Guest: Thank you so much for your review and reassurance about the Mary/Edith conversation. I will write a scene with Bates and Robert in the chapter after this one :)

***chapter 35***

Mary felt Anna's absence keenly. Her lady's maid calmed her with her common sense approach and, after George's rejection and her latest quarrel with Edith, she yearned for her friend's support. But now that logic had replaced her earlier fury, she could think more clearly, and acknowledged it would be a pointless exercise to traverse acres of grounds in search of Barrow. John Bates was surely as honest as the day was long and Papa would quickly establish what happened. An unexpected meeting with the little maid-of-all-work had been enough to convince her to change her mind. She gazed out at the frost-coated Downton estate, recalling the recent conversation that had begun with the girl taking the wind out of Lady Mary's sails. Literally.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry, M'lady!" Lottie cried in horror. But in for a penny, in for a pound. She was going to be sacked anyway for charging into her Ladyship, she knew it. In the whole history of Downton Abbey, not even the strongest men among the serving staff had knocked down a member of the Crawley family, or even attempted to knock down a member of the Crawley family, but Lottie had very nearly managed it single-handed.

Mary had not yet recovered the breath that the youngest of the servants had stolen from her, but Lottie, used to the frantic pace of work that being a skivvy entailed, was quick to re-discover her own and so ploughed on with what was on her mind, her concern for Thomas Barrow, who always looked out for her, superseding her shyness.

"I didn't rescue Master George, M'lady, Mr Barrow did, and he didn't want me to tell anyone, Mr Barrow, I mean, not Master George, because he doesn't want anyone to know he's really, really nice and only pretends he's not, Mr Barrow, I mean, Ma'am, not Master George because Master George doesn't pretend he's not because he's too little yet, Your Ladyship, and Miss Baxter is unhappy about something, M'lady, Mr Barrow, I think, Ma'am, and Mr Barrow is very, very sad and he might go walking by the lake because he's sad; he says it's quiet there, Your Majesty (by now, Lottie's thoughts were so scattered she said anything that came into her head without paying much heed to it) and it's where he can smoke and..."

Mary stared at the flustered young girl. She had only learnt her name that morning when she brought George to her after he was abandoned by Nanny O'Hara. To her shame, she knew very few of the servants. Mr Carson, of course, and Anna and John Bates, Mrs Hughes, Mrs Patmore, Barrow... the ones at the very top of the servant hierarchy. The lowest of the low, the pale, thin scullery maids, who rose before dawn to set the fires and provide cups of tea for the higher-ranking servants while they were still abed, the hall-boys who cleaned the shoes and ran messages in the depths of winter, their gloveless hands numb with cold, she barely noticed. Sybil had known who they all were, though.

Often she would greet someone by name and stop to talk. They seemed extraordinarily pleased when she did. It never failed to amuse Mary. "Why bother?" she laughed. "It's not as if they're important."

Sybil frowned at her. "Because they're people," she answered shortly.

And, perhaps because it would have been Sybil's birthday last Saturday, perhaps because she was still feeling emotional after George's rejection, Mary's softer side triumphed over her usual impatience and her heart went out to the frightened young maid, who was becoming even more flustered under her scrutiny.

"Stop to breathe, Lottie," she said gently, wondering if she ever could at that speed. It was as though she was making up for lost time, she thought, recollecting that Mama mentioned Papa used to believe she couldn't talk at all. A new thought suddenly struck Mary. Yet another child - it was hard to view Lottie as anything but; she seemed so young and timid - thought Barrow "really, really nice". Children knew who liked them and who didn't. George and Sybbie were unusually subdued with Nanny Brown from the start, but she and Tom put it down to their being uncertain with someone new. Until Barrow alerted them to how cruelly she was treating Sybbie.

Anxious to put the nervous girl at her ease and reassure her she wasn't being reprimanded, Mary smiled as she spoke. Matthew said she became a different person with Edith when she smiled a genuine smile and the sisters would seem almost friends then. She had scoffed at the idea. It was simply that Edith wasn't annoying her as much, she replied. But now she wondered: had Edith not been as annoying because Mary was happy and so she wasn't lighting the touch paper to Edith's anger, which meant Edith wasn't on edge, anticipating their next fight?

