EPISODE 6.
Chapter 6
Monday September 20, 1926
Monday Morning in the Servants' Hall
The butler of Downton Abbey was in a very good mood on Monday morning and everyone downstairs knew it. And was puzzled. Good humour was not something that any of them usually associated with Thomas Barrow.
"It's very strange," Mrs. Patmore muttered, as she and Daisy retreated to the kitchen to collect the additional breakfast platters.
"It's allowed, isn't it?" Daisy said, almost belligerently. "It were Mr. Carson who frowned on smiling in the morning and he's gone."
"It was high spirits he objected to, not smiling," Mrs. Patmore corrected her, deciding to ignore Daisy's tone and the lack of respect in her reference to the former butler. "And no, there's no law against it. But it's not Mr. Barrow's way to be cheerful - really cheerful, that is."
It was a full table that morning, with Mrs. Carson making one of her semi-regular appearances for breakfast and the Bateses in attendance, too. The anomaly of Mr. Barrow's mood was a distraction for Mr. Bates, who couldn't keep his attention on what his wife was saying to him.
"I give up," Mr. Bates said finally. "Mr. Barrow, what's come over you?" The valet would never have posed such a question of Mr. Carson. The relationship between those two men had always been a formal one. But a mutual and long-standing antagonism, as well as years spent at service levels that were not widely separated, allowed for a level of familiarity, and Barrow's promotion to the post of butler had not affected this.
Mr. Barrow turned to the valet with a pleasant countenance. "It's a sunny day," he said airily and with an enigmatic smile.
This only made Bates puzzle all the more. "We're all going to be sacked - all but you. Is that it?" He was joking, but such a development would hardly have been less astonishing than was this revolution in temperament on the butler's part.
"You have such a good sense of humour, Mr. Bates," Barrow responded, without a discernible trace of sarcasm. "I wonder that I've not noticed it before."
This raised eyebrows all around and left Bates himself more flummoxed than ever, a situation in which he had seldom found himself.
"So I'm to be sacked, then," he ventured. "Is that it?"
Mr. Barrow only laughed at this as a witticism and then politely asked Mrs. Carson to pass him the jam. She did so with enthusiasm.
"Mr. Barrow can enjoy a day like anyone else," the housekeeper said, in a genial effort to quell the direction of this conversation. "And I for one am happy to see him in such good spirits."
"Oh, so am I," Bates agreed. "A change is always refreshing."
But Mr. Barrow did not rise to the bait.
In a further attempt to re-focus conversation, Mrs. Carson turned to Daniel Rider who sat beside her. "So you're off to the Dowager's again this afternoon?"
It had escaped the notice of all except the ever-perceptive Messrs. Barrow and Bates that Mrs. Carson often engaged Daniel Rider in conversation at the table and that there always seemed just a little more to it than politeness and the fact that they were seated together.
"We are," Rider replied congenially. "I'm reading in the library this morning while Mr. Carson walks with His Lordship. But we're to meet at the Dower house after lunch."
"And you've not gotten bored with it all yet?"
"No," Rider said carefully. "The Dowager Lady Grantham is a fascinating woman. I've enjoyed hearing her stories." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Barrow, who was clearly listening to this conversation, smile faintly and shake his head almost imperceptibly.
"But the Granthams' history can hardly compare to the material you read at Cambridge," the housekeeper persisted. "It's such a small story."
"Not all of the 'great' works of history are riveting, believe me," Rider said with feeling. "There's almost nothing as turgid as The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, in six lengthy volumes. Small stories can be interesting, too, especially in the hands of such capable storytellers as the Dowager Countess and Mr. Carson." Though he responded politely to Mrs. Carson, Rider shot a perturbed look at the butler, who was still shaking his head as if in disbelief.
"Cambridge." This interjection from Mr. Bates drew the attention of the senior servants. "I've just been reading about an annual footrace there," he said.
"The Great Court Run at Trinity College," Rider said promptly. "It's run on Matriculation Day, usually early October."
"I've heard of that," murmured Mr. Barrow, looking interested. Neither Barrow nor Bates had much awareness of affairs at the great universities, but they were both avid readers of the sports pages. It was the only thing they had in common, apart from their place of work.
"Did you attempt it?" Bates asked Rider, an eager curiosity in his voice.
