October 1939

George had been gone for three weeks. Matthew arranged a short car ride with Andy, Josephine and Caroline. It was a very important trip. He said. All of them were excited, thinking they were going to be treated to something fun.

They wondered why he had dragged them along to his many investments.

"Why did you have to bring us along?" Carrie asked, the eleven-year-old clearly board and dis-interested.

"To see how it's done. Downton might be yours one day if something..." They might be Downton's future if something happened to George. He paused and stared straight ahead. His youngest squeezed his hand and a smile spread on his face. "It always pays to be prepared. The first war," he plays with a cigarette in its holder, "created many ruined and cash-starved upper class. The smart ones had invested in arms factories and army supplied when the war broke out. The foolish ones, the ones who sat on their ancient piles of money and property, waiting for the old world to right itself, lost. We cannot not assume that things will go that way again. We must take advantage of it."

They stopped at numerous estates, that looked more like castles than even Downton, but with chipped brick and crumbling roofs. He offered low prices for the contents of their galleries, paid in cash. The walls that had been bare at the abbey would be adorned with paintings once more. But he wasn't going to keep them. The value would go up and they would be priceless after the war.

"But we already have money." Jo said, as they got back into the car. "You're going to a lot of trouble."

"Do pay attention children." He replied humorously. He lit a cigarette. "Look around you. Look what's happened to these people. Rich families, centuries old, some of them. Our family is younger than theirs by a few hundred and so is our money. The lesson is that we have money now, but we don't know what will happen to us in ten, twenty years." He took a puff of his cigarette. Jo waved away the smoke. She preferred the smell of his cigars but chances where they would become harder find, the higher quality at least. She recalled the smell of them from her childhood and had missed it, strangely she would have welcomed it over this foul stench. He had quit when Carrie was born. When had he taken it up again, upon hearing the outbreak of war? Did mama know? "I won't let that happen to George, my children. I want to preserve it, at least for your own children."

"You've been listening too much to mama. You're starting to sound like her." Jo teased.

"Nonsense. I'm starting to sound like me."

Jo had thoroughly enjoyed the outing with her father, taking genuine interest in his work. The others wouldn't, they were too young yet. Running and being in charge of Downton one day was a place where she could see herself belonging. Was it just her or was that what her father had in mind, hoped for her to take over, if George didn't survive the war.

But females could not inherit unless he had found his way around it. He was that clever enough. So much was expected of her and George, being the first two born, by members of the peerage and the village. A great responsibility feel on their shoulders, her especially now. For example, she too was to marry well, as Andy was, but only if something happened to George. She didn't know if she could have lived her entire life being seen as the 'spare part.' Poor kid. (Of course, her parents didn't feel that way, but it was that way to the people outside of their family) At least that's what she would have felt like. She had felt that way each time one of her siblings was born but it had been a temporary feeling.

That wasn't the only thing that set her apart as the older child.

Jo looked nothing like her siblings. George, Andy, and Carrie looked exactly like their father, all blond with blue eyes; except George has brown. Jo looked like her mother, brunette, brown eyes, with skin the color of porcelain, the only feature she shared with her siblings.

Even Sybie looked nothing like her cousins, with her raven dark hair and enormous blue eyes. While Katie, looked the most different of them all, with her red-blond hair, like Aunt Edith's, Granny Violet's in her youth, and Cousin Jay's. She took after their grandmother Isobel in looks.

Jo was the very image of her mother, which she was sure secretly delighted her father. He was still so in love with his wife of so many years, that just seeing Jo smiled at him reminded him of their younger days. As a result, he had a soft spot for Josephine. He also had one for her youngest sister, Caroline. Both were always accusing each other of being the favorite.

Jo was also occasionally jealous of Katie, accusing her of stealing potential dates, drawn to her 'exotic' contrast features (redheads were a rarity, with green eyes even more so.) with a rose bud of a mouth that sometimes appeared to pout, caused young men to quiver, even at fifteen to Jo's almost seventeen. Her father could chase them away with just a look.

