September 1, 1914
John Bates opened the door to the servant's entrance at Downton Abbey with his cane and suitcase in one hand. He breathed in deeply the smell of home here that he had missed. Downton Abbey was home. It was where he had found new meaning to his life through an employer he respected and admired and where he had found love in a head maid who had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. The three weeks he had been away had been important, but he had certainly missed this place. He had missed his home.
"Ah, welcome back, Mr. Bates," Carson greeted.
Bates smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. I am very glad to be back. I trust you received my letter?"
"I did," he answered with a nod. "Thank you for the forewarning. I informed His Lordship that you would be returning to us within a few days. He shall be pleased to have you back."
"I hope my absence was not too much of a burden on you, sir," Bates noted.
"No, we haven't done much entertaining other than the family since you've been away, and Thomas only left about ten days ago. We are down a footman, but William has been serving very well."
"I am glad," Bates answered sincerely.
"Pardon me, Mr. Carson," came a woman's voice. Carson moved aside to reveal a woman in a black dress with dark hair pinned back. She kept her head down.
"Miss Baxter, you remember Mr. Bates, His Lordship's valet?"
It took Bates a moment to remember that he had met this woman before, when she had first been hired. "Miss Baxter and I met just as I was packing to leave. I'm glad to see you again, Miss Baxter. I trust Her Ladyship is treating you well?"
Baxter nodded, somewhat nervously. "Very well, Mr. Bates. The Lord and Lady will both be glad to have you back. If you'll excuse me, I have to alter a dress for Her Ladyship." Baxter put her head back down and hurried off to the laundry.
Bates and Carson exchanged a meaningful look. "Come into my pantry before you put your things away," Carson said.
The two men went into Carson's private office, and the butler shut the door behind them. He offered Bates a chair, which the cripple gratefully accepted. Carson sat down at his desk.
"Your letter was not very descriptive when giving your return date. Was your time away successful?" Carson asked.
Bates nodded. "I know it may displease your sensibilities, Mr. Carson, but Downton Abbey now employs a newly-divorced valet."
Carson scoffed, "It does displease my sensibilities, Mr. Bates, but thrice I have voiced my concerns to His Lordship and thrice he has assured me that you are the man he wants as his valet. So here we are."
It took a moment to recall the three times Carson would have told Lord Grantham that Bates wasn't suited, but he was rather certain he knew. First, when they all found out about his limp and inability to fetch and carry. Second, when his criminal past had been exposed. And now third, when the truth of his wife had come out.
"As I said," Carson added, "His Lordship will be very pleased to have you back."
"How have things been here? Is Miss Baxter caring for Her Ladyship? Anything further with her health?" Bates inquired.
"Lady Grantham has been quite well since recovering from her seizure, though Doctor Clarkson still comes every week to check on her. She tires more easily than she used to. But Miss Baxter is exemplary. Her Ladyship is very pleased with her."
"I am glad. She seems much nicer than Miss O'Brien ever was."
Carson hummed in agreement. "I am wary, still."
"Because she was recommended by Thomas?"
Another hum from Carson.
"But Thomas has left. Surely his influence is gone as well?"
"So far, yes. But we are entering wartime, and things are uncertain," Carson said wisely.
Bates could not help but agree.
September 13, 1914
Robert Crawley looked around the dinner table at his family. Though war was steadily increasing around the world, it had not touched their home yet. Not much, anyway. He had Mama on one side and his darling Mary on the other. Isobel and Matthew were also over tonight. Edith was without her Anthony, but he wrote her letters from London nearly every day.
He gazed across the table to his beloved Cora and smiled when their eyes met. She smiled back. Oh she was so lovely. Had been since the day he met her, and as the years passed, she seemed to only grow softer and prettier and more graceful and elegant in all she did. And according to Doctor Clarkson, she was now about six months pregnant. It was a miracle, to be sure. His miraculous wife and their blessing of a new baby to arrive sometime around Christmas. Robert could hardly wait.
"Papa," Mary began in a low tone.
Robert tore his eyes away from his wife and looked to his eldest daughter. "Hmm?"