She hadn't been truly happy since Matthews death. How could she ever hope to be again with Matthew gone? Was that why George wanted Barrow in place of his Mama? Because he could see the pretence behind her smiles?

"Bumping into me was an accident," she added. "Now, you believe Mr Barrow will be by the lake?"

"I...I think so, Milady," Lottie stammered, taken aback by Lady Mary's gentle tone. Her Ladyship could be very sharp sometimes, everyone said so, and she had on occasion seen servants close to tears when they displeased her. She had expected a severe ticking-off and instant dismissal. And the kindly smile invited trust. She suddenly found herself pouring her heart out about everything. The hidden staircase, Vinnie believing he'd killed Mrs Bates, how Daisy found Mr Jacobs to inform Lottie this wasn't true, but by then Lottie had told him she was dead.

"...and that's why Mr Barrow is so very, very sad, M'Lady" she finished tearfully. "It's all my fault and..."

"It isn't your fault," Mary interjected. "You mustn't think that for a moment. Is that why you were in such a hurry?" she asked curiously. "You were looking for Mr Barrow?"

Lottie nodded. "I wanted to tell him I made a terrible, terrible mistake, M'Lady."

"We all make mistakes sometimes," Mary said pensively. She should have sent for Barrow as soon as George asked for him. There couldn't possibly be any truth in the possibility he may have tried to kill Bates. Not when the children loved him so much. She didn't need to ask Barrow what happened. If George trusted him implicitly, then she would. "Thank you, Lottie, you may go. You needn't concern yourself any more with Mr Barrow. I will attend to everything."

"Thank you, M'Lady." It was a much calmer girl who returned to the servants' quarters.

XXXXX

Lady Edith picked up the two pictures that Marigold crayoned on her visit last week. Her little daughter told her in whispers - having spent most of her young life with the Drewe family in their humble cottage home, she was still overwhelmed by the grandeur of Downton Abbey and her older cousins - one picture was "Mama" (whether or not the tot thought of Mrs Drewe or Edith as her mother, Edith, praying it was the latter, felt a thrill at that special word) and that the other was of "Mibow".

"Oh, what a lovely picture of Lulu!" her doting Mama enthused, imagining the second paper, which like the first was filled with rainbow-coloured scribble, must in Marigold's mind represent the Drewe family's cat. Darling Marigold, clever child, was learning animal sounds to add to her as yet limited vocabulary and could quite confidently state that dogs said woof, ducks said quack and cats said miaow. Edith knew Marigold could say cat perfectly well, but assumed she was playing a game. She was puzzled when the toddler emphatically shook her head.

"Mibow!" she repeated.

"It's another cat saying miaow?" Her mama emphasised the word, somewhat disappointed by Marigold's mispronunciation, but reluctant to correct her. She was more baffled than ever when her daughter shook her head again. "Mibow!" she insisted, close to tears, frustrated at being constantly misunderstood.

At that moment Sybbie skipped across. She had been playing snakes and ladders with her father and grandfather, but Sybbie liked to have a finger in every pie and, having briefly joined in a game with George, his mother and grandmother of building towers with wooden alphabet blocks and knocking them down again, she was curious to know what Marigold and Aunt Edith were doing.

She heard what her cousin said and glanced at the mysterious sketch. "It's Mr Barrow!" she announced.

How on earth the scribble translated into a portrait of one Thomas Barrow, under-butler at Downton Abbey, Edith could not begin to fathom. But it obviously made sense to the children, for Marigold nodded agreement and beamed at Sybbie before hiding behind her mother's chair.

Mibow. Mr Barrow! The picture lightened the heaviness of Edith's heart as she looked at it again and, Heaven knew, she needed something to. If only she hadn't rebuffed Mary's tentative offer of peace. And though she had called for her to wait she she was too proud to follow. It was always so.

