A/N: Decided to make chapters shortly and hopefully more frequent.
***Chapter 25***
Thomas had assumed, not unreasonably, that Sheila O'Hara would at least have had the decency to ask a maid to look in on Master George. The most logical solution would be to leave him with another nanny, but Miss Sybbie's nanny (it would seem "Rachel's Mom" temporarily filled that role in America) had not yet been hired and Miss Marigold, Lady Edith's ward, was spending a while with the cottager family before her new nurse arrived next week. God only knew how frightened the little boy must have been. He could willingly have thrown Sheila O'Hara out of the nearest window when he saw the poor mite's distress.
Dried tears streaked the toddler's cheeks, but his loud cries had now become hiccups and exhausted whimpers. At two years and a few months old, George Crawley was old enough to sleep in a child-sized bed, but the wooden cot was still being used until Lady Mary could find a bed that met with her (extremely high) approval. And, while George was tall enough to climb over its wooden slats – and done so – he was still not tall enough to reach the door handle. After discovering jumping up and down several times in an attempt to gain the height he so desperately needed was futile and the chair he tried to drag across the room was impossible to either pull or push, he beat his small hands against the door so long and so hard that they burned with pain. And still nobody came in to him. At length, he sank despondently to the floor, crying broken-heartedly for his Mama, convinced his fate was to remain abandoned there until he was an old, old man with a long white beard like Father Christmas and thinking he must have been very, very naughty for his nurse to have run away. For run away Nanny O'Hara must have done. She was always there to soothe him when he woke from a bad dream, but she was not there today when he woke in the morning light and had been frightened by the shadows cast by a waning moon. She was still not here. Perhaps nobody would ever, ever come to see George again and nobody would ever, ever know where he was and what happened to him. A fresh batch of tears dripped down his plump cheeks at the terrible thought.
And then his very favourite person in the whole world after Mama came into the nursery! Regaining energy anew, George sprang to his feet and hugged him – at least, he hugged his knees, being too small to hug any higher, leaving a mix of salty tears and snot on trousers pressed and immaculate when first they were donned that morning.
Thomas picked him up, patting his back and hushing him. "Did you think everyone had forgotten you, Master George? Of course we never would! Everything will be all right now." He hoped it would regarding himself too. It was unheard of and strictly against protocol for any of the male servants to be in the nursery area, no matter what the reason. But, dammit, he couldn't leave the child alone for a second longer once he knew; Lottie was too young to take on the responsibility, and by the time he found one of the older female staff, anything could have happened to him.
Wrapped in the comforting warmth and safety of Thomas's arms, his lack of sleep finally caught up with the little boy and fatigue overwhelmed him. He clung tightly to his rescuer, his eyelids shuttering despite his best efforts to stay awake and tell him all about the shadows and Nanny O'Hara running away and how heavy the chair was. He was never, ever scared of shadows or ghosts or monsters when he was with his friend. George took a hiccupy breath to tell his story, knowing Mr Barrow would listen and make him feel better. He was asleep before he could say a word.
Lottie was waiting exactly where Thomas told her to. "Take Master George to Lady Grantham," he instructed, aware Master George's mother Lady Mary was infamous for being irritable when woken from sleep and would not welcome an intrusion when she had only lately gone to bed. She would almost certainly yell at Lottie until she learnt the reason for her visit. But by then the timid little maid-of-all-work might well have burst into tears and her explanation been so unintelligible it would appear she had simply in a moment of wickedness snatched the little boy from his cot. "Her Ladyship had breakfast in bed so she will still be in her room."
Lady Grantham would be more sympathetic and much less likely to frighten Lottie. Perhaps because, unlike the British, the American way was to keep few, if any, servants, she viewed the domestic staff almost as equals and never jumped to conclusions about their intentions. No doubt she would be astonished to see Lottie standing there with her grandson in her arms, but she would allow the young girl to speak at her own pace.
"Oh, but I can't, Mr Barrow! I can't go up to Her Ladyship's room! What if she wants to talk to me?" Lottie took a step back.
"Yes, you can, Lottie. I'm relying on you to keep Master George safe."
