DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

Episode 7, Chapter 6

Friday, October 1, 1926

Carson, Downton Abbey, and Lewis

The butler stayed until the end and so it was well onto ten o'clock when he was ready to leave for the night. All in all it had been a good day back at Downton, though not without a bump or two.

The staff - the old staff- had welcomed him warmly. He was there in a supervisory capacity, not being able physically to do all that he had once managed as part of a day's work, but everyone understood this. Andrew was exceptionally aware and accommodating and Carson appreciated this. Lewis, who he knew only from butlers' notes and the little Elsie had passed on about him, was less obliging. When they met for the first time that morning, in the passage outside the butler's pantry, the footman returned Carson's appraising look with one that had only just fallen short of insolent.

"It's Mr. Carson!" he'd overheard Andrew telling Lewis in the boot room later. "He was the butler here for thirty-three years! And he's good friends with His Lordship." This last point was not one with which Carson concurred, but he chose not to disabuse Lewis of it.

Mr. Bates put his head in the pantry door almost as soon as Carson had arrived. "It's very nice to have you back, Mr. Carson." The former butler and the valet had always gotten on, which was not something that could be said about the valet and the new butler.

Mrs. Patmore herself brought him tea at mid-morning and rounded up Elsie to have it with him. "I've made cheese scones especially for you, Mr. Carson," the cook pointed out. He appreciated this and the fact that she left him and Elsie alone to enjoy them.

"Like old times," he said, with some satisfaction.

Elsie smiled at him. "You've abandoned me," she said to the great collie who was stretched out in front of the butler's desk as though that was his natural lair.

"Shep has stayed right by me this morning," he'd said, threading the dog's silky ears through his fingers. "I expect he'll take up his usual post in your office when I go upstairs.'

"Oh, I don't think so. He seems to know there's something different about today. I think he'll wait for you here."

She'd been right.

He had not taken a meal in the servants' hall since his retirement, not wanting either to defer to Mr. Barrow or to tread on his toes. That conflict did not exist today and when he came into the room and found them all standing there attentively by their chairs, waiting for the butler as they always did, he was pleased.

Anna and Miss Baxter extended greetings to him, as did Madge, a more assertive newly emboldened by her promotion. He was not convinced that was an improvement. And Daniel Ryder hailed him as well from his place next to Elsie. Carson knew that Daniel took two meals a day with the staff; indeed, he had arranged it. But Daniel stood apart from the well-established servants' hall hierarchy and Carson had not faced this directly before. It took a little getting used to.

"Why're you sitting there?" he asked Anna, realizing that she was sitting to his left, on the other side of her husband, rather than on his right, beside Elsie.

"We've made a few adjustments," Elsie interjected smoothly. And before he could challenge this, he felt her stockinged toes kneading their way over his ankle and this, not surprisingly, distracted him. There she sat, calmly eating her chicken pie with the blandest expression in the world on her fac, and all the while teasing him. Mischief-maker!

"Tea?" Mrs. Patmore's appearance at his side jolted him.

There was an interesting dynamic at the table, what with Mr. Barrow gone and Daniel Ryder present. Carson had not had the opportunity to observe his assistant in interactions with anyone else but Elsie and now he saw how well integrated Daniel had become with the staff at Downton. They all spoke easily with him - all but Lewis who, Carson noted, spoke to no one - and it was clear that he was well liked. He drew the butler easily into the conversation when it turned to sports and his easy references to the cricket matches they had attended drew more than one look of astonishment from the assembled group. He affected not to notice this and focused instead on the animated exchange between the Bateses over an inn in Grassington.

"Are you really serious about this hotel business?" he asked Mr. Bates as they were getting up from the table.

"We are," Bates responded in a pleasant tone. "A life in service is not ideal for the raising of children, Mr. Carson."

They had one child and were expecting another; he had gathered this bit of information from Elsie. And though he could hardly imagine leaving Downton, forgetting that he had once long ago thought to do the same thing for the same reason, he could appreciate Mr. Bates's point. "It is only that you will be much missed, Mr. Bates," he said warmly. He meant by His Lordship, Lady Mary, and Elsie in particular, but knew that he would feel their absence, too.

