DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

EPISODE 3. Chapter 1.

John and Anna

"I think it's time."

John and Anna were walking to the Abbey, Robbie alert and twisting in Anna's arms, taking in the trees and flowers and grass and sky around them. He kept distracting his mother. Anna didn't like missing one moment of his development. But John was talking about their future, a future where they might indeed have more time together, and she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"We've had this dream for a long time," he went on, "and...so many things have obliged us to put it on hold."

She wasn't going to disagree with him there. In fact, she wasn't going to disagree with him at all.

"Can we put the house for sale in its present condition?"

Her question caught him off guard. The speech he'd prepared was about persuading her to act. He thought he'd have to bring her around. "Um...yes," he said, scrambling to recover. "It is. I went over it when I was up in London with His Lordship the last time. I even...looked up an agent to handle the sale."

"Good."

"You want to do this then?"

It amused Anna that he thought she was going to put up a fight, so much so that he was reluctant to accept her agreement. "Of course I do," she said, turning an adoring gaze on him. "It's not been only your dream, John Bates."

"Sell the house, buy a hotel, leave Downton." He was frowning at her.

She laughed now at his carefulness. "Yes."

"And you won't mind leaving Lady Mary."

"Of course I will. As you'll mind leaving His Lordship. They've done a lot for us." She paused. "As we have for them. But we have our own lives to live, John. And we won't be leaving on Tuesday. They'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea."

"But I thought you'd..."

She was giving him a look and he shifted uncomfortably.

He smiled sheepishly. "I really thought you'd resist more," he admitted.

Anna sighed and, hoisting Robbie onto her other hip, slipped her now free arm through her husband's. "I've loved you since you fell flat on your face in the gravel in front of the Duke of Crowborough, and that was, oh, a hundred years ago, I think." They both laughed at her exaggeration. "And all I've ever wanted since then was to live with you in our own home and raise a family together."

"What about Lady Mary?"

"She'll understand," Anna said confidently. "As will His Lordship. Not that it matters, in practical terms. I want to part with them on good terms, but we don't need anyone's blessing, John."

The expression on his face was one of incredulity. "I'm amazed."

She was almost exasperated, although in a good-natured way. "I love you, John. You and Robbie."

He stopped abruptly and she stopped with him, and for a moment they simply stared, absorbing the love they saw in each other's eyes.

When they reached the Abbey, Anna headed up the stairs to the nursery on the gallery level where she would leave Robbie for the day. John went directly into the servants' hall.

"Mr. Bates."

He turned toward Daisy. She was holding out a small envelope to him.

"This came for you this morning," she said. "By hand."

He took it and opened it and stared at it, perplexed.

"Is it bad news?" Daisy asked. She was clearly concerned by the look on his face.

"I don't know what it is," he answered honestly.

Thomas and Baxter

Thomas swung open the green baize door and strode through it, almost colliding with Miss Baxter, who was coming down from the servants' quarters. They dodged each other, apologized, and then continued downstairs together.

"You've got a smile on your face," she observed. She didn't smile herself, but she was clearly pleased for him.

She had always been so supportive of him and he almost never deserved it. He'd gotten her the job at Downton that he might exploit her as an upstairs spy and then he'd almost gotten her fired again by telling tales about her. But she was forgiving. It was a legacy of their youth, when she had been friends with his older sister and shared, perhaps, a soft spot for the odd boy out that was his lot. She'd stood by him through more than one crisis at Downton, too, and he'd gradually surrendered his suspicions that she was like everyone else. They had become, in a manner of speaking, friends.

He was in a buoyant mood and he didn't mind telling her so. "I took some unwanted but not un-useful advice and had an interview with His Lordship earlier about the staffing requirements of Downton Abbey. I won't bore you with the details, but the upshot is that we are to have some additions to staff, including a new footman." He'd anticipated a struggle with His Lordship, but the man had listened seriously to his concerns, asked questions, and ... yielded. Thomas was elated.

"I'm pleased for you," Miss Baxter said warmly. "Well done."

It wasn't all sunshine though. "Even if I find someone in time for Mr. Talbot's dinner party next week, he won't be properly trained up," Thomas went on cautiously. "But there's mounds of silver to be polished and anyone can do that." He glanced at her and then paused. She was listening to him, but there was a distracted look about her.

"I wish I could say the same for you. That you had a smile on your face," he added.

