Author's Note: Would it really be a Downton ensemble piece if we didn't get up to shenanigans at dinner?

Warning: Hints of strong language!


In the end, the plan was simple: find the second kitten and trap it before dinner so Mrs. Hughes wouldn't have a chance to help. Every other servant had been enlisted in the task, discreetly checking over all rooms they could in the time that remained.

How the family didn't stumble across the kittens was an enigma in itself. But the butler had no time to ponder the subject. He could only thank heaven that this furry little secret had not been discovered.

Fittingly enough, it was Thomas who found them.

With five minutes to dinner, the man had heard something rustle underneath the dining table. It was shortly followed by a faint meow. Naturally, knowing that his presence was liable to set the kitten off and get him in heaps of trouble, Barrow swiftly backed away and retreated from sight.

He slinked up to where Mr. Carson and Moseley stood out of sight, well aware this was not an ideal situation. It took thirty seconds for the news to be unearthed, with another forty seconds dedicated to forming a new plan.

"Thomas," The butler began to instruct, "I'm afraid your presence will only add to the chaos. If you would be so kind as to return downstairs and make sure there have been no hiccups in the proceedings, that would be appreciated."

The under-butler shrugged, having no problems with this plan. The less chances Mr. Carson had to find out he'd been the one to get Mrs. Hughes out of the pantry, the better.

"I've an idea, Mr. Carson," Joseph helpfully spoke up, "We could try using the thread again!"

"Mr. Moseley,"

But the footman was much too determined to help. He would not let anything interrupt him.

"I know Miss Baxter has extra thread. I could put some in my pocket, with just enough poking out to get his attention. And then we could get him away from the table, and maybe someone else could grab him when the family isn't looking!"

"Mr. Moseley," Charles sharply began, wondering how on earth the man thought that was a feasible strategy.

"Well, it did work for us." The footman defended his plan, "Not that exactly. But we did catch the other one with thread, in the end."

The butler merely stared, giving his subordinate time to understand the foolishness of such a plan. The footman soon sighed, acquiescing, "I take it I'm to withdraw my plan, Mr. Carson?"

"That would be a wise choice, Mr. Moseley." Then again, it wasn't as though Charles had an idea off the top of his head. Still, he wasn't so desperate as to take on the footman's scheme. It seemed the best thing for it was to commence with dinner and pray for good luck. Not his favourite tactic, all things considered. But necessary.

Well, here goes nothing.

"Is Thomas all right, Carson?" His Lordship's inevitable question went unnoticed, no one thinking to look in the aristocrat's direction. The rest of the family was suitably occupied with other topics of conversation, thank the Lord.

"He is, milord." Hopefully, that would be the end of any more questions.

Of course, as Charles Carson was beginning to learn after all his years at Downton, rarely did anything go according to plan. It was unfortunate but true. For example, during tonight's dinner, the servants were to be interrupted by a squeak.

One that came right next to the Dowager's seat.

"Moseley?" For she was not aware of the green eyes that crouched right behind the tablecloth, a black paw threatening to play with the hem of her dress. "Was that you?"

Mr. Moseley looked at Carson. He looked back at the Dowager.

He then proceeded to squeak, as though it had been him all along, "I'm afraid it's–– it's hiccups."

All heads at the table turned to the footman, curiosity burgeoning. As for the only other person in the room, there was no need to be curious. The butler was unfortunately incredibly aware of what had prompted this tactless scene.

Charles watched on in disdain. At least Moseley's squeaks had scared their hellion, shoving the thing back under the table –– if the footman's sigh of relief was anything to go by, that is.

Couldn't the Lord smite the thing already and save them all from this mortification?

He remained steps away from the devilish fiend, having to contend with the fact that he was in fact serving the house and couldn't chase after it. But he could fix his gaze in the direction of the thing, silently commanding it not to move.

Perhap Moseley's original suggestion with the thread was worth considering.

But no, he really wasn't that desperate.

"That'll be all, Carson, thank you." Her Ladyship gently prompted him, reminding the man he had to keep going. Just how long had he been at her Ladyship's side, standing stockstill like an idiot?