"Thank you."

Attending in the dining room at upstairs lunch was both gratifying and frustrating. His Lordship greeted him as a long-lost friend, though only four days earlier they had enjoyed their weekly morning walk and exhausted conversation on all those subjects that were dear to them. Lady Mary gave him one of her sweet smiles. Her Ladyship graciously thanked him for stepping in and even Mr. Branson, whose somberness was a contrast to his usual spirited bearing, took a moment to welcome him back. But he could do nothing to assist in the actual service of the meal and could only watch as Lewis poured the wine. It was, he thought, a good thing that he had retired and also that he had found something else to do, thanks to the Dowager.

It also clarified for him what he could and could not do for Lady Merton with regard to her dinner party. This he put to her very plainly when he caught up with her in the early afternoon as she was on her way upstairs to the nursery. She was grateful enough that he, and Elsie, too, were prepared to organize her dinner, but less receptive to the list of conditions he set. So it had always been with her, he thought, as he descended to the servants' hall once more. She did not have the same understanding that came innately to His Lordship that a butler must have a free hand with the organization of a great event even to the point of prevailing over the host and hostess on some points.

He'd had in mind to visit Elsie and perhaps take afternoon tea with her, too, but was waylaid by Mrs. Patmore who clearly had something on her mind. Though the cook was never to be gainsaid when in such a state, he attempted a deflection anyway.

"Your lunch was delicious, Mrs. Patmore."

"Yes," she said peremptorily, not really hearing him. "It's been a while since you were the butler, Mr. Carson."

"Yes?" Her statement sounded like the prelude to a rebuke, though he could not imagine how he had transgressed.

"It's just that everyone can see the way you look at her, you know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," she said, and then went on relentlessly. "It's not that everyone doesn't know anyway, but you used to be better at hiding it. Well. No, you weren't. But back then we all had to pretend. But now you're married and we do know, so perhaps you could try to make it less obvious."

And then she'd walked away, shaking her head and leaving him feeling more than a little self-conscious. He thought she was exaggerating about the past, but ... had he lost his capacity to mask his emotions? Elsie, as it happened, was not in her sitting room anyway which was probably a good thing in that minute.

The only really disconsonant note all day, apart from Mrs. Patmore's uncomfortable intervention, came from the one person he did not know: Lewis. It began with that wordless but bold encounter in the passage early in the day, but did not end there.

At downstairs lunch, unimpressed by Lewis's studied aloofness from the rest of the staff Carson had tried to draw him out. "How are things at Strathmere?" he asked in a lull in the conversation among the senior staff. "Is your uncle well?"

Lewis hardly glanced his way. "Mr. Erskine and I are too taken up with our duties to be exchanging pleasantries," he said coolly and then went on with his lunch.

Carson could feel the ripple of indignation flow up and down the table at this slighting behaviour.

"At Downton we manage to be pleasant and complete our duties efficiently," Mr. Bates said in a frosty tone. His eyes had flashed at the disrespect in the footman's tone.

Carson had nodded his thanks to Mr. Bates but chose in the moment to bide his time. Lewis, he was certain, would hang himself if given enough rope.

They clashed again later in the afternoon in the dining room. Crossing the Great Hall, Carson pulled out the measuring stick he had used for decades to make sure that all the settings were perfectly aligned. Perhaps this was not necessary given that it would be the immediate family, but he wanted all things properly done during his short sojourn at the Abbey. He strode into the room and then pulled up short.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded in the booming voice that had chilled the blood of many a footman over the years.

Lewis, who had been bent over the table measuring place settings with his own stick, straightened up. But he said nothing, only staring with that impudent look about him.

"Well?" Carson stalked over to him.

"I am ensuring that the table is properly set," he said without inflection.

"And who told you to do this?"

"The family deserves the best service," Lewis responded. "I took it upon myself to see that they get it."

"This is the butler's responsibility."

"Yes. It is."

Ah. So that was his game. Carson had dealt with footmen over the years who thought this the path of upward mobility. "And the butler will attend to it. Go."