But she only looked away, prompting him to try to cajole her into good humour by teasing her. "Have you not seen Mr. Molesley this week, then?"

Sometimes he wondered about Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley. It wasn't that he disliked Molesley so much as he despised him. He was so weak, so fragile. Even when he stood up to Thomas, as he had on occasion with regard to Miss Baxter, Thomas knew he could have flattened the man with one hand tied behind his back if he'd been inclined to do so. There was nothing striking or bold about him. He was all pastels. Thomas had never liked Mr. Carson either, but he could respect that man for his strength, intelligence, and self-confidence. You could rely on Mr. Carson. Molesley, on the other hand, looked to collapse if you glared at him.

But Thomas did like Miss Baxter and she liked Molesley, and Thomas had come to accept that. Whatever his shortcomings in general, Molesley had a positive effect on the lady's maid. And if that's what she really wanted then it wasn't Thomas's place to question it. He might have said that the quiet relationship between these two wallflowers was only evidence of that old adage that there was someone for everyone. But Thomas had yet to know the reality of that. His experience had been that there was no one for him.

He'd meant to be amusing, but Baxter's face crumpled at his words. "I've not seen or heard from Mr. Molesley in three weeks," she said fretfully.

Thomas's levity faded entirely and he stopped on the stair and turned to her. What she said surprised him, for Molesley, who had moved out of Downton at New Year's so as to take up teaching full time in the winter term, had found any number of pathetic and transparent excuses to visit Downton of an evening or a weekend for several months past. This had irritated Thomas even more than Molesley's presence had always done. It frustrated him to watch this dance between them unfold so excruciatingly slowly. Even the glacial romance between Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson had proceeded at a steadier pace.

"What's he up to, then?" he asked, his thoughts not yet focused.

"I don't know," she said, sounding wounded. "And it's the holidays."

So it was. Molesley really did have no excuse. "He's only over in the village," Thomas said. "Go see him."

But, of course, she wouldn't. No. Women didn't do that sort of thing. They might be called down for man-chasing. Rubbish, Thomas thought. He admired people who knew what they wanted and went out and got it. Like Lady Mary. She wouldn't have let some archaic convention of behaviour get in her way. He knew for a fact that she wouldn't. But Miss Baxter couldn't be like that.

So Thomas fell back on the usual bromides of comfort that never worked. "He'll be busy with something," he said soothingly. "Maybe his dad's ill. Or they've got some special summer project at the school. You know how conscientious he is. He wouldn't say no." This is what it had come to - he was praising Molesley to calm Miss Baxter.

She nodded, more of an acknowledgment of his effort than an acceptance of his rationalizations. Then she moved off, looking dejected.

Thomas stared after her, sympathetic but exasperated all the same. Do something about it! he wanted to bellow after her. Make something happen! But his words would have been wasted. Instead he strolled down the corridor to the butler's pantry, thinking. People like Miss Baxter and Molesley would never get anywhere if left to their own devices. He didn't want to be the one to provide the helping hand, but it seemed he was the only one who could, for of course he had an idea of what to do, reluctant though he was to do it. He didn't like asking anyone for help, but it grated on him in a special way to have to appeal to Joseph Molesley.

Robert, Cora, and Tom

Cora was at her writing desk when Robert came into her sitting room.

"Don't you usually have meetings on Wednesday mornings?" he asked.

"Usually," she said absently. She finished the sentence she was writing and then looked up at him with a smile. "But every once in a while, I get a reprieve."

"Then why," Robert asked, pulling up a chair and sitting close by her side, "are you not spending this lovely morning with me?"

She entwined her hand in the one he stretched out to her. "I thought you had estate things to do. Besides, I'm writing a letter to my mother. She's complained recently that she never hears from me, which is a bit of the pot calling the kettle black. But she is my mother."

"Hmm." Robert glanced out the window in the direction of the village. "I really ought to go visit Mama. She's not been coming to dinner lately."

"What have you been up to?"

Cora's query drew his attention back to her. "Homework," he announced. "I've been reading up a bit on foreign relations. The German question," he intoned.

Cora looked sceptical. "Robert, you're not going to embarrass Henry or his friends with pointed political questions."

"Of course not. They're just going to want to talk about cars anyway. Or champagne," he added doubtfully. "A champagne salesman," he said disdainfully, and then returned to her remark. "This is in preparation for the American ambassador."