But still, she would not take any potential suitors away from her. Jo was determined.

Jo had run into a man in the village. Well, she had nearly plowed into him with her bicycle as she turned the sharp corner, her pant legs had gotten stuck in the spokes, and just as she freed it, he was rounding the corner. They both went down in a tangle of limbs.

He immediately apologized. His heart seemed to stop as he lifted his head up to look at her.

"Are you alright?" He helped her up.

He was tall and fair, not bad looking. And she was...well, not interested. She should have been. Her only interests were her own. She liked being a teacher's assistant at the village school, where she would be teaching after next year. She would like to have a job, maybe even volunteer at the telephone exchange. But first she was instructed to help at the hospital to learn first aid. She didn't want to work around sick people, her father had been sick a lot when she was younger. But they would only be pretending. Today's course was learning to roll and apply bandages. That's what she had been thinking about when she crashed into him.

"Now that you're here. Thank..."

He expects her to be the helpless female, that falls head over heels. That's what she would give him.

"Thank you." She continues with a dreamy voice. "How silly of me. I didn't see you in time to get out of the way."

"I'm afraid it was a deplorable performance on my part. Oliver Claiborne."

She didn't offer her name.

"How's your ankle?" He nodded down to her leg.

"What...oh!" She lifted her weight off her 'supposed" injured ankle. "It's fine. Just sore."

"Which way where you headed or coming from, if I may ask." He had a foreign, old fashioned way of speaking. It would be boring. Most girls her age did.

She contemplates on how much she should tell him.

"I was headed to see my sister at the hospital."

"I can take you there in my cab." When the car pulled up, she got into the back with him.

As she shut the door behind her, she wondered, What am I doing, getting into a car with a stranger, a man no less. What would Mama and Papa think?

He was that charming. Without giving a second though, she had taken him up on his offer.

He can't be dangerous. She can't imagine him being the type to lure unsuspecting women into vehicles and take them off to God knows where. After all it wasn't like he was the one driving. He couldn't very well do that with a driver.

"Are your family this accident prone?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"No." She said, coolly at first, missing the joke. "She's volunteering to learn how to roll bandages. They're practicing on volunteer soldiers today."

"Of course. I meant no offense."

What about my bike? She suddenly thought.

"I can have it sent to you. If you could tell me what address, I can have it sent..."

"No. I'm not telling a stranger where I live."

"Of course not. Why wouldn't you?"

She was growing agitated of his forthcoming nature and made it known, crossing her arms and shifting away from him. For the rest of the ride neither of them said a word. He didn't speak until they arrived at their destination.

"Ah, here we are."

Relived she opened the door and got out. Before she shut it, he leaned over. She could hardly shut it on him, although she was tempted.

"Will I see you again?" His voice sounded almost hopeful.

Jo blinked several times. "No. I don't think so."

"Ah, goodbye then."

He pulled the door shut. "Could you not take off right away?" He asked his driver. "I want to make sure she makes it in alright."

Watching her walk up the path to the hospital, he saw that her limp was suddenly gone. He found himself smiling. She had lied about it to grab his attention. He was angry but also thrilled. His smile then fell, as he remembered. He couldn't involve himself with a normal girl. His parents wouldn't approve of a village girl.


Sybil's first day did not go as smoothly as she had thought it would. She did not get along with Doctor Evans from day one. After three weeks of training, she had been assigned to accompany him on rounds, which she didn't know would include an interrogation. He had overheard her moments before, speaking with the other students, who were complaining how cold the building was. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, staring at her. Why her?

"You're needed, Miss Branson. You'll be accompanying me today. We'll be assisting me with an operation. Gangrenous. There'll be a lot of those. Wounds get infected daily. You'll need the practice and set your focus and priorities straight."

"I am dedicated, doctor. My first priority is our service men's health and..."

"An unheated hall will be nothing compared to some of the unpleasant conditions you would be experienced to work in, Miss Branson."