Lewis left.

Carson could only shake his head. "I don't envy Mr. Barrow that one," he told himself.

There had been no further incidents through dinner or afterward at the servants' meal, though Carson kept a lookout. By the time they were through eating, he was ready to go home. Casting about for Elsie he found her in her sitting room, collecting her things.

"You didn't have to stay," he said, bracing himself against the doorframe. "You're not paid for the evenings anymore."

"What would I do at home by myself?" she responded, with much more energy than he felt. He was glad she had stayed. "Are you worried about something?"

She always knew. He stepped into her office and shut the door.

"Lewis," he said succinctly. "I've left Andrew in charge of shutting the place up and given him the keys. But ... Elsie, I wonder if I should stay here tonight." The old mantle of responsibility that he'd worn for so many years was hard to shake off.

"You're not staying here," she said firmly. "Andy is reliable. Let's go home and you can tell me about Lewis. And the rest of your day."

He'd almost been able to let go. They got as far as the head of the gravel path that would take them to their cottage row and then he stopped.

"I'm uneasy, Elsie. Let's just go back for a look. I'll have a word with Andrew and then ... then we can go home." He was grateful that she did not challenge him.

As they came through the coal yard gate, his eye caught something. "Why is there a light on in the butler's pantry?" She knew no more than he did. They hurried to the door and met Andy just about to lock up.

"Forgotten something, Mr. Carson?"

Puzzled, he followed them down the passage to the butler's pantry. Both doors were closed and locked. Carson plied the key in the mechanism of the nearer door and flung it open. Then the three of them stared at the spectacle within.

Lewis was seated at the butler's desk, the financial ledger and the wine book open before him. He held a glass of wine in his hand and on the desk, beside the lamp, was a newly-opened bottle from His Lordship's cellar. He looked over at them, his face creased with annoyance. He did not even get to his feet.

"What...?" Elsie couldn't even finish her question.

"What are you doing!" Andy demanded angrily, pushing in and then glancing about to see if anything else was out of order.

Carson moved more deliberately straight to the desk and at his approach Lewis did stand, putting his glass down as he did.

"The keys."

Lewis handed them over.

"Do you have anything to say?" A lesson Carson had learned a lifetime ago from his predecessor Mr. Finch was that one should always give a culprit the opportunity to offer an explanation. Doing so reflected a culture of fair play. And there was always the possibility, however remote, that there might be a legitimate excuse.

"Not to you," Lewis said boldly.

Behind them, Elsie and Andrew both gasped. Carson managed to keep his temper.

"I see. Well, I have a good deal to say to you, but we'll leave that for the morning when we will review at length the duties of a footman, and the implications of break and enter and theft."

Again a sound of shock escaped Andrew. These were the highest crimes that someone in service might commit. But Lewis was indifferent.

"Go to bed."

Lewis shrugged by him and left without looking at the other two, who were standing there mouths agape.

"That ... young ... scoundrel!" Elsie declared, looking after him.

"Do you want me to make sure he's gone upstairs, Mr. Carson? Should I stand guard over him tonight?"

Now there was a good man. "No, Andrew," he said, giving the young footman an appreciate pat on the shoulder. "Thank you for the offer. But Lewis isn't interested in stealing the family jewels - though, I daresay, we must make sure we lock up all of the offices. He just has a misguided sense of his own worth." He sighed a little. "Well. We'll be off and let you get to bed."

Andrew seemed startled by this, but yielded. He saw them to the door and locked it solidly behind them.

"I can't believe you didn't fire him on the spot!" Elsie declared, as they headed for home.

"I can't." It was painful to have to admit this. "Mr. Barrow hired him. He must also make the decision about whether he will stay or go."

Clearly she disagreed. "Whatever are you going to with him for three more days? You can't have him speaking to you like that before the staff and carrying on like that."

"No. But I can put him to polishing silver to keep him out of trouble. We've a great deal of silver at Downton, Elsie."

Saturday October 2, 1926

Anna and Mrs. Patmore and Andy

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore. I ought not to be bothering you while you're trying to work."