Stepping away from Lady Grantham, the butler remained oblivious to the strange looks he was receiving. He'd lost sight of the dam–– the accursed thing and needed to know where it lurked.

Carefully, he carried on with dinner. But another hint of movement had the man stiffen in response. For he had seen a pair of green eyes poke themselves out from under the table, centimetres away from the Lady Mary's seat.

"Carson? Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Of course it is!" He nearly snapped, recoiling at his tone. This was not working. "That is to say, yes, milady."

Lady Mary raised a coiffed eyebrow, returning to her delicacy. He glanced down only to discover nothing. The dratted thing had been content to disappear back under the table.

At first he'd been upset by this. Upon hearing Mr. Moseley squeak for a second time –– no doubt the man had spot the hellion once more and was beating the blasted thing to the punch –– Charles wished it'd stayed out of sight.

"Mr. Moseley," The butler tersely hissed, all the bottled-up frustration demanding to slip into his words. It wasn't the footman's fault and even Charles knew that. But at this rate, everything would prove to have been for naught. In short, he was losing control. "Perhaps you should excuse yourself."

The man gulped, understanding just how displeased the butler was. But their employer was far more compassionate, "Yes, it might be best for you to excuse yourself, Moseley, and see to those hiccups of yours."

Joseph quickly confirmed with Mr. Carson that he wouldn't be in hot water for actually walking away from dinner. But the butler looked far too defeated to care, gesturing for him to leave. "Yes, milord. And I promise, Mr. Carson: getting rid of these hiccups will be my top priority! I won't be letting this cat out of the bag any longer!"

Charles inwardly groaned, wondering how obvious the fool could make their mission. Indeed, his words had rippled through the table, garnering much more attention than they needed.

What the butler wasn't meant to know was how serious his footman was. For when Joseph retreated back to the steps leading downstairs, the unofficial meeting spot for this mission, he got straight to business: "Right. It's under the table."

Hisses and words of all nature broke out amongst the group, "Of course it is. But why are you out here?"

Joseph hesitated to answer. Thomas shook his head, well aware of the most likely outcome, "You were gonna give it away, weren't you?"

"Not intentionally!" He protested, flustered.

"I think we've had enough of that." Mrs. Hughes proclaimed, having long since changed into another dress. "The question now is, what are we to do?"

"Well, I wondered if we might use some thread to draw it out and catch it. I know Miss Baxter has extra and I'm sure we could be discreet about it." Because maybe the housekeeper would be more amenable to this plan than the butler had been.

"That's very–– creative, Mr. Moseley. But I doubt that's the solution."

"Maybe we could make a loud sound, distract the family. And then someone could grab it while everyone else's busy." Representing the kitchen, Daisy was quick to speak up and offer this as her plan.

"I'm not sure Mr. Carson would approve of that either." The housekeeper informed the lass, wondering why the two thought causing a ruckus would work in their favour.

"We could always wait it out. Trap him once the family has gone through." Miss Baxter softly suggested this, not seeing any other option.

"Even if it stayed under the table," Thomas piped up again, wondering where all these rubbish plans were coming from. "Just how would we trap it? It's the cleverer one of the two, if it's managed to escape us this long."

"Well," Anna started up, doing her best not to look too mischievous. "They did take a liking to you."

The under-butler's presence had helped when it came to getting the other one out from under Daisy's box and into a spare sack. Thomas had been key to that capture, handing the sack off to Madge the moment he could.

"Whatever you're thinking," He began to threaten them but was cut off by the valet.

"It's brilliant." John added, inwardly smirking at the thought. "Thomas would be able to grab it and explain his presence if he were caught."

Well, that wasn't entirely true, given the fact that the under-butler had been missing from the dinner service. But Anna and John were happy to ignore that fact, just this once.

"I don't know," Elsie countered, not wanting the lad to get stuck in a plan he didn't agree to. Certainly not when he was the only one who had helped her get out of the pantry. "I think we've a better chance of distracting them with my keys."

"But the family might hear your keys, Mrs. Hughes, and that would defeat the purpose." John pointed out.

"And they won't hear it yowling when I've caught it?" Thomas bluntly put forth, in no mood to be the bait.