Rider nodded. "I did. Failed, of course. Everyone does."*
"What is it?" Andy also enjoyed the sports pages, but his interests were more narrowly focused on cricket and rugby.
"There's a gravel path that traces the square of Trinity College," Rider explained. "Measured end to end it is 401 yards in length. Every year, Cambridge athletes try to run the square in the time it takes the college bells to toll the noon hour." As he related this, the whole room, including Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, stopped to listen.
"That's not very long," Daisy said, thinking of the Downton church bells' noon peal.
"It's not," Rider agreed heartily. "Something like forty-four seconds."
Lewis, who rarely joined in the conversation at breakfast, but who like the other men assiduously studied the sports news, shook his head. "It can't be done."
"What was your time, Mr. Rider?" Anna asked.
He smiled, but shook his head. "I won't own to it, Mrs. Bates. In the matter of the Great Court Run one either succeeds or fails."
"You were an athlete then, up at Cambridge," Bates surmised. His words were innocuous enough but drew a glance from Anna. No one at Downton, including Anna, had known Mr. Bates before a wartime injury had crippled him. But his own memories of a liberated youth in the full possession of his limbs and the potential to do almost anything had stayed with him and Anna knew he sometimes yearned for those days. She had noticed his wistfulness in this regard more frequently of late when he was watching Robbie.
"I was," Rider said, responding to Mr. Bates. "Though I never aspired to the Olympic heights achieved by the likes of Harold Abrahams."
The name brought murmurs of admiration from all the men at the table, including the always circumspect Lewis, but the women exchanged bemused glances.
"Mr. Abrahams took a gold medal at the 1924 Olympics for the hundred metre," Mr. Barrow informed them, wondering that the name was not emblazoned on every brain. Nineteen twenty-four had been a glorious year for Britain in the world of international sport.
"Maybe you could have done it, Mr. Barrow." Daisy's incongruous interjection drew all eyes. "That run around the yard," she went on, with a nod at Daniel Rider.
"Were you an athlete, Mr. Barrow?" Rider asked politely.
Before Barrow could respond, Daisy spoke up again. "He's a champion cricket player."
"You're a runner going way back, aren't you?" Mr. Bates said disingenuously.
Barrow's patience for needling slipped just a little with a sharp glance at the valet.
"I would have liked to race you," Daniel Rider said, viewing the butler with an appraising eye. "You can really take the measure of a man when you meet him on the playing field."
"Or the battle field," Bates murmured. Beside him, Anna squeezed his arm.
"Why don't you?"
"Daisy." Mrs. Patmore had about had enough with Daisy's enthusiastic participation in this conversation. Usually the cook and her assistant delivered the breakfast and then retired to the kitchen to eat on their own. But Daisy had lingered and lingered today. "Whatever do you mean by that?"
"We don't have a courtyard at Downton," Daisy went on, unabashed. "Well, not a grand one anyway. But you could measure out a track on the gravel paths around the Abbey. And we could watch and cheer you on! It would be fun!"
"I'm not at all sure His Lordship and Her Ladyship would look upon such an amusement with favour," Mrs. Carson interceded, securing a grateful look from Mrs. Patmore who couldn't imagine what possessed Daisy this morning.
"I don't know about that," Bates said, apparently catching some of Daisy's spirit. "His Lordship enjoys sportsmanship. What do you say, Mr. Barrow?"
If Bates had expected to catch the butler out, he had picked the wrong day for it. Barrow considered for a moment, staring meditatively at Daniel Rider as he did so. "I agree with you, Mr. Bates. I think His Lordship might be persuaded."
"And you would run against me?" Daniel Rider asked, looking interested.
"Aren't you both a bit ...?" Andy began, looking from Rider to Mr. Barrow and back again.
"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, Andy, " Mrs. Carson observed perceptively.
"Don't you think it would be a little ... beneath the dignity of the house?" Mrs. Patmore asked, with diminishing hopes. "What would Mr. Carson say?"
"Mr. Carson," Mrs. Carson replied smoothly, "isn't in charge. Mr. Barrow is." She was the only one who could say that.
"Then you would be supportive of such an event?" Barrow asked her quietly.
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. It's His Lordship and Her Ladyship who will have to say yea or nay to it. But," she added with a twinkle in her eye, "I wouldn't mind seeing such a competition. I think it's up to you, Mr. Barrow."