Anna and Mrs. Patmore did not often converse, not about things other than those with a direct bearing on the Abbey at least. But since the visit to Grassington two days earlier, Anna and John had spoken about almost nothing but the sweet little hotel in the picturesque village. How things might work there was something that was on Anna's mind. Who better to ask about the practical running of such an establishment than Mrs. Patmore, who managed not only a kitchen of a great house but a thriving bed-and-breakfast besides.

She had answered Anna's questions but it was clear to the ever-empathetic Anna that the cook's mind was elsewhere. It was unlikely to be with the dinner she was preparing as only the family would be present and Mrs. Patmore could put an ordinary meal together in her sleep. As Anna could offer no assistance to the cook in her distracting perturbations - Mrs. Patmore had never confided in her - the most Anna could do was to stop pestering hr.

"No, I'm sorry, Anna," Mrs. Patmore said firmly. "I've got my troubles, that's all. Nothing earth-shattering," she added quickly to allay concern. "This little hotel sounds very nice. And the Dales. I went once to the creamery at Hawes." Her eyes lit up momentarily at the memory of that delightful culinary excursion. "The cheeses!"* She sighed. "But I'm not doing justice to your business questions."

"Another time," Anna said graciously and with a smile. She withdrew into the servants' hall and would have continued on her way upstairs but for the sight of Andy slumped in a chair, looking discouraged.

"Andy?"

His head was resting heavily on an upright arm and he shifted a little so he could look at her. "Anna." And then he seemed to remember himself and started to scramble to his feet. He was not obliged to show her such a sign of respect, but he did respect her and he liked her very much, too. His progress was forestalled by a gesture from Anna and she came over to him.

"What are you doing down here on your own doing nothing?" It wasn't a reprimand, merely a query.

He heaved a great breath and then did get up. "I am doing nothing and I oughtn't to be, especially with Mr. Carson around here somewhere." His eyes went automatically to the passage beyond which was the butler's pantry. "But mostly I just want to be where Lewis isn't."

Anna nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry about him so much." Anna's forehead creased a little at the thought of the other footman. "I doubt he'll last."

"I'm surprised he's still here," Andy said, lowering his voice a little, "after the dressing down Mr. Carson gave him this morning. Sitting right there in the butler's pantry, looking at the books and drinking wine!"

The servants' hall being what it was, the story of Lewis's affront was already common knowledge so Anna only nodded. "He may have an idea that he's better than the lot of us."

"Oh, I know that's what he thinks!"

Anna turned to go.

"Anna?"

"Yes?" When her eyes fell on Andy again he came over oddly flustered.

"It's not really ... Lewis ... that's on my mind." He paused and his mouth opened and then closed again. "It's ... How do you...?" He paused. "I mean ... what if you like someone and..." He faltered again.

"Is this about Daisy?" Anna asked gently and without a trace of a smile. Affairs of the heart were serious matters and Anna was not given to making fun of others in any case. And, too, Andy looked quite discouraged.

His cheeks coloured up a little and it looked for a moment as though he might deny it, but then his shoulders slumped in surrender. "Yes."

She waited for more.

"Only we get on well together, you know? And I thought maybe we really could get on, working with Mr. Mason at the farm, learning the life. That ... maybe ..."

Anna did not oblige him to finish that thought. "But Daisy thinks othewise?" she said.

He nodded. "It used to be all she talked about was moving to the farm and taking on the tenancy one day. And she used to talk to me about it. Now she goes on about leaving, to go to school or to London." He exhaled heavily. "I don't know."

Anna didn't know either. She chatted with Daisy every once in a while and was aware of the fluctuations of which Andy spoke.

"Are you still thinking that Yorkshire is where you want to be and that farming is something you want to do?" She did wonder. They all knew, downstairs, that Andy - the London East Ender - had become enamoured with the rustic life soon after arriving at Downton. Times changed. When Gwen Dawson, who had once been a maid at Downton, aspired to become a secretary she had felt the need to keep her ambitions to herself. Andy had never felt such pressure.

"I am," Andy replied earnestly. "It is. Someday." His enthusiasm was genuine and elicited a smile from Anna. It was an unusual career trajectory.