"I should think he'd be coming here to get away from that kind of talk."

Robert shrugged. "Maybe. But politicians and diplomats are never free of their work. What I came in to tell you was that I've had a conversation with Barrow about the staff and I've authorized him to hire a second footman. And sometime soon we're going to have to address the question of support in the housekeeping department, what with Mrs. Carson going half time."

"We've been discussing that, Mrs. Carson and I," Cora said, and then frowned a little. "I didn't know you were thinking about a new footman."

"I wasn't," Robert admitted. "Barrow came to me this morning with a well-prepared argument and I couldn't see my way around it. I know we've been cutting back, but when we start lopping off limbs then we might as well give it all up and move to a smaller house."

Cora knew that this was not a possibility Robert would consider, for all his occasional wistful asides about retiring to the Riviera and leaving Downton to Mary.

"We've been operating on a reduced staff for a few months now and I'd thought, foolishly really, that Barrow was managing. He never said anything. But I got the sense this morning that he's been pressed to the limit, not that he said so explicitly. Carson would have been on me about it some time ago. He never hesitated to remind me of the requirements of maintaining standards."

"Barrow isn't as sure of his standing with you," Cora observed adroitly.

"So it seems. But Barrow's been here for so long, I just assumed he would be. We've never known him to hold back when it came to fighting his own corner."

"It's different now that he's the butler," Cora said. "And he's still finding his own way, even if he looks supremely confident all the time." She was sympathetic. She'd had her ups and downs with Barrow, but she believed in giving every employee the tools to do the best job they could.

"Well, I've learned that now," Robert said. "We'll have to talk more often, I suppose. Carson just knew everything."

"Carson," Cora reminded him, "was the butler here before you were the Earl of Grantham. He did know everything. And he was ... is... more than an employee to you."

A knock at the door interrupted them and they were both surprised when Tom came in.

Robert made a show of looking at his watch. "What are you doing here at this hour of the day?" he demanded, feigning shock. "Don't shops have regular hours?"

Tom shrugged good-naturedly. "They do. Fortunately I have a reliable partner." He approached them. "Barrow said I'd find you in here."

Cora and Robert exchanged glances. They had seen Tom at breakfast and he had said nothing of wanting to talk to them. Robert gestured to a chair and Tom drew one up.

"Is something the matter?" Cora asked, not entirely able to suppress her concern.

"No," Tom said brightly and a bit too heartily. There was no hiding the fact that he was not completely comfortable. "It's only I've been spending more time with Sybbie recently and ... it's got me thinking about...my future, our future. Going to Boston was not right for us. Opening a shop with Henry was. I know we'll make a go of it." He paused and his gaze shifted between them.

"The thing is," he went on, "I've made some decisions. And it's time for me to tell you about them."

Thomas and Molesley

Thomas went off to the village in mid-afternoon when there was a bit of a lull. He went to Molesley's cottage first - a cottage was one of the benefits that went with a teaching position at the school - but found no one at home. Undeterred, Thomas headed next to the residence of the elder Molesley, certain of finding his quarry there. He knew where Mr. Molesley lived, of course, because Downton was a village. Everyone knew everyone.

As he came abreast of the cottage row, he saw them - father and son - out front. They were constructing a rose trellis on the bit of wall beside the front door. Thomas was not interested in roses, although he understood William Molesley to be an accomplished cultivator of some of the most stunning specimens in Yorkshire. Nor was he particularly interested in the Molesleys, apart from his specific agenda. But he lingered a moment nonetheless, before they saw him, just watching them together.

They were a companionable pair, William Molesley and his son Joseph. Thomas had heard enough about this in the Downton servants' hall over the years. It was always "m'Dad this," and "m'Dad that," from Molesley. Mrs. Molesley had died when her son was a boy, leaving father and son to shift for themselves and they had grown even closer than they ever had been as a result. Joseph had not followed his father into outside work on the estates, but gone instead into domestic service, training to be a valet and butler, although misfortune had conspired to reduce him to lowly footman these past few years. But the father's support had been steadfast, always accepting and even indulgent of his son. Though they were hardly well-off, Molesley's dad had given him a set of Oxford Histories of the world for his birthday one year. It was hardly a practical gift, but it was appropriate and kind. The sort of thing a dad did.