With enthusiastic murmurings up and down the table, Barrow seemed almost buoyed up. "We can't know what His Lordship will think unless I ask him," he declared. "And if all goes well, then Mr. Rider, I would be pleased to accept your challenge. And Mr. Bates," he added, "you can be our starter."
"First week in October?" Bates asked, glancing between the two contestants and bearing in mind the date of the Great Court Run at Cambridge.
"Best make it the second week," Barrow said. And with that, he got to his feet and the table followed him, dispersing to their tasks for the day with an exhilaration that had been felt on only rare occasions downstairs at Downton.
Tom and Henry
Tom and Henry arrived at the shop at the same time, Tom pulling up behind his brother-in-law in the back lane where they parked their cars.
"Have things settled down since yesterday?" Tom called, getting out of his car.
Henry paused to review the situation. "Edith seems to have regained her equilibrium, so Cora let her leave this morning, though they were all shaking their heads at her driving herself."
Tom shook his head at this. "She's a fine driver," he said. "No one else can even drive." Tom and Henry occasionally pondered the aristocratic privilege to which Robert and Mary still clung and that required them to have a driver. They agreed that Cora might like to learn but could not quite bring herself to take the step even of admitting to it. "Does anyone know what happened between Edith and Bertie?"
"Mary's the least likely to have the inside story there," Henry said flatly. It was true.
"Edith and I have always gotten on, but she didn't want to talk to me last night," Tom mused. "I hope she's all right. Anything else I should know?"
"I've yet to make my arrangements for Berlin but at least I know that Barrow will be coming with me, as valet." Henry could only stare meaningfully at Tom as he said this. Neither man were given to reflecting on the servants - Tom remained uncomfortable with the whole idea of service and did not like to remark on people with whom he had once worked, and Henry had both the aristocratic understanding of the utility of servants and the habit of doing without them. But by subtle means they had both come to realize that neither was particularly fond of Barrow.
"What's that all about, anyway?" Tom asked, as he unlocked the shop door and then led the way inside.
"It's Mary's idea," Henry replied, "and you don't really want to know the reason why."
Tom grinned. "I believe that."
They went about their work which, that morning, involved hard labour and a literal dose of elbow grease as they wrestled with an Abingdon motorcycle. This was a different sort of project for them. Hitherto they had focused exclusively on cars. But the challenge appealed to them.
"Can you see yourself bumping over the cobblestones of the High Street on this?" Tom demanded, tightening the brake gear.
"I can," Henry replied emphatically, "but I doubt it would go down well with the family. We'll have to sit down sometime this week and work out precisely what we want from Reinhard Morden and his operation. And I'll need to get some paperwork together to give him a clear view of what we're doing. We didn't get to much of that when he was here."
They exchanged wry glances.
"Are we through with foreign visitors at the Abbey for a while?" Tom asked.
"Foreign and domestic, I should think," Henry responded, and they both laughed at this.
Shortly before noon, Tom went to wash up. "The demands of having two jobs," he said, putting on his jacket and straightening his collar. "I've got to pick up that order for the Downton tool shop."
Henry waved him away. Though committed to the success of their own business and determined that they should have a living apart from the estate, they had easily accommodated Tom's continued association with Downton. Expecting that they would not see each other again until the following morning, Henry looked up in surprise when, not more than ten minutes later, Tom stormed back into the garage with a look of thunder on his face.
"What's wrong?"
But Tom only shook his head and grabbed the coveralls he had just discarded and a box of tools. Perplexed, Henry followed him outside. In the back lane, Henry saw immediately that the bonnet on Tom's car was folded back. Engine trouble. But there had to be more than that to have turned Tom's mood so foul.
"What is it?" Henry asked, looking over Tom's shoulder.
"Grit in the gas line," Tom said acidly, bending over the engine.
Understanding dawned on Henry almost immediately and he stared at Tom's back with some dismay. "It's your prankster, isn't it." It wasn't a question. "I wonder why he's started again." Henry paused. "If he ever stopped."
Tom went still for a moment and then straightened up to stare at his brother-in-law. "I've not told you everything."
Henry was not one for recriminations. Whatever Tom's reasons for holding back, calling him out on them now wouldn't change anything. So he just waited for Tom to continue.
Tom's shoulders slumped. "The week before Sybbie and I moved out of the Abbey, someone through a rock through my bedroom window. It was dark. I saw nothing."