"But what if...what if His Lordship wants to talk to me as well? And Mr Branson? And...and..." She thought she might be able to speak to Lady Grantham – just – because Her Ladyship was kind, but His Lordship had a loud voice and could be quite impatient at times. And Mr Branson had only just returned from America so he might not be as nice as he was before he went away, she concluded with rather questionable logic; "...what if Lady Mary wants to talk to me as well?" Lottie sounded tearful. And so she was. The very idea of being the centre of attention terrified the cripplingly shy girl.
"Well, if she does, it will be to thank you. You've done a very good thing, Lottie."
" No, I didn't." She shook her head emphatically. " I left Master George all alone. It was you who rescued him."
"Lottie, listen to me. You must not mention I went into the nursery or I will be in serious trouble. Take Master George and explain to Her Ladyship. Don't mention me at all. Everything will be fine. Trust me?" He was well aware he was never meant to be in the nursery area, but since Nurse Brown treated little Sybbie so badly he liked to keep an eye on the children.
She nodded reluctantly. Of course she trusted Mr Barrow. But he wouldn't be there when she saw Lady Grantham, would he? A solitary tear rolled down her cheek and into her mouth, but she smiled bravely as kind Mr Barrow placed Master George in her arms and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. George whimpered slightly as he was handed over, but hearing his voice settled quickly again.
Thomas checked his pocket watch. Downton Abbey, from Lord and Lady Grantham down to the boot boys, was going to be shocked to the core by the news and he needed to get back to supervising the staff without anyone knowing he was here in the first place. Hopalong was due in at 11.30. and another plan to ensure his dismissal was forming in his mind. So perfect, so easy, it superseded every other…
XXXXX
"I solemnly swear, Mr Bates," Anna said, with a barely stifled chuckle. "While you are gone, I will do little more than read or sew or knit. Oh, and I might fetch the ladder and finish painting the ceiling."
Horrified, John Bates was about to strongly object to his wife's proposal when he saw the mischief in her eyes. "Minx," he sighed.
"That was cruel of me," Anna admitted, a stab of guilt piercing her heart, for while his over-protectiveness was frustrating at times, she knew it was only because he loved her. And she wrapped her arms around him for a last cuddle before, after a quick check-in on his wife, he left again for his valet duties to Lord Grantham. She was so close now to giving birth that Lady Mary insisted she must stay at the cottage and rest. "If I need anything, I can ask Miss Baxter," she added, waving aside Anna's protests that the devil made work for idle hands.
She was lucky to be ladies maid to someone who was also a dear friend. There were tales even in these modern days of so-called ladies throwing shoes or hairbrushes at their maids. Whether they were true tales or not, Anna didn't know, but it was certainly true that serving staff were leaving in their droves for the better conditions working in shops, offices and factories offered, and ripples of fear among the landed gentry as the lower class demanded more than had hitherto been their lot. The Great War had changed many lives.
But Anna Bates would not have swapped her life for a gold clock. A gold clock, a diamond tiara AND all the tea in China. She had a good friend in Lady Mary Crawley and benevolent and caring employers. And a loving husband in John Edwin Bates. It wasn't fair to tease him when he fretted about her doing too much while pregnant. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him - it always amused her husband that she needed to or the kiss would – and sometimes did – land squarely on his chin. "I promise I will take it easy, John," she said, when finally they broke their kiss, and he had set her down again, for he never could resist lifting his petite wife into the air or "sweeping her off her feet" as he often claimed, although his lame leg meant he needed to lean against something – in this instance, the door jamb - or risk being swept off his feet himself.
She would surprise him, she thought, by baking a chocolate sponge, his favourite cake, for them to enjoy after supper. He had been patting his stomach lately and complaining he was far too content and as a result far too fat, at which Anna laughed and said well, so was she, as she fondly patted her own stomach. Contentment was making them pile on the pounds, however, she reflected, as she closed the cottage door. But they could wait until after the baby was born to eat more sensibly.
For now, they would eat whatever they wished – no doubt Baby would run them both so ragged, the pounds would drop off soon enough anyway! And Anna picked up her knitting again and sighed happily. As she told John last night, her life could not be more perfect. Though the superstitious and the pessimists among us will shake their heads and mutter darkly how foolish it is for folk to say such things and tempt Fate into toppling their world.