"Only martyrs tolerate hardship when simple solutions can be found, Doctor Evans. I do my best to solve problems."

"It's just a matter of time before you and your fellow nurses start the real work, I hope you're prepared for. What education did you have, Miss Branson?"

"As a child I attended Miss Murdoch's in Boston for a few years for the short time my d... father and I lived there. The rest, I grew up on my aunt and Uncle's estate. I learned the same things my cousins did. We had the same tutors."

She's another one of those, do-gooders, come from a rich family, thinking she can contribute something to 'look good' And another good Irish lass turning her back on her own kind, she had stopped herself calling her father, Da.

"I had an interview for a scholarship, but it fell through, so I decided to join the war effort before war broke out."

He stopped walking. "Nursing is hard work, especially for someone not used to adversity and so well, privileged."

What? He thought she was privileged. She wanted to tell him that she had been anything but. But she didn't want to make enemies of him if she was going to work alongside him for a long while.

"Your last name is Irish is it not?"

"I had an English mother. Your name in particular isn't. Though your accent is a dead giveaway. Your father must be English or Welsh."

"We're not here to become familiar with each other, Miss Branson."

"Then do you mind what's with asking me all sorts of questions."

"Not many make it this far. I have to make sure you're qualified."

They stopped outside the operating. One sight of the festering, pus filled wound, she fainted. Now she would prove he was right.


Katie didn't only take after her grandmother in looks but in her ambitions, as did Sybie, (though it was more to do with her mother having been a nurse in the first war and her uncle's condition. Sybie wanted to learn how to help people like him and be part of the new innovations and advances in medicine. And in general, she loved taking care of people. She was off training for the VAD now, which her Aunt Mary was not too happy about. She was still a little mad at her father and Uncle Tom for encouraging her to go. George had left for training about a week ago and now Uncle Bertie was leaving. He had gotten his letter about the same time and stated he would be back on leave by Christmas, which the family highly doubted.

As for Kate, she liked to be called now, it made her feel older than her fifteen years, she had wanted to do her bit too. She was the first one to jump at the opportunity when the hospital was offering classes on how to roll bandages. How hard was it to roll a bandage? Jo asked herself. Such matters to do with nursing didn't interest her. On the other hand, it could be useful to know first aid for her future students, if this war went on for a few years.

She was studying to be a teacher and could be a teaching assistant in the next few years. Molesley had been their tutor growing up. He had tried to become a teacher to work at the school, but he couldn't get the school children to listen to him, that's when their father had offered him the job. He was in his sixties now, only ten years older than her father, and worked solely as his valet again, now that they were grown.

When becoming a horse jokey wasn't a possibility for her future, she had told her father that she had wanted to be a teacher. Something he approved of. He would have approved of anything, even if being a jockey was an opportunity for her. But it had felt more of an excuse, as he thought of women as equals and that they were capable of doing almost anything that a man could, he wouldn't normally object. I believe they do somethings better. He had once said. He was more frightened that she would break her neck.

So, she had put horse racing on the back burner.

When she entered the hospital, Kate was 'tending' to Lord Wroughton, who was pretending to have a burn injury. They were learning how to dress certain injuries. They were onto head wounds now. Johnny Bates was pushing his way through to be next in line.

"Alright, it's my turn next!"

" Johnny Bates, I see you over there. You're only thirteen years old, get out!" An old nurse shoed him away.

Jo and her sister exchanged glances as Johnny left, chased out by the nurse. Of course, Kate, as always, appeared to be the most popular.

The old nurse turned out to be Matron. She turned to Jo.

"If you weren't the Earl's daughter, and this was an actual program, I would have doxed you out, Lady Josephine." Her head down, she didn't see that Mr. Claiborne had entered and had overheard. He didn't really need to try, with the matron talking loudly.

So,she's an Earl's daughter. I might have a chance after all. But that wasn't the reason that he was here. Something was telling him not to leave it alone, not just yet.