Henry considered this. "Anything else?"
"Yes. Last Monday morning, in a repeat of the cow patty incident, I found a dead grouse on the seat of my car."
"A grouse!"
Tom could tell that Henry's mind was racing in the same directions his own had gone in that moment. "I know. It had to have come from our shoot the day before."
"So it could be anyone in the village."
"Or anyone who was in the village that weekend. That there was going to be a shoot for the American ambassador was common knowledge."
For a few minutes they worked in silence over the car.
"Look," Henry said finally, "you've got things to do. Take my car." He fished the key out of his pocket. "I'll clean this up. But Tom, when you come back, you've got to take this to the police."
Tom's eyes blazed.
"You must," Henry repeated. "It's gotten out of hand. It's beyond childish pranks. The rock through the window crossed a line." Perhaps he noted the telltale sign of stubbornness in Tom's out-thrust jaw. "You have to think of Sybbie, Tom," he said quietly. "That's why you called off the sleepover, isn't it?"
A heavy sigh escaped Tom. "Yes. I couldn't ... well, I wouldn't postpone our moving out of the Abbey because of the rock incident. But I just didn't feel easy about having the three children at the cottage with someone like this lurking about. I don't like being watched," he added, glancing irritably over his shoulder though there was no one about.
Henry nodded sympathetically. "I'll go with you later."
"Thanks."
Thomas and Daniel
In mid-afternoon, Thomas left his desk and went out to have a smoke in the coal yard. He liked to stretch his legs and enjoy the air, but this morning he had a lot to think about, too. More than anything else his mind was abuzz with Berlin. Berlin! He was going to Berlin! He could never have imagined that such a dream could come true. Lady Mary had his number, all right, but for once he didn't mind the disadvantage.
Erich. Thomas drew the smoke of his cigarette deeply into his lungs and then exhaled it in a slow stream. And in less than three weeks! Though he never liked to count on something until it happened, he had written Erich a letter last night.
The thrill of it was almost enough to distract him from that curious business at breakfast that morning. A Downton equivalent to Trinity College's Great Court Run. He'd agreed to it straight away, foregoing a considered assessment of what it would involve. But now, hours later, he had no regrets. Daniel Rider puzzled him, as indeed he still did Mrs. Carson. It had occurred to Thomas peripherally last night, as he had mulled over the delights ahead of him in Berlin, that there might be a spare moment in London either coming or going to Berlin to ask some questions about Daniel Rider, to explore that clue inadvertently conveyed by Tim Grey. Viscount Hambly. But whatever he might make of that, the race, closer to home, was a different kind of opportunity to probe this still-mysterious outsider.
And there would be a race. Thomas had taken the opportunity to raise the matter with His Lordship as he was rising from breakfast. Monday morning was always a propitious moment to discuss potentially problematic questions with His Lordship. Anticipating his walk with Mr. Carson usually put His Lordship in good humour and an expansive frame of mind. As was the case today.
"Good golly!" His Lordship had declared. "A Great Court Run here at Downton!" His eyes had lit up at the prospect. And then took on a slightly guarded look. "I know you're a good man on the cricket pitch, Barrow, but are you up to something like this?"
It was a reasonable question. "I believe so, my lord."
"What about Carson's man, then? This ... Rider fellow. Can you beat him?"
Thomas liked the way His Lordship had framed it – Carson's man. His Lordship had embraced the spirit of the competition and put Rider and Mr. Carson in the camp of the other.
"I think I can," Thomas said. And he did.
"It might be fun," His Lordship said, with an eager smile. "Measure a route, Barrow, and let me know what you come up with. Early October, you said?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Very good. Oh, and Barrow, I'll speak with Carson this morning about ... that other business. Mr. Talbot, Germany, your going as his valet. Ask him to look in, make sure everything was running smoothly."
Thomas wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or apprehensive about this, but clearly it pleased His Lordship. So he said nothing.
"Yes. I'd rather not do without my butler at all, of course," His Lordship went on. "But there is some faint logic to Lady Mary's rationale." He did not sound so convinced. "It is good of you to agree to it, Barrow."
Somehow Thomas had managed to get away with the impression that he was doing the Crawleys a favour intact in His Lordship's mind. Lady Mary might know or suspect the truth, but there was no need for His Lordship to be in on it.
