bates could not believe his luck and the true honor that Lord Grantham bestowed on him with that level of trust. "Thank you, My Lord," he said sincerely.

Isobel Crawley watched her son at the dinner table, silently and aggressively eating his meal. It had been days of this. Ever since he saw Mary at the garden party. It was one thing to have him be worried and listless waiting for her return and reply. This was something different altogether.

"Molesley, I'd like a moment alone, if you don't mind. We'll ring for you when we're finished," she said, addressing the butler.

"Of course, Mrs. Crawley," Molesley answered, leaving the room without another word.

Isobel turned her attention back to Matthew. "Out with it," she demanded.

"I don't know what you mean," he responded coldly.

"Yes you do. What's happened between you and Mary? She must not have refused you. You would have told me that. But it's been days and you've not seen or spoken to her or even about her."

Matthew hesitated, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Things are somewhat different than I knew."

"In what way?"

"I'm afraid it's not for me to say," he answered delicately.

"Then tell me this: is it something that causes you not to trust her?" Isobel challenged.

"I'm not sure."

Isobel was certain that was the truth and probably the root of the problem. But problems are not solved by merely seeing that they exist. "Oh come now, Matthew, you know but you don't want to say. Do you still trust her?"

"I do," he finally declared. "I know what it cost her to tell me the truth, and I can't hold that against her. But the truth itself…"

"You still love her, you still trust her, the rest is just details to be worked out. And that's what marriage is, Matthew. Details to work out along the way. Now, you must of course do what you think is right, but I cannot abide your sulking much longer. Perhaps your pride has been hurt, but isn't the promise of a lifetime with the woman you love enough to heal the wound?"

Matthew sighed. "I can't say you're wrong."

Isobel smiled. "Well, thank you, I'll accept that. And if you're finished eating, I'll ring for Molesley. I think Mrs. Bird did a wonderful job with the chicken, don't you?"

She stood up and pulled the bell for the butler—a task that still felt strange after so many years here—and moved their evening along in hopes of better sentiments all around.