"Luckily, the last one fainted, having to dress an actual head wound, and left an apron for you." The Matron handed the apron to her. "Get changed, on the double."

When she came out from the curtained off section, that passed as a changing room, she almost ran into him again.

"Oh." She gasped as she recognized him. What are you doing here? Before she had the chance to ask it, he said,

"I hope I'm not too late to volunteer."


She woke to find herself unceremoniously lying on the floor, water being dripped over her face and smelling salts under her nose. She recognized the figures as Louise Shepard and Matron, Doctor Evans looming over her in the exact same pose he was when they had meant moments before.

"Perhaps I should have recommended a chair. I'm afraid your weak disposition and pride have marked you unfit."

"This isn't the 1800's. I suppose it doesn't seem too far away to you." The last century had only been forty years ago. She'd place him about thirty to forty-five. Enough time for Victorian values to still have an impact on his views.

"You should consider quitting before you're ahead. Maybe you should consider that you're not cut out for this."

"Please, doctor." She struggled to sit up. Matron told her to remain still for a few minutes. "This never happened to me before." Not during her training.

"What happened?" Another nurse, she had trained with, entered the room. Sybil hoped no more would come. She didn't want an audience.

"What do you think happened?" Replied Shepard but Doctor Evans finished her explanation for her.

"Miss Branson fainted during a simple wound probe."

"It's alright it happens to the best of us." said Matron. "I'll give you a second chance."

Doctor Evans left the room, unsatisfactory. Matron promptly followed.

Great, another reason for him to hate me.

"I don't know what came over me."

The second girl came over to her. "The same thing happened to me in Paris. I worked at a children's hospital, treating the orphans, before the war. Emmeline Granger. Call me Emmie." She held out her hand to help her up.

"Just take a breath, Branson." said Shepard. "You'll need to do that if you want to survive, especially if you want to survive doctor Kill."

"What?"

"Killian Evans. An ironic name for a doctor if you ask me. And with his handsome looks, as in if looks could kill. Just stay in your place and do what he says, and you won't face his wrath."

"I don't get why we always have to listen to men, sacrifice our thoughts and opinions. Why we must always serve under them like we're their servants."

"Where have you been since the dawn of time, living under a rock. This is a man's world."

"It won't be for long. Not after the war. There won't be many men left. It'll be a whole different world then."


Jo was in for a surprise when she came in from riding. She hardly had gifts delivered to her. It was in the foyer when she came in, a red bicycle topped with a bow and a bell on its handlebars. How humorous. Her hand parted the enormous bow, searching for a card. There didn't seemed to be one.

She knew who it could be from unless it was a coincidence, and it was from Papa. Then again how could he have heard and had ordered a new one so quickly?

It had to be from him.

What was he thinking?

Her throat tightened nervously, and she swallowed. She was not used to a man giving her something in return. She didn't know how or what to feel about that.

She ran her hand over the bike, (it must have cost a small fortune) and rang the bell. Morrison appeared immediately, probably mistaking it for a summons.

"Yes, my lady?" Then he added, "I was wondering when you were going to discover it!" Beaming away like he was Father Christmas. One year, when she was small, she had actually believed that he was.

"Morrison, do you know who sent this?"

"Yes. It came with a card. Right here." He produced it from the table near the phone. "It's from the Duke of..."

She snatched it from him, trying not to appear anxious or too eager. She read the first few sentences to herself, Sorry about your old one. It couldn't be salvaged.

Then out loud,

"So, someone will hear you coming." Very humorous indeed. She scoffed, in the very way her mother would have at such a display, if she were still courting papa instead of married. "Was he here?"

"Oh, yes! He was a very charming, very kind young man."

"I bet he was." She said coolly. "For a Duke, he ought to be."

Morrison dared not challenge her or call her out. He wouldn't want to upset her. His relationship with Lady Josephine was that of Carson's relationship had been with Lady Mary. The former butler had passed just last year and had seen potential in Morrison, despite his 'delinquent' son. He wouldn't know if any word of that was true. He was finishing his last year out at Oxford and so far, he hadn't been kicked out. Lady Josephine seemed to keep him in line, that much he knew.