"Well, I'll give it away at once if I try to catch the thing," Anna reminded them, gesturing to herself. "Allergies can't be hidden."

"And I wouldn't be able to reach under the table." John could be as straightforward as the rest of them, when the situation called for it.

"What about me?" The assistant cook wondered, knowing she was small enough. Maybe this was her chance to shine and finally step out of the downstairs. She could do it without being seen, she was sure of it!

"No, Daisy. Not you."

Well, so much for that.

The group bandied about any and every suggestion, determined to reach a solution that would satisfy all four priorities–– well, all three priorities, given the fact that Mrs. Hughes now had permission to help.

But just like before, in the end, there was only one thing for it.

_._

Charles observed Mr. Moseley return to the table, wondering what had taken him so long. For that matter, why was there a determined glint in his eye? Given the footman's knack for making a mess out of things, that glint was not reassuring.

"Don't worry, Mr. Carson," Moseley was all too eager with his tone, whispering to him only when the family was out of the room. "We've got this taken care of!"

He rather doubted that. But he had no choice but to leave the kitten alone. Any loitering and the family would be aware something was afoot. At least the blasted hellion had stayed quiet under the table, allowing him some form of dignity.

It was with regret that Charles trudged away from the table and toward the rest of the family. Moseley was not helping matters, giving him a thumbs up and unceremoniously gesturing for the butler to return to his post in the other room.

Right. The footman thought to himself, I'm sure it'll all work out in the end. Eventually.

_._

In the end, it had been a simple matter of Mrs. Patmore turning scraps of old food into cat bait. The hardest part was getting the designated baitee –– Daisy's words, not anyone else's –– to take on their role.

"I'm not doing it." Thomas coldly spoke, ignoring the proffered bowl. "There are plenty of other people who can catch the thing. It's not going to be me."

"You're doing it." The redhead curtly informed him, well aware of the facts. "Unless, of course, you want Mr. Carson to know just who let Mrs. Hughes out of his pantry."

Barrow's scowl deepened, a pale hand snatching up the stupid bowl –– a dish that reeked of something only a stray would go for. He was going to smell like disgusting cat food for the next week. And if anyone dared to tease him about it, they would be in for it.

"You know," John began to remark from a safe distance, watching the under-butler stalk up the steps. "This may be the best day we've had in a while."

Anna snorted, waiting for Thomas to disappear from sight, "John Bates, are you poking fun at Mr. Barrow?"

"I most certainly am."

Her own grin widened, "And I take it you're going to suggest we go upstairs to make sure Mr. Barrow successfully traps this kitten?"

"Could I possibly suggest anything else?"

_._

Phyllis Baxter was torn. On one hand, Joseph's amusement over Thomas was rather endearing. Really, it was difficult to look solemn when the man was so tickled. On the other hand, she didn't want the under-butler to think poorly of her and he was already obviously miserable. This amusement wouldn't help.

"I'm happy to give my thread another go––"

"Don't." Thomas warned her. "Let's just get this over with."

Mrs. Hughes concurred, having volunteered to stay nearby. What with Mr. Carson's official permission for her to help –– dinner had ended, after all –– she was all for readying another sack to catch the kitten.

"Well," With no one in the dining room, there was only one thing for it. "Shall we then?"

_._

Charles Carson did not like to hear strange noises in the distance.

Certainly not ones that sounded like pieces of silver were falling, among other things.

He had tensed in anticipation of yowling, but could catch nothing. Nothing loud enough for the chattering family to notice, that is.

Of course, when there was a very prominent sneeze in another room, "What was that?"

Naturally, Lady Edith was the only one who noticed. The one member of the family –– other than Mrs. Crawley, of course –– who had been proven to be rather dogged in her focus.

"I didn't hear a thing," Her mother warmly responded, turning back to the others.

"But––"

"Edith dear, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Well, that was an inaccurate assessment. But Charles was more than happy to say nothing on the subject, assuaged they had made it through the dinner in relative peace.

Naturally, he would have to discreetly step out at once.

_._

"What in God's name is this?"

