Today's Inspiration: Checkem89!

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In retrospect, Anna and Mr. Bates probably shouldn't have volunteered so eagerly for this job. With her allergies and his leg, it was… difficult to catch up to the kitten. Especially without being seen.

Case in point? Lady Mary's bedroom.

That was, naturally, where they caught up to their charge. That was also where they discovered the kitten was centimetres from the aristocrat's biscuit jar, poised to knock it over.

"You really don't want to do that." Anna sweetly spoke, sounding as though she was gently praising the cat. It was a well-kept secret that the eldest daughter of the Crawleys was rather a fan of biscuits. Truth be told, the woman was quite a sweet tooth in general. And though that wasn't a secret to the downstairs, it was a secret for most of society.

The point was, in this case, the woman cherished her biscuit jar more than life itself. Which meant that if that little hellion knocked the thing over or broke it, they were finished.

John took a tentative step forward, keeping his eyes peeled on the jar, his tone matching his wife's, "You do value your life, don't you?"

Luckily, at this distance, Anna was safe from sneezing. But really, they hadn't thought this through. They were too busy trying to make sure Mr. Carson didn't lose his head with worry. Something that was likely to happen regardless of what they did.

At least Mrs. Hughes wouldn't be getting injured because of their efforts?

"Just a little closer," John was approaching from one side, Anna the other. There wasn't really a plan, but there was a goal: follow the third priority and make sure nothing was destroyed. They could catch the thing after they ensured the house would be in one piece. "Don't you dare––"

The cat dared. The jar toppled.

Anna lunged, proving that diving and sneezing were not meant to happen at the same time.

"Anna? Bates?" It only figured this scene would be what the eldest daughter would return to. "You do have an explanation, yes?"

"Lady Mary," The valet turned, not having a clue where the dam–– the kitten ran off to. But judging from the aristocrat's reaction, priority two could be maintained: she hadn't noticed the cat.

"I'm afraid I thought I saw something near your jar, milady," Anna croaked from the floor, doing her best not to make any more of a mess with said jar. Luckily, the biscuits were safe inside. Mostly.

"Not a mouse I hope!" The woman proclaimed, horrified by the very thought. "Never mind. Just go and take the jar away. And make sure that it's clean. In fact, you might as well fetch me a new one."

"Of course, milady." Unfortunately, that meant they couldn't search the room for the thing. But there was nothing to be done for it, not now.

Stepping out of Lady Mary's room, the duo closed the door and agreed it would be necessary to get reinforcements. That was, of course, the moment they saw a flicker of black dart against the wall and in the direction of the main hall.

And so, the hunt started up again.

The pair could only hope the kitten Moseley was in charge of had indeed been caught and taken care of. With any luck, by this time tomorrow, both creatures would be out of the house.

_._

A disoriented Thomas Barrow stepped into the downstairs after his much-needed nap. Little did he know, walking around wouldn't help him regain his bearings. Rather, it left him with many questions. For one, why was there a chair propped against Mr. Carson's pantry? And why could he hear cries for help in the distance?

Following the sounds of a struggle, the under-butler was greeted with a… fascinating sight. Daisy was sat on a box that shook with yowls and screeches. As for Baxter and Moseley, they were literally tied together. The thread normally used for sewing had been used against them, trapping the pair in impossible knots.

Naturally, there was only one response for this: "What the––"

"Thomas!" Phyllis chided him, knowing full well that was the sort of language Mr. Carson didn't care for. Nor did she, if she were being honest.

"Mr. Barrow, if you've any decency at all," Joseph began to plead, "You'd find us some scissors and help free us."

"Or get a sack to help me take care of this kitty!" Daisy added, staring up at the under-butler.

Said under-butler shrugged, nearly smirking at their pleas for help, "According to most, I have no sense of decency."

"Thomas!" Phyllis repeated, emphatically. "Please."

"Fine. And just where would I find scissors?"

"Mr. Carson might have some?" Daisy offered, looking rather unsure of herself.

"Yeah, but Mrs. Hughes is stuck in his pantry, remember?" Joseph shuddered at the thought, "I should know –– I'm the one who put her there."

"What?" Thomas couldn't have heard that right. Then again, that would explain the chair. Kinda.

"Mrs. Patmore might have a spare knife," The assistant cook threw the suggestion at them but it was greeted with great hesitation.

"I should have a pair in my sewing kit." The lady's maid recalled this fact at last, thinking herself an idiot for not thinking of that sooner. "Do you know where it is?"

The under-butler nodded, "It'll cost you, though."

"Mr. Barrow!" Joseph protested, "I ought to report you to Mr. Carson. Maybe he'll make it one of his priorities –– that everyone actually help to catch the kittens."

"'Priorities'?" Oh, yes. It was obvious Thomas had a lot of catching up to do.

The footman sighed, "He's got four priorities for the staff."

"Which are?"