"Do you remember how you felt when you decided that?" she asked. "When you thought This is it!?"

Her question puzzled him but he nodded.

"Daisy is still looking," Anna observed wisely. "Her eyes have only recently been opened to the possibilities. She's spent most of her life in the kitchen at Downton and now she knows there's a world out there. Who knows what direction she'll choose?" It was all she could say.

He could concede that. "Have you decided, then?" he asked abruptly.

"What?"

"What you were saying at lunch yesterday, about you and Mr. Bates leaving service."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, we are." She beamed. Their excitement was only growing. Though they'd assured each other that they didn't have to buy the first place they looked at, every time they spoke they found something else they liked about the Devonshire Inn and Grassington.

"I thought you liked Downton."

"We do. Very much. But ... we've a family now and...," she blushed a little saying so, "it's been our dream for a very long time to have a little hotel of our own."

A sudden smile flashed across Andy's face. "I understand that. Only I thought you'd like to stay in the Downton area."

"We would," Anna acknowledged. Grassington was too far for a casual visit. And she did wonder how easy it would be to maintain ties with those she cared about at Downton. Would she have time for letters with all the cares of running a hotel? "But inns don't come available very day..."

"What about the Grantham Arms?"

"What about the Grantham Arms?"

Andy frowned a little, as though trying to retrieve a memory. "Aren't they ... the family who've been running it ... aren't they giving it up?

"Are they?" Anna had heard nothing of this. "How do you know that?"

"Mr. Ryder," Andy said promptly. "He's got it from Mr. Molesley." He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, for his eyes had fallen on the clock. "I'd better get the table set upstairs. If Mr. Carson knew I'd been gathering wool this long, he'd have my head."

Anna hardly heard him. The Grantham Arms! How had that crucial bit of local gossip eluded her? Why hadn't anyone else mentioned it? She roused herself. She, too, had work awaiting her. But as she climbed the stairs to the gallery, she did wonder. Did John know about this?

Sunday, October 3, 1926

Upstairs Tea

On Sunday afternoon the family gathered for tea. Robert had gone to the Dower House earlier that he might escort his mother personally.

"To what do I owe this special consideration?" she had asked, affecting wariness even as she tightened her arm about his and readily returned the smile he gave her.

"To the fact that you are my mother," he replied jauntily.

She accepted that.

Mary and Tom were there with Cora when they entered the library, as were Carson and Lewis.

Violet made a bit of a fuss over Tom. Though they stood at the social poles of the family, once Violet had conceded the reality of Sybil's inappropriate marriage she had allowed herself to assess Tom as a person and quickly come to like him. That dear Sybil had loved him so much as to sacrifice all that she knew for him had also impressed Violet favourably. Her concern for his recent troubles was thus grounded in personal affection.

"How are you, Tom?"

"I'm well. Thank you" He in his turn had become quite fond of her and expressed this in part through an indulgence of the aristocratic insensibilities into which she sometimes deliberately and sometimes inadvertently ventured. Today, however, he was subdued as he had been for the past week. Ever since the fire.

"And Sybbie?" Violet asked, as she sank into the sofa. Of course she was always interested in her dear great-grandchild, but she also knew that the way to stir any parent from introspection was ask after their child.

"She's settled down again. I think she'll be all right." Though he did not say it, Tom believed that being back at the Abbey had played a role in that.

"It was all very traumatic for her," Robert intoned. He and Tom were still grating on each other over this, though at a subsurface level.

But Violet shrugged away her son's words. "She's a tough little thing. Have you any plans, Tom?"

So he had to admit to it. "No. I think the wisest course for us is to stay at Downton until this ... this problem is resolved. Not that whoever it is can't touch us at Downton...," there had after all been a few incidents here, "...but .. I agree with Robert that the greater traffic around us makes for a safer environment."

Cora stared pointedly at her husband at this. Tom was trying. Robert nodded and desisted.

Lewis poured the tea under Carson's watchful eye. Mary wondered at this. Thus far no one had had even the smallest of complaints about the new footman and though Carson might be excused for not accepting the testimony of others on this, he did come across overly attentive. Mary stared at him until he looked her way and then raised an inquiring eyebrow as she nodded almost imperceptibly toward Lewis. But Carson gave her no satisfaction.