The coal yard door swung open and Thomas looked up to see Daniel Rider emerging from it. Rider often took a mid-morning break as well, but usually stood about the kitchen chatting with Mrs. Patmore who gave him a cup of coffee - not tea - and fawned all over him. She needs a man, Thomas thought, and then quickly purged that disturbing notion from his head. This morning, though, it seemed that Mr. Rider might have come looking for him. This was not an unwelcome development.
"Mr. Barrow," Rider said, coming across the yard.
"Mr. Rider." Thomas offered up his pack of cigarettes, though he'd not seen Rider indulge. "Smoke?"
"No, thank you."
Of course not. "He won't like you any better for it, you know."
"I beg your pardon?"
Thomas thought Rider understood what he'd meant, but he clarified anyway. "Mr. Carson."
They looked each other over carefully for a moment.
"I gave up smoking during the war when I was in Palestine after carelessly tossing a lit butt into some dry grass. Nearly obliterated our camp. And let Fritz get our bearings exactly." But he took a cigarette and lit it expertly.
"And he won't like you at all when he finds out what you're up to," Thomas said, fishing, but curious to see what Rider would say.
But Rider only gave him a bland smile. "I'm not up to anything." He exhaled and then fixed on Thoms an almost perplexed look. "Why are you so hard on him, anyway?"
Thomas's eyebrows arched. "Me hard on him? You haven't been here very long."
"He's a good man."
"If you say so. But I still maintain that you haven't been here very long."
"Perhaps it's you," Rider said with a faint smile.
"Ah, so Mr. Carson doesn't always speak of me in sugar-coated terms.'
This elicited a dry chuckle from the other man. "Not exactly. No. But I don't think he dislikes you so much as that he's exasperated with you."
"You're wrong there." Thomas didn't really want to talk about Mr. Carson. He never did. "This race, then. You're on. His Lordship thinks it's a good idea."
The smile that lit Rider's face at this was one of genuine delight. "We'll give him his money's worth, Mr. Barrow!"
Despite himself, or perhaps because of the good feeling that had enveloped him since the Berlin opportunity had occurred, Thomas smiled back, conveying more warmth than he usually displayed. "I think we will."
"Why'd you agree to it?"
Thomas took his time answering that question. He tilted his head back and let the smoke waft slowly from his slightly parted lips. And then he dropped his gaze abruptly to Rider. "I didn't go to Cambridge. Never had that kind of an opportunity. But I think I'm as good as a Cambridge man. In this instance, maybe even a little better." He smiled as he spoke. There was no malice in this exchange.
Rider took no offense, but he did look a little surprised. "I thought perhaps you were doing it for Daisy. She certainly took your part."
Thomas snorted. "What? Daisy! No!" He was firm on that. Almost affronted. Daisy! Oh, if only Daniel Rider knew where Thomas's heart lay, on the continent with an eyeful named Erich. Perhaps it was the jarring implication that someone as mundane as Daisy could ever draw his eye that provoked Thomas just a little. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
The mood changed.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." Thomas dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his heel. "A Cambridge man, a junior officer in the Great War...," Thomas only guessed at that, but Rider did not contradict him, "formerly of the Colonial Office. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing."
Thomas admired the man's aplomb. It was a characteristic they shared.
"What about that... incident... at Cambridge?" He gave it the same insinuating inflection that Tim Grey had done from the staircase at the Abbey.
But Daniel Rider was not going to be surprised by that reference again. His expression did not change. "Do you listen at keyholes, Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas said nothing.
"I was up at Cambridge with the Grey brothers," Rider admitted. "I don't know how well you know them, but I did not find either of them to be honourable."
Honourable. It was the way gentlemen spoke of each other. Thomas knew enough of the Greys to accept the truth of this observation, but they were talking about Daniel Rider here, not Lord Merton's vile sons. "But they finished their degrees," he said, making it obvious that he did listen at keyholes, or lurk in the shadows at any rate. "You left after two years. Was it cheating?"
Even as he asked, Thomas assessed his own feelings on that score. Not bound by quite the same honour code to which gentlemen adhered, Thomas thought he would be disappointed if Rider conceded this, for to be caught at cheating would suggest a level of incompetence Thomas reviled. To cheat and get away with it was an accomplishment of sorts. To be caught was just pathetic.