"I'm in charge of catching this kitten, the family's not to know a thing, nothing in the house can be destroyed, and Mrs. Hughes is not allowed to help." He rattled them off in one breath, heaving for air after he finished. In return, the man received a small applause for such efforts.

Thomas inclined an eyebrow at the priorities, unsurprised Mrs. Hughes was getting special treatment.

"So, can you grab those scissors or not?"

"Fine. And it won't cost you anything, this time." It would never cost Phyllis Baxter anything to ask for help from him, not anymore. But she wasn't to know that. Still, they'd gone through too much together to be anything less than questionable friends who had more respect for one another than was realised.

Phyllis sighed as the under-butler retreated. On one hand, she knew this was an embarrassing position to be caught in and that she wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks.

On the other hand, this was the closest to Mr. Moseley she'd ever gotten. Literally.

Yes, well, if she got too distracted by that, she would make a fool of herself.

"Do you think they've caught the kitten upstairs?" Thank God for Daisy and her ability to change the subject. Then again, that was a legitimate question. Just how were they faring upstairs?

_._

They were at a crossroads, Anna and John. The kitten had managed to get ahead of them, creeping over to the top of the grand staircase. The valet was the closer of the two, furtively bringing his cane out in a desperate effort to make a difference.

They got closer and closer to the thing, somehow managing to luck out–– "Bates? Anna?"

"Your Ladyship!" Immediately turning around, the cane nearly smacked the kitten. The thing leapt out of the way, heading down the wrong direction and skittering off into the shadows of the main floor.

"Did you hear something?" The American queried, stepping toward them. They discreetly blocked any view of the hall, praying Priority Two was not seconds from being destroyed.

"I don't know what you mean, milady." "I didn't hear anything."

She saw through their lies at once, peering over their shoulders. They looked into the hall, simultaneously pleased and horrified that the kitten wasn't in sight.

"Well, I suppose whatever it was, it's gone now."

If only that were true. But that truth wasn't meant to be discovered.

Not yet, at any rate.

_._

If Thomas were to be honest, he would have to admit he hadn't a clue where Baxter's sewing stuff was. He never really paid attention to it before.

Wandering back toward the direction of the kitchens and Mr. Carson's pantry, the under-butler took a peek inside the window–– "Don't even think of helping her."

His hands were held up in surrender, the man turning back to the cook as if to say, why would I of all people do that?

"You wouldn't happen to know who let those little hellions in?" He shrugged at Mrs. Patmore's question, easily lying. For once, the cook believed him. Or maybe it was more like she didn't have time to chat and so she chose not to question him. Probably the latter.

Thomas looked back to take a closer look at the pantry. He then glanced over at the distracted redhead, wanting to see if she was still paying him any mind.

"Mr. Barrow–– Thomas," The housekeeper had spotted him, whispering his name from inside the pantry. "If you move the chair a little, I'm sure I can do the rest."

"I HEARD THAT!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hughes." Thomas apologised, silently gesturing for her to pause a moment and not jump the gun. "I'm afraid orders are orders."

I'll come back later. He mouthed this to her, waiting for comprehension to dawn. When she smiled in appreciation, he couldn't help but return the gesture. Well, she did help him out earlier, didn't she? And he never had problems with the housekeeper, not really.

Thank you. The man nodded, taking another glimpse at the cook. She looked busy, but was undoubtedly readying her ears for sounds of rebellion.

"You wouldn't happen to have any scissors in your sitting room?" Thomas asked, a plan coming to mind.

"I certainly do." Mrs. Hughes informed him, proceeding to explain where in the room they were.

With those instructions in mind, he proceeded on with his mission. And once the scissors were retrieved, it was time to walk back through the downstairs. As he did so, the under-butler made sure to quietly brush up against the chair, readjusting its angle. He timed it with Mrs. Patmore's preparations, so that no one would hear the creak over the sounds of the cook.

Now it was up to the housekeeper to do the rest.

As for him, he had an idiot to untangle. Oh, and Baxter, too.

Then again, Daisy had asked for a sack to help catch the kitten. That shouldn't be too hard to find. And it would give Baxter a chance to figure out if she wanted to take her current predicament any further.

_._

Charles Carson had not been pleased to see the kitten scurry across the floor of the grandest hall in Downton. He was equally displeased to see it flee into his Lordship's library. He could only pray no one had retired into the room. He himself had been patrolling the rest of the floor, surveilling on the off-chance the thing had escaped his subordinates' clutches.

Of course, the library wasn't meant to be empty. That would make this much too easy.

"Is something the matter, Carson?"

"Not at all, milord." It only figured that his Lordship had taken to one of the sofas in the room, reclined with a book well in hand. And if that wasn't bad enough, that creature was skirting around the edges of the sofa, its tail brushing up against the furniture.

In other words, one wrong move and they would, once again, be done for.

Charles took a clumsy step, too panicked to think up a proper plan. But there was nothing to be done for it: he was far too nervous about that thing being spotted.

"Are you sure everything is all right?"