That's a dad, Thomas mused, watching the two of them fitting the trellis together. They worked together easily. And the way they moved with and around each other suggested an affection that did not require words. How it differed from Thomas's relationship with his own dad! Oh, he'd learned some of the fundamentals of clock-making, and he'd been a good student of the trade, too. But there was never that camaraderie there, that sense of acceptance. Both knew that it was better all around when Thomas chose to enter service.

Thomas shook his head. Blimey! Was he jealous of Molesley now? That was a level of self-pity to which he would not allow himself to descend. Instead he strode boldly to their gate and called out to them in greeting.

They were both startled. Molesley senior nodded to him, an acknowledgment of Thomas's superior social status as the butler of Downton Abbey. The son was less deferential and a little reserved, though polite, because Molesley was always polite.

"Mr. Barrow!"

Thomas watched him keenly. Molesley was surprised, of course, but was there also a little current of unease there? They had been a little bit of an awkward triangle at Downton, Thomas, Molesley, and Miss Baxter. Molesley could at least imagine, although it was unlikely, that Thomas was here on her behalf.

The old man excused himself and went into the cottage, understanding that Downton's butler had come to speak to his son and giving them privacy to do so as a matter of course.

"How are you, Mr. Molesley?" Thomas asked. When necessary, he could be charming and pleasant, although he'd never seen the need to show this side of himself to Molesley before.

"Ah...I'm ... well, Mr. Barrow. How are ... things... with you?"

Thomas smiled. "Very well. Very busy, of course." He paused, both because keeping Molesley off guard suited his purposes and because he really was reluctant to ask favours of anyone. "I'm very sorry to trouble you," he began, "but you did offer, so many months ago, to assist at Downton, should the need arise, and I've come to ask if you would still consider it."

"Oh!" Molesley was taken aback, flustered but also possibly relieved. "Oh, well!"

"I understand you're on holidays at the moment," Thomas went on smoothly. "And, the thing is, we're expecting two parties at Downton in the next few weeks and I've got only one footman. Andy is a capable fellow, of course, but it's just not enough. And I can't have maids in the dining room."

"No! No, of course not!"

In truth, Thomas was indifferent to the prospect of maids in the dining room, the very suggestion of which had been enough almost to stop Mr. Carson's heart. Having to accept that very situation during the war had struck him down briefly with stress. Thomas adhered to the tradition in practice because he had not yet had to abandon it, not out of some principled commitment. But Molesley, like Mr. Carson, was old school.

"I've come, Mr. Molesley," Thomas said, folding his hands before him and affecting a facade of humility that was wholly insincere, "to ask if you would help me out. I need an experienced footman, a man with a bit about him, who knows what he's doing."

Molesley stood as though frozen in place, not quite sure what to make of this offer. Perhaps he discerned the hollowness of Thomas's compliments. Or perhaps he was contemplating how this would make contact with Miss Baxter unavoidable. His hesitation told Thomas that he would have to play his best cards.

He took a step closer to Molesley so as to affect a degree of discretion. He also lowered his voice. "The fact is, Mr. Molesley, Downton is to host some very important guests in the near future. There is a party of German businessmen coming," - this was a slight exaggeration, but there was no harm in it, "and, shortly after that, there is to be a weekend with the American ambassador."

As with Mr. Carson, Thomas was breaching the confidentiality of the house in imparting this information, but he felt that here, too, the brotherhood of butlers would assure Molesley's circumspection. More to the point, he thought the teacher more likely to cooperate if he knew these details.

"It's an historic opportunity," Thomas said emphatically, appealing to Molesley's Achilles' heel. "Who knows what critical decisions of European peace may be brokered at Downton!" Thomas cared very little about politics and international affairs, but he collected information on anything as a matter of course. One never knew when a detail might come in useful.

"Oh! Well! That's ... that's very exciting!" Molesley said breathlessly, and his eyes were wide with appreciation for the potential of these occasions.

"You wouldn't want Downton to offer such distinguished guests, especially the Ambassador, anything less than the highest calibre of service," Thomas said, pressing the case.

Molesley stared at Thomas. "And you want me there?"

His scepticism was well grounded. Thomas had to try harder. "Mr. Molesley," he said gravely, "I need you."

On his way back to the Abbey, several moments later, Thomas had an urge to shake himself, in the manner of a dog after a bath. Well, that was distasteful, he said to himself. Distasteful, but successful. And worth it for Miss Baxter's sake. She and Molesley could hardly help seeing each other within the limited confines of the Abbey, and once brought together, they would at least have the opportunity to sort out this trouble between them.