"He asked about your ankle."

"It's fine, thanks." She gave him a brief smile, while examining the card. He hadn't left where she could reach him. "Did he leave a number?" She asked.

"He did, my lady." He gave it to her, trying not to beam, glad that a more suitable young man was calling on her.

Jo turned toward the stairs at a quick pace, but not too quick.

"My lady." She stopped. "What would you want me to do with the bicycle?"

"Do whatever you want with it."

She went up to her room to telephone him. Papa had one installed for her at her request. It was about to pay off. She didn't want her sisters listening in. She would thank him for the bike but would give it to George, he could use it when he was home, or she could give it to Jay. Jay was way too small for it now, but he would grow into it in a few years. She didn't plan on seeing the Duke again, so there was no way he'd find out.

She thanked him for the bike of course but horses were more her forte.

"That's the luck I get."

"Me or the bike?"

They both chuckled, the ice broken.

"I shall arrange for you to tour our stables. So, you can pick out one for yourself."

She stopped laughing. "You're not serious."

"Oh, yeah. We raise the finest horses. And you'd know what you were getting because I helped raise most of them. But I dare admit they're not better than the Queen's."

"No one could have better horses than the Queen."

"I used to ride them when I was a boy. She's my tenth cousin, I think. I'm forty-one in line for the throne. Forty good strong healthy men and women would have to drop dead."

"Stranger things have happened. Do you think I could tour her Majesty's stables one day?"

"I can see what I can do. But I can't make any promises."

He was perfect. He loved horses almost as much as she did, could make her laugh when it was hard for other people to get to do so much as to crack a smile. Only two people could do that. George and Papa.

She learned so much about Oliver in the short time she had known him, the past hour they've been talking. He sounded too good to be true and rightfully so, she sensed he was keeping something from her. Something you wouldn't even tell a stranger; she wouldn't fault him for that.

"You would really do that for me?"

"I would give you the world if I could."

"You've only just met me."

She was thinking the same thing that he was. But it feels I have known you forever. But for her it was in a different way. She felt as though she was talking to her brother. Which didn't make sense. He had everything! She should be in love, the kind of man she'd be expected to fall in love with, but she wasn't. He thrilled her and intetested her but she wasn't attracted to him. Perhaps it was just an infatuation like with Billy.

She quickly came up with an excuse to hang up. "I have to get ready for dinner. The gong will ring soon." They said their goodbyes. Maybe there wouldn't be any harm in seeing him again.


"I wish you didn't have to go to war again." Jay said, softly. They were on their way up to Downton. The car ride was stifling, uncomfortable.

"I hate to go back too." His father said, "but I think it will be over soon."

"That's what they said about the last one. It lasted four years. They're saying it might last just as long or twice that." said his mother.

Jay watched the terrain through his window.

His father was almost forty-six. What could they possibly want with him? His mother was almost forty-eight. No other children were blessed to them. He was an only child, like his Uncle Matthew.

"I should get leave on Christmas." He reassured them once again. He put a hand on the back of his wife's head, pulling her close to him, to place a kiss on her forehead.

They arrived at Downton, walking up the gravel path, chatting cheerfully. On that night it would be the last dinner before Bertie was due to leave.

Before they were to go in for dinner, the adults were having cocktails, Jay had overheard his aunt and mother talking, their voices becoming raised, but he didn't pay much attention.

Aunt Mary had been angry about George and Sissy, (That was Sybil. At a young age he hadn't been able to say Sybie) leaving for the war. She didn't have to tell Jay, whom she was close to, or have tell from their voices, to know.

"Mary, dear you look tired." His mother said.

"Well thank you for that." Aunt Mary, coldly. "Exactly what one wants to hear at the beginning of the evening. I'm not tired, as a matter of fact."

"Well, I'm delighted to hear it. I'm very tired myself."