"No, Mr. Barrow," Rider said almost gravely. "I did not cheat. I don't cheat. Or lie. And I don't have a sinister past." And then his crisp shoulder line wilted a bit. "I only wish I could convince Mrs. Carson of that," he said, looking discouraged.
It was yet another deflection of the issue, but Thomas didn't mind pursuing this one. "What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Carson doesn't like me," Rider said frankly. "I don't know why."
"Don't you?" Clearly the man wasn't as bright as Thomas had pegged him.
"Well, do you?"
"You've stolen her husband, haven't you!" Thomas barked.
"What?"
"Before you came," Thomas said, leaning toward the other man and lowering his voice in a mock conspiratorial manner, "Mr. Carson only had eyes for her. Well. And Lady Mary. But she knew that going in. Then you come along and he's smitten with you, isn't he."
"What?"
Thomas sighed. "You don't know it, because you haven't been here very long, but our Mr. Carson has never liked anyone but the family and Mrs. Carson. But he's charmed by you, I've seen it right along. She's jealous," he finished triumphantly. And he thought she was, too. Oh, she might also be legitimately suspicious of Rider for other reasons, as Thomas himself was. But one had only to look at the way Mr. Carson's fond gaze fell on Daniel Rider to understand why Mrs. Carson might be aggravated about it.
"Really?"
"Yes," Thomas said emphatically. "And I didn't have to go to Cambridge to figure that out."
Rider puzzled over this. He drew down the last bit of his cigarette and like Barrow cast it to the ground and quite deliberately pulverized it with his heel. "She likes you," he said, reserving his thoughts on what Thomas had said.
Thomas only shook his head at the other's misguided understanding of Downton realities. "I don't think so."
"She does," Rider insisted. "She speaks well of you. Often."
Thomas considered this. "She ... accepts me," he said finally. "He barely tolerates me." Almost immediately he regretted his words. Why was he speaking thus to Daniel Rider?
It seemed that Rider sensed the oddness of this as well. "That's an interesting choice of words, Mr. Barrow."
"Well. I must be getting on," Thomas said abruptly. He had spent too long in the yard. There was much work to be done. "Thank you for the chat, Mr. Rider."
It wasn't the gracious departure he would have liked. Somehow Rider had gotten the better of him there at the end, when Thomas had had all the cards. Even more aggravating, as he came through the door into the passage he almost collided with Lewis, who was standing at the door, pocket watch open in his hand and a look of profound disapproval on his face.
The Molesleys
Molesley dropped in to see his father often. When he was in service at Crawley House and Downton Abbey, he had taken the opportunity offered by an errand in the village to poke his head in the door and had almost always spent at least part of his day out with his father. Now that his time outside the classroom was his own to arrange and the cottage conveniently located between his own and the school, his visits were more frequent still. But he was just a little nervous returning to his father's home a few days after the tea with Miss Baxter. He had arranged that occasion quite deliberately, wanting his father and Miss Baxter to become better acquainted. That they should get on seemed to him necessary in order to move forward. And so he came by after school on Monday, though he ought to have gone straight home to prepare lessons for the next day, and accepted his father's invitation to tea.
"Miss Baxter enjoyed her afternoon with us," he said, raising the subject as Dad poured the tea.
"Oh, aye. She said so in her note."
Molesley smiled faintly at this. Of course she would send a note of thanks. She had the most impeccable manners.
"She especially enjoyed my garden," William Molesley added, with an approving nod.
Better still. "Did you...like her, Dad?" He tried to maintain a casual note, knowing all the while that the one person he could never fool was his father. In all his life, he had never invited a girl or a woman home to meet his parents. To pretend this was a mundane occasion of no particular significance was impossible.
The older man stirred his tea absently and then focused his sharp blue eyes on his son. "Aye, well enough. What about you?"
That was the question. Had anyone else asked it, Molesley would have gotten flustered and stammered a lot and gone red in the face. But he had nothing to hide from his dad. "I like her a lot," he said forthrightly.
His father said nothing, only continuing to stare at him.
Molesley licked his lips. He didn't have secrets from his dad. Miss Baxter was entitled to do what she liked with her own, but Molesley felt there could hardly be a solid relationship between these two people who meant so much to him if her troubles were not revealed. "There's something about her, about her past. She...did something and..." Confident though he was in his father's reaction, he was now stammering just a little. It was not really his story to tell. Yet he knew she would never tell it.