Elsie rolled her eyes at the butler's presence. It only figured her daft curmudgeon would spot them at this part of the adventure. Well, there was no reason for him to get all high and mighty now, not when he'd roped the whole downstairs into catching the kittens.

"Mr. Carson, if you're referring to the dining room," Poor Miss Baxter had a lot to learn when it came to Downton. Namely, don't bring up something until it's explicitly mentioned.

"What about the dining room?" The man frostily asked, no doubt sending the poor lady's maid back a few paces. It was a good thing John and Anna had already volunteered to clean up the dining room. No doubt whatever progress they had made would make for a vast improvement.

"Erm, well,"

Thomas unabashedly shushed the lot, bringing what little remained of the cat food closer to the stairs. The trio had been unsuccessful in capturing the kitten in the dining room, ensuing in a chase throughout the house.

Mrs. Hughes was now at the top of the staircase with her keys, using them as a last resort to compel the thing up the steps. As for the under-butler, he was planning to sneak up on it and snatch the thing with the sack –– having swapped roles with the housekeeper in that regard. Fortunately, it was his livery and not the priceless furniture that was destro–– speckled with cat bait. He made bloody well sure that nothing touched the rugs, in no mood for the butler to get all huffy.

Mr. Carson made to speak, but Elsie shushed him. If he made one comment about the indecency of it all, she'd get Thomas to put the sack over him! And she was only mildly joking. The things that little dear had gotten them all to do in the last thirty minutes –– well, the trio had bonded in more than one way, that was for sure.

"Jus' a wee bit closer," She didn't notice her lilt slip into something stronger, quietly jangling tired hands against her keys once more. She could only thank heaven the kitten looked to be as knackered as them, crawling up the steps with much less strength than before. "C'mon now, tha's right."

Four sets of eyes watched a green pair blink back weariness, proving that curiosity wasn't going to kill the cat but it would certainly exhaust the thing. Still, the kitten remained fixated by the shiny objects, reaching the housekeeper at last.

The woman knelt on the ground, holding out the keys for it to play with and praying this worked. With any luck, Thomas would slither up the last few steps without detection and nab their little hellion before anything else could happen.

A black paw reached out, batting at the keys in fascination before a yawn overtook the kitten. He then stretched himself for a moment, curling up against the housekeeper and falling fast asleep.

"Mr. Cars––" Four people shushed Joseph Moseley as the footman came to an awkward stop. He then whispered, "They were wondering where you went!"

Everyone –– and that truly included everyone –– glared at the interruption. But the kitten didn't stir, out cold. Elsie gently scooped him up and poured the dear into Barrow's bag. Silence was maintained. Relief was handed about, all observers rather worn out from the day's events.

"Right." The butler quietly intoned, exhausted and ever so pleased they managed most if not all priorities. "Mrs. Hughes, Thomas, please see to that thing making it back downstairs. As for you, Mr. Moseley, you and Miss Baxter can see to the dining room."

"The dining room? What about the dining room? And won't the family notice that I've disappeared?"

"I'm afraid, Mr. Moseley," Charles stated this in a manner that could not be mistaken for fear. "You've had another round of hiccups. And they proved to be debilitating."

"Hiccups. Debilitating. Right." Of course. Why didn't I expect anything else?

"But what are we to do about them, Mr. Carson?" Phyllis had no qualms about helping John and Anna with the dining room. It was the fate of the kittens that had her worried.

"We'll deal with that later."

Translation? I've not a bloody clue.


Author's Note: Personally, I can see this going one of a few ways:

Way 1: The cats skulk around Downton and grow up there taking care of things like mice (while the family pretends to ignore them all the while).

Way 2: The cats get homes of their own and go off to be someone else's hellions.

Way 3: It's entirely up to your imagination.

I may post a little "epilogue" equivalent that attends to that, I also might just leave the story there and stick to Way 3. We shall see.

Nevertheless, I may or may not have written an entire Chelsie based chapter that takes place after they catch the last kitten. So naturally, that means once I've polished it up, I'll be posting that chapter as a bonus.

In any case, hope you enjoyed this adventure and that you have a nice day! 'Till next time.