Later Jay had found his aunt in her and his uncle's bedroom. She was probably still mad about George and Sybie leaving.

"Auntie? Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, darling."

"I thought I heard you shouting. You don't look fine."

"Well, I am. How has school been?"

"Very good. Where is Jo?"

"Getting ready."

"Who's car outside, the little red one."

"Jo's. It was an early birthday present."

"From Father Christmas?"

"No." Perhaps it was time to tell him there was no father Christmas. Mary decided it wasn't the time. Let this be his last year to believe. Edith wouldn't want me interfering anyway. His cousins have just gone off to war and tomorrow his father would be going. "From her dear Papa, who else?" She ruffled his hair, and he made a grimace.

"She got a car?" He asked, still in disbelief. "Lucky. All I got was a bike that I can't even ride yet." His expression changed from disappointed to excited. "Can I go and sit in it, like I do with Mr. Talbot's cars? When can I have a ride? I want to go..."

She laughed, the good humor and happiness restored by his presence. Henry had done the same with George growing up. "He doesn't race when you're in the car with him, I should hope."

"No. Of course not." He took George on rides sometimes too and taught him how to drive. He wanted Mr. Talbot to teach him how to drive too.

Just as she had thought. She had discussed it with Henry before. Last she spoke with him, he was thinking of taking up his old job with the FANNY's, if not driving ambulances because of his age, they'd need someone to know how to repair them. She doubted they wouldn't be seeing much of him anytime soon either.

She was overwhelmed by her feelings for her nephew, the youngest. Edith's son, who would have thought? With his strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his mother's and Katie's, he could have even passed for her and Matthew's son. She sort of regretted that they hadn't had anymore. Then she thought of how raising five children so close in age had been more than a handful.

Not only was Jay brilliant, reading at four, writing stories and poetry at seven, (a future Marquess being an author or a poet.) but hugely charming. At the age when young boys conversed about cricket and trains, (well he did have a love for airplanes. He better just stick with being the poet, she thought planes too dangerous, crashing all the time. And with how often she had heard them being shot down, she was at least thankful that George hadn't decided to join the RAF) Jay liked to talk about books, to other people, adults as well as his own friends, and the events of the day.

For his last birthday he requested a radio so that he could listen to the news and concerts in his room, only when he was home from school.

Just then Matthew wheeled into the room.

"Jay, run along, darling." Mary said, "go and get changed for dinner."

"OK."

"And don't say ok in grandmama's presence, please."

"OK."

"Jay."

"I won't, promise. Hallo Uncle, just going."

The family made light conversation at the dinner table, not speaking of war and what was to come. Edith couldn't stand it, though she was nodding along, when really, she was thinking about it, unable to bear the thought what she would do, what they would do if they lost him. Jay was only eleven years old. She feared for her sisters' boys. If this dragged on for four years or longer, Andy would be old enough to join. What would happen if something were to happen to both of them? It would devastate their family. Matthew's health would no doubt spiral. There would be no heir. Downton would shut its doors. She knew that wasn't as important. She saw Matthew glance at her as if he knew her thoughts.


Mary was pacing their bedroom. Matthew could tell there was anger in her pacing, but she wasn't really angry.

"Darling, I know that you're not really angry."

She stopped and turned to him, "What makes you say that?"

"You're upset. Both of us know you only act angry when you are. Or when you're worried." He took her hand, and she came over to the bed to sit down next to him.

"I am worried!"

He forced himself not to smile. He wanted to because she would never admit that he was right.

"No, not actually worried, frightened. Our son, our baby boy will soon be on the other side of the world fighting, and Sybie could very well be in the middle of it of it already."

"I know."

"Why were you so eager to let them go?"

"I wasn't. You know I'm just as..." He was just as frightened as she was.

"I know. I know you are." She gave a sigh.

"We had to let him go. And Sybie, we don't have a word in what she does."

She nodded. "Tom had the final say."

"And I have no doubt she would have listened to him either if he was against it." He took his wife's hands."Sybie and George can take care of themselves. They both can. Look at where they come from. They have strong, stubborn parents."