In their nursery days, being the eldest, Mary liked to take charge and have things her own way. Noting eve ruffled easygoing Sybil's feathers, but Mary's arrogance infuriated Edith and play that started amicably invariably ended with Mary and Edith at loggerheads. They hadn't stopped arguing since.

Grandmama made a strange comment about it once. "You and Mary argue because you are too alike, my dear," she observed, when Edith sought her sympathy after yet another war of words. She adored Grandmama and her shrewd pearls of wisdom but in this instance she was so, so wrong. Edith and Mary were chalk and cheese.

As were Sybbie and Marigold, Sybbie as confident as Marigold was timid. But Sybbie had far more patience than Mary ever did and, unlike the jealousy and rivalry that punctuated Edith and Mary's childhood, there were already signs the cousins would be great friends. Marigold was bright as a button, Edith thought, but she was so easily scared and she would run to her mother for the slightest of reasons, a bird taking flight unexpectedly, a balloon bursting nearby, a beetle glistening in the grass. She was such a sweet angel she couldn't help but fuss over her with kisses and cuddles and treats. Sybbie would bring her out of her shell, though. She was a generous little soul and seemed to understand her little daughter so well.

Edith studied the confused crayoning, mystified as to how both Marigold and Sybbie saw Thomas Barrow. Barrow understood Marigold well too. Downton Abbey was very, very big and very, very scary to such a little, little girl, Edith overheard him explaining when George asked why Marigold never liked to play loud games like him and Sybbie.

He had so much patience with the little ones. And really, instead of being so hard on herself about her supposed inability to bond with George, patience was all that Mary needed. She could have told her this. Not in accusation, but tactfully, the way Sybil would have done. She could have been a sister to her and told her becoming a parent was the biggest challenge anyone ever faced, no matter how much they loved their child. That every new parent was "muddling along", hoping they got it right. But she was still too stubborn to run after Mary to say sorry.

She was determined not to run after her high-handed sister but she would show her she was not so distant to her request for a truce.

XXXXX

She had not gone very far from Edith's room before Lottie cut short her journey. And Mary didn't know exactly why she still stood there, gazing out of the window and gathering her thoughts long after Lottie had gone.

The frost glittering like diamonds on the trees lining the vast estate suited her mood somehow. She wasn't as cold as her sister thought. Often enough, she regretted deliberately hurting Edith, but she could never bring herself to apologise. To Edith, or to anyone. She and Barrow were both stubborn as mules, she reflected. Stories of his notorious unpleasantness with the other staff had of course reached the Crawleys - because if family and servants will live together in great houses nothing can or ever will be quite hidden from the other - and Anna, when a bored Mary, her curiosity piqued, pressed her for information, said she believed he didn't mean to be cruel, he was simply busy fighting the world. So was Mary.

Strange to think the under-butler may be the key to rekindling her mother-son relationship with George. She had no interest in the man to begin with and whether he came to Downton Abbey to take up a position as a hall boy or stable lad or footman, she had no idea. But while the stories about Thomas Barrow made him fairly interesting, he became much more interesting when she heard rumours of his being a homosexual. Predictably, Carson was scandalised that his favourite should hear of it at all. Like Papa, he believed such a subject far too shocking for delicate feminine ears. Being as contrary as her name suggested, Mary immediately decided she would not find it shocking. But that wasn't the only reason.

She understood Barrow's resentment. Because she couldn't be who she was either.

She hated that women were considered a weaker sex when she was as intelligent and capable as any man. She hated that even in the 1920s society regarded females as inferior, the greater emphasis being placed on a boy's education, especially in mathematics and science, whereas girls were expected to concentrate on becoming home-makers; that the suffragettes were jailed and force fed for fighting for the simple right to vote. She hated the prejudice that began even in childhood. Sybil's prettiness and kindness prompted people to remark admiringly that Sybil was "a beautiful, docile and gentle little girl" while Edith's willingness to please others and never rock the boat made them remark on Edith being a "good, obedient little girl". But Mary!

Mary was "a wilful, naughty, obstinate little girl" all because she was bold, strong-willed and independent. Traits that would have been encouraged in a boy. Like Edith and Sybil, she dreamed that when she grew up she would fall in love and marry. But even at that early age she knew she would never obey her husband. They would be equals.