"Tell me..." Violet had turned her attention to her daughter-in-law. "Are you persisting in this ill-advised inspection of the workhouse?"

Perplexed at Carson's unresponsiveness, Mary was still looking toward the two servants even as she listened to her grandmother's question and thus saw the expression that crossed Lewis's face at these words. It was one of incredulity. It seemed that Lewis was quite as repulsed by the idea of the workhouse visit as her grandmother was. The look was only there for an instant but it took Mary aback a little. Then she realized that Carson was now staring at her and when she met his eye he nodded toward the footman. There. There was the answer to his close oversight of the young man. Mary, and indeed the whole family, had long been complacent about and even encouraging of Carson expressing his opinion on such matters. But he had earned the right to convey his feelings through decades of devoted service and reliable discretion. A footman could not take such liberties. Mary said nothing, however, confident that Carson would address this behaviour.

Cora ignored the disdainful tone of the question put to her and responded as though it had been asked in genuine interest. "I am," she said buoyantly. "When Isobel was here on Friday afternoon we decided to put it off until after the Mertons' dinner party, though. Just so it doesn't distract them."

"Are we invited?" Robert asked lightly.

"Of course we are." Cora rolled her eyes at him though she smiled, too.

"Henry and I are not," Mary said. "They're trying to keep it small and attend to some of their social debts. I don't envy you an evening in the company of Lord and Lady Metcalfe and Sir Evan Fares."

"I don't care who else is there so long as they have a better cook than the Northrops!" Robert declared.

"I understand you're going to supervise the staff for Lady Merton, Carson." Cora was the last member of the family to engage Carson in casual conversation in this setting, but he offered a good diversion from the topic of the workhouse.

"I am, my lady," he said solemnly, taking his eyes off Lewis for a moment.

Though the footman was bent over the tea tray, Mary saw his eyes flicker in a second display of contempt, this time, she thought, toward Carson.

"Yes, it is a great sacrifice to the progress of our book," Violet put in, "but it is an act of mercy, really. Well done, Carson."

As was frequently the case, Carson and Violet saw an event like the impending dinner at Crawley House in the same light and they exchanged self-satisfied glances. Though he held his tongue, Tom shot Mary a look that told her exactly what he thought of that. But Mary responded with a shrug. Granny would be Granny and Carson had always been her ally.

"She was looking forward to her visit with George," Cora said. "She mentioned that she'd like to have him overnight at Crawley House."

"I always encourage her in that," Mary said. "If only her fairy tales weren't all socialist morality lessons. I have to keep reminding her that George is going to be the Earl of Grantham one day."

"I doubt she's forgotten that," her mother noted mildly.

"Have you heard from Henry, Mary?"

As Violet's gaze shifted to her granddaughter, Robert and Cora caught each other's eye. They were worried about Mama and she perhaps suspected as much and seemed determined to show them that she was as much a player in family affairs as she had ever been. That wasn't a bad thing.

Mary looked deeply into her grandmother's penetrating gaze before replying. She had not confided in the old lady as she had to Carson about her doubts with regard to Henry, but Granny seldom needed hard evidence to make perceptive conjectures.

"I have," she said brightly. "He sent a telegram on arrival on Friday. The journey was pleasant and the cars in Berlin are very impressive!" She laughed at this. Henry had said other things, too, - briefly - but she would not share those here. Smiling at her grandmother, who continued to stare at her for a moment, she noted peripherally that Carson at least seemed to breathe more easily at her response.

"Rosamund is coming next week," Robert announced.

"Wonderful!" said Mary, turning his way. She enjoyed her aunt's company. Rosamund had over the years developed relationships with each of her nieces and by adroit management avoided giving anyone the impression than another was her favourite.

"Why?" asked Violet.