She spoke quietly, for his ears only. "Matthew is going to speak with you after we go through, and I want you to agree to what he asks."
He frowned. "What's he going to ask?"
Mary rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine. "Don't let on that I already told you when he brings it up."
"I promise," Robert answered. "Now please don't keep me in suspense."
"We want to be married before the baby comes. The war is only going to get worse. Matthew wants to enlist. But he doesn't want to do anything until we're married, until we're settled. We can have a honeymoon after the war ends, I don't mind. We can be married here and Matthew shall move in here so we're all on hand when the baby arrives, and we can all be together for Christmas," she told him.
Robert's heart dropped to his stomach. The prospect of Mary and Matthew getting married was not upsetting in the least. The prospect of them being married and living together here at Downton Abbey was a blessing. And having all that before the baby came was…well, it would be good, as Mary said, but it was also going to put more strain on Cora, which needed to be avoided at all costs. But Matthew was going to enlist. And of course he should, and Robert himself would need to write to the war office and find a position for himself, but having his newlywed daughter kiss her husband goodbye was not a pleasant thought.
"You'll allow it, won't you?" Mary implored softly.
"Of course," Robert answered without hesitation. "I think that all sounds very fine."
October 9, 1914
Sybil Crawly sat in the backseat of the car with Branson sitting in the front. They had just left Thirsk, where Sybil had a meeting with one of her charities, but Sybil had instructed Branson to stop the car.
"I read today that all German-owned businesses in England have been forcibly closed," she said.
Branson nodded, though he remained facing forward. He always did. "It's been happening for weeks. I'm sure the papers are proud to report that the deed is done.
"I think it's awful," Sybil lamented.
"Why?" Branson asked.
"Because being from a country has nothing to do with national loyalties. My mother is an American, but she's lived in England for nearly a quarter of a century. If America and Britain went to war again, she would hardly abandon her family and fight for the enemy. People who run businesses here are hardly likely to have allegiance to the Kaiser."
Branson glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Sybil's eye with a smirk on his face. "I live and work here, but I'm loyal to Ireland."
"That's different. Ireland is part of the United Kingdom," Sybil pointed out.
"Not to Ireland it isn't. You read about the Home Rule bill the House of Commons just passed?" he challenged.
Sybil frowned. "Yes, I think I saw something a few weeks ago."
"It was defeated in the House of Lords. It'll never pass. The British bourgeoisie don't want to allow the Irish their own rule. They want to keep us subjugated. And now with this war, who do you think they'll conscript first?" Branson said heatedly.
That wasn't something Sybil had even considered. "Well, perhaps the home rule issue isn't a priority during war. And if there even is a conscription, which there's never been before, it will apply to everyone equally."
Branson gave a scoffing chuckle. "That's a very naïve view."
"Maybe. But your view is terribly pessimistic. And not only that, it's…it's self-victimization! Terrible things are happening in the world, and it is not all focused on your country."
"So you admit my country is different from yours," he said with a smirk.
Sybil realized she'd been caught and huffed in frustration. "You may take me home now, Branson."
"Yes, My Lady." Branson started the car engine and got back on the main road. Sybil watched him from the mirror. He periodically glanced back at her, meeting her eyes each time. She didn't look away.
October 28, 1914
Cora Crawley took her time going upstairs. She had no choice in the matter, actually. She was heavily pregnant now. And her age was certainly getting to her. All day and all night and no matter what she did, Cora was just tired. Everything hurt and everything felt terrible and she didn't want to eat and she couldn't sleep and she was miserable. She was tired.
"May I provide some assistance, Your Ladyship?" Carson offered in his deep, booming voice behind her.
At that precise moment, Cora had paused to catch her breath and clung to the banister of the staircase with both hands. She turned to look behind her to the butler. "I think that would be best," she said resignedly.
Carson appeared at her side and offered his arm. Cora took it with one hand and kept the other on the banister. "In your own time, My Lady," Carson said gently.
It was rather strange for him to be so gentle, as the Downton butler was often quite stuffy and proper and had very little patience for anything requiring a gentle touch. That was what Mrs. Hughes was for. But Cora did know better. She had seen—though she would never admit it to him that she had—the way he had been with the children when they were little. He was still so good with Mary, though she was now grown. Cora knew that Carson was a very sweet man underneath all that bluster. She also knew that he cared for the Crawley family with everything in him.