Like Lady Mary, Thomas Barrow would never be one of a crowd. And the children adored him. George, Sybbie and Marigold would follow him, begging for piggy-back rides and it was obvious, although to he pretended to merely tolerate their presence, that he thoroughly enjoyed their company. As young Lottie so succinctly put it, "he doesn't want anyone to know he's really, really nice.",

"You're an enigma, Barrow," Mary whispered. "But Downton Abbey would be lost without you."

"He is, isn't he? And you're right. It would," Edith agreed. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. The excuse to make peace without actually admitting to being wrong seemed flimsy now. Mary had a short temper and bore grudges. "I thought you might like to see the picture Marigold drew of him. It's Mibow, she told me. She can't quite say Mr Barrow yet," she explained.

Mary's expression was as baffled as Edith's when first Sybbie identified the crayoned scribble. "That's Thomas Barrow?"

"Well, according to Marigold and Sybbie it is. I have no doubt had George's opinion been sought he would have confirmed it."

Mary's lips twitched. "It's a good likeness."

Edith laughed, relieved. "Children are so funny at times."

"So are we. It's all or nothing with us, isn't it? They do say love is very close to hate." She'd lost track of where she and Edith were up to with scoring points off each other. Edith's remarks had been particularly hurtful when she'd asked her advice. But then only three days ago in the midst of company Mary had made a deliberately loud and unflattering comment about Edith's outfit. And she wasn't going to say sorry either.

Edith hesitated. She could have answered thus when Mary first asked the question instead of turning the proffered truce into another argument. "Mary, the children will be perfectly safe with Barrow."

Her sister nodded agreement. "I've had time to think it over in a more rational frame of mind," she said, a little self-consciously. "Why Papa feels the need to interview Bates is beyond me. The whole idea of Barrow trying to kill Bates is preposterous."

"Of course it is. The man is harmless."

"Not quite!" Mary laughed. "Our Mr Barrow always does have some scheme or other boiling on the stove. But I do believe he will remain with us at Downton Abbey. And for the sake of the children and our sanity, thank goodness!"

XXXXX

A strange calm overcame him when finally he reached the silent black lake. The fear was gone now. In its place came acceptance. This was his fate. This had always been his fate. Waiting in the shadows of the night. In the cold, lonely night. The comforting night. Black, dark, calm, terrifying night. Waiting for him to answer.

And as he prepared to leave a world where he had never belonged and never would, he thought he heard the echo of a child's voice.

"Mr Barrow! Mr Barrow! Mr Barrow!"

It sounded like Sybbie, a happy, excited Sybbie. But it couldn't possibly be Sybbie. It was his imagination playing tricks, tugging cruelly at his heartstrings with memories of the children he would miss so very much. And the running footsteps, they were no more than small animals scurrying through the silver-frosted grass of the Downton Abbey grounds. He took a step closer, his feet sinking easily into the thick mud. A moment, only a moment, a breath on the wind, and it would all be over...

Then suddenly a hand was clamped on his arm and he felt himself being dragged backwards. "What the hell do you think you're doing, man?" Tom Branson's Irish accent was unmistakable. And slurred.

"**** off, Branson!" He struggled to shake off the hold. Despite reeking of alcohol, Branson's grip was vice-like, determined not to let him jump. What the hell was Branson doing here anyroad? He took Sybbie into town with him early this morning to conclude some business or other he said he needed to attend to urgently. Unless it was to walk off a hangover, why return the much longer way around and at the furthest side of the estate? But Branson didn't normally drink to excess. Besides, where was little Sybbie?

The question was answered sooner than Thomas expected. Her hair wild with the wind and frost – still no hat, she never would wear a hat! - she smiled broadly up at him, unaware of how close she was to the water. His only thought was to keep her safe. With a renewed strength, Sybbie more important than anything else, in one movement he had pushed Branson away and snatched the little girl up out of the danger...and in the fury of their struggle it was Branson who plunged into the lake…