"Do you know what it is?" William Molesley asked bluntly, interrupting his son's agonized reveries.
"I do."
"And are you bothered by it?"
Without hesitation, because he had wrestled with it and worked it through in his own mind, Molesley responded, "No." His voice was uncharacteristically firm. "I mean, I was. But I thought about it a lot and came through it." He paused. "I think ... it might be well if you knew it, too."
But William Molesley only shrugged his shoulders and reached out to take a biscuit from the plate he had set out. "It's nought to do with me," he said firmly.
A warm smile crossed the son's face at this. "Thanks, Dad."
Robert and Bates
"Do you know, Bates, for a moment I thought Carson might say no." Robert spoke over his shoulder as Bates helped him out of his dinner jacket.
"Mr. Carson would never say no to you, my lord," Bates said reassuringly.
"There was a time when I could be certain of that," Robert said, "but Her Ladyship the Dowager has stolen him away. Not for the first time. I suppose that's where Lady Mary gets it, this habit of poaching my servants." He wore an amused look as he spoke, though there was, he knew, more than a grain of truth to it as well. "And, of course, Carson wouldn't say no to her."
It was an old joke between lord and valet, and Bates laughed quietly at it. "So Mr. Barrow is to go to Berlin," he said, not quite managing to disguise his surprise.
"Yes. And I can't imagine why, having worked so hard to become the butler of Downton Abbey, he would throw it over, even for a few days, to go to Berlin." Robert was genuinely bemused by this. "I've never been one for foreign places," he added. "What about you, Bates?"
If Robert had doubts on this, Bates set his mind to rest firmly. "I had my fill of that in South Africa, my lord."
"As did I."
"But ... I wouldn't mind seeing America," Bates said thoughtfully.
Robert shook his head dismissively. "I've been there. It's highly overrated."
This elicited a grin from Bates. "I think Mr. Barrow is more adventurous, my lord."
Though Bates's tone was an even one, there was something about his careful wording that struck Robert. "That sounds as if you know something, Bates."
"I might," Bates said cautiously. "But I cannot say, my lord."
Robert sighed. "Of course not. Why should you be any different? My butler is taking a holiday to Berlin and everyone but me knows why."
"Not everyone, my lord," Bates assured him.
The subject of his butler's travels exasperated Robert, more because of his daughter's interference than anything Barrow might have done, so he changed the subject. He slipped into the dressing gown Bates held out and then watched as the valet hung up his shirt.
"If I'm not much mistaken, it seems to me that you've been rather cheerful of late, Bates. May I ask if there's a special reason for this?" Robert did not use the word taciturn to describe his valet, preferring reserved or discreet, for the formal facade of Bates's professional mien was not so rigid where his employer was concerned. But the lightheartedness of Bates's demeanour recently was significant enough to have secured Robert's notice. And his speculation was proven right when Bates's face split in an uncharacteristic grin.
"There is, my lord. A very special reason. Anna is pregnant."
"A second child!" Robert's elation was sincere. He had known no euphoria in his life comparable to the way he had felt on those three - no, four - occasions when Cora had told him he was to be a father. That the fourth had ended in tragedy had not dimmed the exultation of that moment of revelation. "Congratulations, Bates!"
"Thank you, my lord," Bates responded animatedly. "We've looked into the special arrangements that made our son's birth possible and we hope that the arrival of our second child will be somewhat less dramatic than that of the first."
It was an allusion to the peculiar circumstances of Robbie Bates's birth, but Robert was not persuaded.
"Your second child may not arrive in the midst of a wedding reception, or on the of the new year, or in Lady Mary's bed," he conceded quietly. "But I can assure you, Bates, it will be every bit as dramatic, and as harrowing and exhilarating, as the birth of your first child. It's a miracle that never ceases to strike awe into the hearts of we mere mortals, no matter how often repeated."
They had a moment then, as men and as fathers, and then it passed, for neither was inclined to indulge in sentiment.
"Goodnight, Bates."
"Goodnight, my lord."
*Author's Note. The Trinity Great Court Run is a longstanding Cambridge tradition, immortalized for those of us not privileged to attend that great institution in the film Chariots of Fire. The first person to run it successfully - David Cecil, Lord Burghley - did so in 1927, thus Daniel Rider's statement here is an accurate one.