"Mama," Robert said, mildly reproachful. He reached out to take her hand. "She is coming to see us all. Is that so strange?" Robert was not a master of subterfuge but he had worked on this statement that he might make it as smoothly as possible. And he was not being disingenuous, for he was very fond of his sister and she was equally fond of her brother and his family. He had not as yet conveyed to Rosamund his motive in inviting her. Such concerns were better communicated in person.

"She should come more often," Cora added. She, too, could say this without guile. She liked Rosamund.

"With a house on Belgrave Square, why would she?" Mary said this reflexively, without thought for the particular context of her grandmother's health. She caught herself only after she had spoken and then got up to join Tom to conceal her faux pas.

"A big lonely house," Cora said, not impressed with Mary's input.

"My house is too small a space in which to be lonely," Violet said airily. "I am always tripping over the servants."

Though Tom might indulge Violet's eccentricities, it was sometimes a challenge. He stuffed a bit of cake into his mouth to avoid making a remark. Mary suppressed a smile at this.

"And how are things downstairs at the Dower House?" Mary asked, in an attempt to redeem herself. "Really, Granny, I don't know why you put up with servants who bicker as much as Spratt and Denker do. Carson would never have put up with it." She managed not to glance at Lewis as she said this.

"I am helpless before them," Violet said emphatically. "And they've a new bone of contention between them at the moment. Mercifully I am still in the dark about it."

She fooled no one with her fretful declaration. It had been clear to all concerned for some time that Granny tolerated the friction between her butler and lady's maid because it amused her and that she could put an end to it any time she liked.

The chiming of the doorbell startled them all.

"I'll get it," Carson said curtly to Lewis, indicating that the footman might replenish the tea. This was less a comment on Lewis than on the butler himself. He could not pour tea, but he could still answer the door.

"Another caller," Robert said. "Our Sundays are usually quieter."

"What did Mr. Kearns want?" Cora had seen village innkeeper arriving earlier but Robert had dealt with him and then left for the Dower House.

Robert sighed. "Another change. He wanted to tell me that he is relinquishing the lease to the Grantham Arms."

"What? But they've been there for ages!" Mary declared.

"Not such a surprise," Cora admitted. "His wife's not well."

"So he said," Robert went on. "They've been mulling it over for a while now, going back and forth about it. But he says she just can't face another winter in Yorkshire."

"Do Anna and Bates know about this?"

Before Robert could reply the sound of agitated voices in the Great Hall distracted them.

"Carson," Robert said, sounding a little gratified. "Always guarding our sacred tea-time solitude." But then he frowned. The exchange sounded heated.

"Who could be making such a fuss?" Violet was put out.

Robert rose and he and Tom together stepped in the direction of the front door. But before they had taken five paces, Carson reappeared and he was glowering. In his wake was a well-dressed youth perhaps sixteen years of age. Whatever the unorthodox nature of his arrival - unknown to those present and without an invitation - and the tenor of his interaction with the butler, it was clear to the family at a glance that this boy was one of them. Mary, Cora, and Violet looked on with interest. Tom, acknowledging that it was Robert's place to receive Carson's account, stood back.

"My lord." Carson was seething and not bothering to conceal it. "This young gentleman has been most insistent on seeing you this minute. He would make a scene rather than make an appointment."

Robert indicated with a discreet gesture that he understood Carson's dilemma and accepted the butler's decision to admit the young man. But he did glance inquiringly toward the intruder.

"He would not give his name, my lord," Carson responded, easily interpreting this unspoken question.

At this the boy in question came forward.

"Lord Grantham."

The very form with which he addressed Robert confirmed his status among the upper echelons. Not for him the deferential 'my lord.'

"Yes?"

"Your man is mistaken, Lord Grantham. I am not here to see you, but rather...," he pivoted on one heel and his hard, clear-eyed glare focused on Tom, "...you." The fact that he didnot address Tom by title or name sent as clear a message as had his manner toward Robert. Every member of the family and Carson, too, clenched with apprehension, but before anyone could act, the boy spoke again.

"My name is John Dunsany. And I've come to tell you that nine nights ago I set fire to your home."

* Author's Note. Ah, the Wensleydale Creamery! The cheeses! Been there. I'm with Mrs. Patmore on this one. Or, rather, she's with me.