It occurred to him, as he approached the servants' entrance, that he was now playing matchmaker, a role he considered more than odious. And it irritated him because he knew it was a part no one would ever undertake on his behalf. "Always on the outside," he muttered.

Bates and the Dowager

Bates had been to the Dower House once in all his years at Downton and that had been his own initiative. Prompted by Anna's concern for a down-and-out Molesley, Bates had approached the Dowager for money to help get the man back on his feet. It had been a bold move on Bates's part, but though he'd had no direct interaction with the Crawley matriarch in the course of his work, he thought he'd taken the measure of her character through what he'd heard about her. And he was right. She had given him thirty pounds and he had arranged for it to come to Molesley without diminishing that kind man's dignity. Bates and the Dowager had never spoken of it. Indeed they had not spoken at all since that exchange.

This time he came at her summoning and he could not imagine the reason why. Nor did he waste any mental energy trying to do so. He would know when she told him.

The door was opened by Mr. Spratt. Bates had had almost as little to do with the Dowager's butler as with the Dowager herself, though no doubt Spratt knew a great deal about Bates, the result of public notoriety. What Bates knew about Spratt came from servants' hall gossip, and the valet was never much one for that. Others were fascinated by the rumour that Spratt was responsible for the "agony aunt" column in Lady Hexham's magazine, but Bates was not interested either way. There was enough silliness in the world without wasting one's leisure time absorbing more of it.

"What do you want?"

This surly welcome made no impression on Bates, though it occurred to him that Mr. Carson would never have greeted anyone like this. Even Mr. Barrow would have disdained such an opening, if only from the conviction that cold politeness was ever more effective than explicit rudeness. Bates did not rise to it, in any case.

"I have an appointment with Her Ladyship," he said and, when Spratt raised a sceptical brow, Bates drew out the note requesting his presence and showed it to him. At the sight of the familiar writing, Spratt desisted and, without another objection - or another word - he led Bates to the Dowager's sitting room.

"Ah, Bates! Do come in."

Her Ladyship's warm tones dispelled the last of Spratt's doubts. He withdrew in silence and closed the door behind him.

"Thank you for coming, Bates."

He acknowledged her words with a nod.

"Please," she said. "Sit down."

Bates was reticent by nature so he gave away nothing of the great surprise he felt at this direction. He had never sat in the presence of the Crawleys

Perhaps she read his thoughts. "It is all very unusual, Bates. We have scarce exchanged a word in all your time at Downton and yet here you are."

Although it was unprecedented that he should join Her Ladyship in this way, Bates was not at all ill at ease as Mr. Carson would have been in his place. He accepted that this was the way the Dowager wished to play it and he had no objections to her doing so. "I am...curious, my lady," he said, as he took his seat.

"Of course you are," she said in a matter-of-fact way. "Well, I will be frank with you, Bates, both because it is in my nature to be so and because it will save us both time. I've asked you here today because it has been my observation over years of living at Downton, that you are the only one about the place who can keep a secret."

She made that announcement bluntly and then let it lie for a moment.

Bates said nothing.

The Dowager smiled. "Precisely."

Now Bates did smile, just a little. "You may rely on my discretion, my lady."

"Good." She stamped on the floor with her cane to emphasize her satisfaction, and then said, "I am going to die."

That did shock him. His eyes widened a little and the lightness with which their interview had unfolded thus far entirely dissipated.

"Well, we are all going to die," she amended, maintaining a casual tone, "but I am in the process of dying in the near future. Dr. Clarkson, who is the only other person who knows of this, has told me that I have six months." She spoke dispassionately and stared steadily at him as she spoke.

Bates was not unmoved. "I'm very sorry to hear this, my lady," he said soberly, keeping his eyes on her.

"Thank you," she said formally. "Thank you for not denying, dismissing, or bemoaning the fact. I am old. This is what happens. I do not want anyone else to know this, Bates. Not yet, at least. I may or may not tell them. But if I do, it will be in my own good time."

He nodded. "I understand."

"But this is not the secret - the main secret - that I wish to confide in you. It is only the necessary foundation to the confidence ... and the commission...that I wish to convey to you. Do I ask too much?"

Although he was capable of subterfuge and deception, and, at the very least, disingenuousness, there were persons and moments that demanded scrupulous honesty from him and this was one of them. "I cannot say without reservation until I know what you would ask, my lady, but if it is within my power, then I am at your service."