His eye twitched at the sight of that tail perking up, the creature eyeing all the books on the shelf. Books that wouldn't take too kindly to being clawed at, not to mention getting knocked over. "Quite sure."

The aristocrat hummed, ignorant to the kitten's deft leap off the floor and onto a shelf. There was another eye-twitch. This was countered by another tail flick. All of which led to a pondering of why life was the way it was. Which prompted yet another step of desperation.

If he could only snatch the cat and quietly hide it behind his back, then they might be able to do away with this charade. But there was no time to think. The thing had noticed a book poking out from the shelf, an object begging to be knocked over.

Charles took another step, glaring. Don't you dare.

The kitten looked back, quite ready to dare.

The butler took two steps this time, in no mood for such audacity.

The tail raised an inch, readying itself to swipe down its prey.

He was nearly to the shelf in question–– "Carson?"

"Yes, milord?" How lucky he was, that he was able to shield the creature from sight. That, in the process of pivoting around to face his employer, he had given nothing away.

"Never mind." The butler inwardly sighed at this, relieved when the aristocrat turned back to his book. Glancing at the bookshelf behind him, he realised the kitten had disappeared yet again.

Where did you go, you little–– Keys jangled out of sight, far enough only felines and butlers with exquisite hearing could pick up the sound.

Green eyes revealed themselves from the shadows, distracted. Brown eyes closed, frustrated. How Mrs. Hughes had gotten out of his pantry and snuck upstairs, he didn't know. The only boon that came out of this was that she took the kitten's attention away from any more mischief-making.

Charles remained statuesque as he heard the keys once more, holding his breath as the hellion took a step toward the noise. He watched with bated breath, offering this solemn promise: if the Lord could guarantee that thing wasn't noticed, he would promise in turn to let Mrs. Hughes help.

Suddenly, his Lordship's eyes remained fixed to the book he perused, not looking up as Carson trailed after the kitten. The butler did have to make sure his strides were blocking the feline from sight. But there was nothing to fear.

And when the unusual pair made it out of the library without being spotted, "So be it."

"Did you say something, Mr. Carson?" He nearly gasped at the sound of Mrs. Hughes so close, whirling around to face the woman. She bit back a grin at his reaction, quietly fidgeting with her keys to continue captivating her little audience. "I don't suppose you've a sack or something to catch it with?"

"Do I look like I have a sack, Mrs. Hughes?" His question was tetchy, the man torn between exasperation and relief he had assistance. "And might I add you shouldn't be up here dressed like that?" Never mind the fact that you should still be resting!

"I made sure no one was around!" Not that someone couldn't spot her later on. "And since my dress is ruined, I'll just have you tear off some cloth –– I'm sure that will suffice for a sack."

"What?" Just what was she thinking? All of this was far too inappropriate for words!

She chuckled at his indignant tone, lightly shushing the man, "I was only joking, Mr. Carson. I'm sure we can catch it with or without a sack."

Oh, why did he have to make that stupid promise to let her help?

Then again, maybe she would want to rest now? "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a––"

"I do hope you're wise enough not to finish that question." Mrs. Hughes warned him, shaking her head. "Now would you prefer to catch him or am I to have that privilege?"

That, of course, led to the two of them casting about a look, having lost sight of their little black blur, "I'll be the one to catch him. More importantly: where did he go?"

She softly rustled her keys once more, but to no avail. That kitten of theirs wasn't in sight.

"I'll have to ring the gong soon enough," Much to his frustration, they had run out of time. "Why don't you go upstairs and get changed? That way, if the dinner ends and we still haven't found him, you'll be in better shape to help."

The housekeeper was content to agree –– until she thought it through. Suddenly, suspiciously, "Why the change of heart, Mr. Carson?"

He grimaced at the thought, "I made a promise."

"Carson, is there someone there?" It looked like his Lordship had run out of interest with his book. It forced Mrs. Hughes to stop questioning him and to duck out of sight. But that had only pointed out the woman's lack of recovery, her movement stilted. Really, why did he have to go and make that sort of deal? Couldn't he have left it up to chance?

Of course, leaving it up to chance was never going to be an option.

Perhaps he could get Mr. Moseley to do the chair trick again when Mrs. Hughes went to change and keep her out of harm's way without breaking his promise. But since that only brought more terribly provocative thoughts –– not to mention the whole, incur the wrath of the housekeeper part –– he dismissed the plan at once.

"Carson?"

The butler was reminded of reality once more, turning, "I'm sorry, milord. What was your question?"

"I thought I heard voices. But I see now, there's no one there." Given that Mrs. Hughes was safely out of sight, his Lordship was correct. Unless, that is, that thing was daring to show its face once more. Els–– Mrs. Hughes could call it a he all she wanted. In his eyes, it was an it.

But alas, the hellion was not deeming this the time to reveal itself.

He could only pray that it would be caught soon enough.


Author's Note: So as of right now, there's 1-2 chapters left to this little tale. Aka, this is the last call for any requests before this little story comes to an end! :)

Regardless, hope you enjoyed that! 'Till next time.