"Steady," he warned when she tried to take a step too fast and wobbled.
Cora sighed. "Not like it was with my earlier pregnancies, is it?" she mused.
"We're all older, My Lady," he answered kindly. "I will confess, though, that I have fond memories of that time, with little ones in the house. We're all very happy for you downstairs and looking forward to meeting the new baby."
"That is so sweet," Cora replied. "It's been a strange thing to think about, having another baby in the house again. It's been so long. I had put all that behind me years ago. I think I expected grandchildren sometime soon. I was about Lady Mary's age when I had her, after all. And now she and Mr. Crawley will be married soon, and Lady Edith and Sir Anthony are engaged. I imagine grandchildren are just around the corner, and all while I'm raising another child again."
"If you'll permit me to be so bold, My Lady, you have always been a wonderful mother, and I have no doubt that you shall rise to this unexpected challenge with grace, as you do with all things."
Cora felt her eyes start to sting. "Oh Carson, what a lovely thing to say," she said, her voice catching as she began to cry.
"Oh I…" he stammered awkwardly.
"I'm terribly sorry," Cora said, pausing just before the landing so she could wipe her eyes. "I seem to cry at the drop of a hat nowadays. I wasn't like this with the girls. Nothing with this pregnancy is what it was before."
"There you are, My Lady. Oh, Mr. Carson, what have you done!?" Baxter gasped when she found Cora and Carson in that strange tableau.
"Carson was helping me up the stairs and then said some very nice things to me," Cora explained.
Baxter nodded. "I see."
And she probably understood perfectly. She had been witness to everything these last months with Cora bursting into tears at everything from Mary talking about her wedding to Sybil offering to do something kind to Robert being attentive to her. Baxter carried an extra handkerchief with her now, just in case Cora needed it.
"Doctor Clarkson just called, he's on his way," Baxter continued. "I wanted to be sure you were ready for him, My Lady." She reached out her hands to assist Carson in getting Cora up the last few steps.
"Thank you, Baxter. I'm alright now. I've not had this much trouble with the stairs before today," Cora thought aloud.
Baxter frowned with concern. "How many times have you gone up and back?"
Cora recalled her day. "After breakfast, I came down, and Robert and I had a short walk with Pharaoh. I went back up to get my book from beside my bed and came back down to read in the library while Robert worked on the books. I went back upstairs when Sybil wanted to go through her frocks with Anna. And then I came down for luncheon and I'm going up now to lie down."
"Doctor Clarkson said last week that you shouldn't be on the stairs more than twice each day," Baxter reminded her.
"I'd forgotten," Cora said, frowning. And she had. She'd not thought a thing of it when she'd gone up and down and up and down all morning. Another annoying aspect of this pregnancy, things just slipping her mind. "I'll be glad when this baby arrives," she grumbled to herself.
"Doorbell, Mr. Carson," William called from the foot of the stairs.
"I'll take Her Ladyship," Baxter offered.
Carson went to let the doctor in, and Cora went with Baxter to the bedroom. She assisted getting Cora undressed sufficiently so Doctor Clarkson could do his examination. She got onto the top of the bed in her nightgown and exhaled in relief as soon as her head touched the pillows.
"Shall I let the doctor know you're ready?"
"Thank you, Baxter," Cora answered, not bothering to open her eyes.
She placed her hands on her enormous belly, rubbing absentmindedly. And then a flutter. Cora grinned.
"Good afternoon, Lady Grantham."
"Hello, Doctor. The baby's kicking," she informed him.
Doctor Clarkson came right over. "Is it?" There was a smile in his voice. Cora took his hand and placed it where hers was to feel the tapping of tiny feet. "My, that's a strong little one you've got in there. That's a wonderful sign, Lady Grantham."
"I'm so glad."
This pregnancy was difficult. It had been for months, now. But oh, it was worth every aching muscle and sleepless night and weepy afternoon for this baby to be healthy and safe.