She smiled again, clearly satisfied with her choice of him. Again she paused. She had made up her mind else he would not be here, but she clearly wanted to impart something momentous and that required an effort.

"Many years ago there was a period of ... coolness...in my marriage to Lord Grantham. In that fractured moment there were ... indiscretions. And consequences." She stared meaningfully at him.

He nodded again to encourage her to go on.

She explained at some length, and then added, "There was a reconciliation, you understand, and we went forward and were, I may say, quite as happy as anyone generally is. But there was a lingering sense of responsibility and we came to an understanding about that, too. It was our decision that we would do nothing in our lifetimes. That may sound cruel, but we had our own lives, our own family to consider, and that was what we chose to do."

She paused to give him an opportunity to react, but John Bates remained stoic. He had nothing to say. He did not judge other people.

"There is a letter. And some money. And it was our determination that these should be delivered to the appropriate person at the death of the one of us who survived the other. The difficulty is, Bates, that we know very little, not having ... kept track ... as it were. Your first challenge, then, will be to find this person, the second to deliver the letter and the money into those hands. Do you think you could do this for me?"

She had related the narrative in a firm voice, showing no signs of remorse or regret, or any other emotion. But she betrayed herself with the question. This was a delicate matter and it had clearly been weighing on the consciences of the Granthams for half a century. This formidable woman was, for once, a fragile human being, just like everyone else.

"Is there any information to go on?" Bates inquired.

Despite her preoccupation, she almost smiled. "A practical consideration," she said. "Yes, I have some documents that may assist you in the search."

Bates remained thoughtful. She had asked an honest question. If he declined the charge, he felt sure that she would accept his decision without recrimination. But no pressing reason offered for him to do so. "Yes, my lady, I can execute this commission for you," he said, in tones that echoed the formality with which she had spoken to him.

His words relieved her, but he would not be anything but frank with her and so continued.

"I would, however, caution you. Anyone receiving such an ... inheritance, for lack of a better word... would be curious, no matter how discreetly conveyed. It may lead to trouble."

His concern pleased her, he could see that. She appreciated his advice.

"The letter is unsigned. But I take your point. The pact, however, was a solemn one and we both committed to it at the time. Lord Grantham said nothing to contradict this as he was dying, and there was time, then, for him to do so. Nor have I changed my mind. I trust you to be as discreet as possible and if the story outs ..well, then perhaps that is the way of secrets. So you will undertake the task?" she asked again.

"I will," Bates said solemnly.

"And I will compensate you for your efforts on my behalf," she added.

At these words, Bates stiffened. "That I could not accept, my lady. The Crawleys have stood by me in troubled times, the worst times of my life. It will be a privilege and an honour to carry out this obligation for you."

For a moment, he thought he saw a glistening in her eye, a reaction to his sincerity and gratitude. But she was a master of self-control and her poise returned in an instant. "You are a man of honour, Bates. Thank you."

She got up and moved slowly to her desk. From the locked central drawer she withdrew an envelope that she then held out to him. He got up to take it from her. They stood there, the two of them, leaning on their canes.

"I would appreciate a report on your progress, Bates. When you have located ... well, when you have completed the first part of this commission, I will give you the letter and the means to access the funds." She hesitated and then raised her steely gaze to his. "In the event that death catches me unawares, there will be an envelope at my solicitor's with your name on it. Do not let my passing deter you from this work. It is a matter of deep personal honour that it be completed."

"I understand," he said, attempting to communicate to her by the look in his eye and the solemnity of his speech that he considered this a sacred trust. He took the envelope and put it in his inner pocket. Watching her make her way, very carefully, back to her chair, Bates realized that the interview was over. And yet he lingered.

"Mr. Carson would have done as much for you, my lady," he said. He had observed for years how the Dowager and the former butler interacted with one another. There was an intimacy between them, fostered by the longevity of their acquaintance and a deeply emotional shared investment in Downton.

She paused, her gaze fixed on some intangible point across the room. "Yes," she drawled. "He would keep my secrets, in word at least. But Carson wears his heart on his sleeve and that would have defeated the purpose. And he has long admired and respected Lord Grantham and myself. It would be a blow to him." Her eyes shifted abruptly to Bates. "Carson will learn the story, in his own time, and then he will have to make his own decision."