"I used to not compare her to Sybil because it hurt too much. With Katie she looks nothing like..." Mary shook her head. Katie had that sweet nature just as her sister had. She would make a wonderful nurse one day too. "I can't help but imagine the most horrible things that could happen to him..." Her husband pulled her close, trying to soothe her. She only grew agitated and pulled away. "you said there couldn't be another one. They all said..." But he wouldn't let her, he gripped her tightly.

"The wars to end all wars. I feel like we let them down. George's generation." His voice lowered, filled with quilt. Mary looked up with watery eyes. He mustn't. All the pain from the previous one reflected back in his eyes.

"No." She lifted her hand to touch his face. He took hold of it, before he let it go and placed it beside him.

"That's not all. That worries you. You're worried that they'll come back again. The episodes..."

She nodded against his shoulder.

"They haven't. They almost did. But if they do, we will..." The door opened, interrupting them. It was Andy.

"What did we say about knocking before entering, young man? You're lucky you didn't walk in on us doing something important." His father playfully scolded.

"Like what?" His parents gave him a peculiar look, then at each other. They hadn't spoken to him about what 'being a man' entailed yet. "Kissing? Eck." He pulled a face. They had appeared as if they were about to when he came in. He was definitely knock next time.

"Did you have something to tell us?" He noticed that his parents were waiting patiently.

"Oh." For a moment he had forgotten what he had come up here in the first place. "Aunt Edith and Uncle Bertie are leaving. Jay wanted to know if he could stay with us for a few days."

"Of course!" Mary was excited at the thought. "We'll be happy to have him!"

"Is he sure he doesn't want to see his father off?" Matthew asked.

Andy shook his head.

They headed downstairs to see the family off. To Matthew's surprise, Mary hugged her brother in-law. She surprised herself by saying, "God Bless." but decided that it was fitting.


Carrie's birthday would be approaching fast in the next few months. She would be twelve years old. She also shared a birth month with her sister Josephine and her cousins Sybil and Jay and also Johnny Bates, Andy's friend.

Johnny Bates and Jay were about the same age as her, though Jay liked to hang around people older than him. She couldn't wait till she was older like Josephine, she was pretty like Mama, though sometimes Jo could be mean, mostly to Katie. Now she was beautiful!

Johnny was into the things that Carrie was into and had a bit of a crush on him, but he had noticed how beautiful Katie was too.

That was no matter. She and Johnny agreed to be just friends. She just had to tell her papa how she couldn't wait to be grown up like her siblings, till she could do what she wanted and see boys like Jo.

"No matter how grown up you get, you will always, all your life, be my child." Her papa said to her. "Jo is seeing a boy?"

Carrie shrugged. "Maybe two. I don't know. I asked Johnny if he wanted to date me, but he said he wanted to be friends. He likes Kate. He used to fancy Sybie too but she's much too older."

"Well, someday the right one will come along. But your sister is seventeen and Katie is fifteen. Twelve-year-old's shouldn't be dating, and definitely shouldn't be dating someone older. It isn't the same as an age difference in adults."

"Like you and Mama?" There was six years between her parents.

He gave a nod. "Exactly."

"When will I be old enough?"

"I will let you know." He teased, giving her a hug, kissing the top of her blond curled head.

"Papa." She protested, pulling away.

"You would tell me if anything was bothering you." Her attitude had been somewhat hostile the first week after he left, now she was quiet. "with this whole business with your brother leaving."

"I am a bit sad, and I do miss him, but I am proud of him!" She gave a triumphant nod.

While Kate and Jo stayed silent about their opinion and what they were feeling, Andy talked non-stop about the war, when he wasn't, he seemed to get up to mischievous but harmless antics with Johnny Bates.

All boys are at that age. Matthew thought about his own rebellious nature at that age. All of his children had seemed have inherited at least a streak of it from both parents and grandparents. But not very often was Andy acting out anymore. He had really matured. He wanted to fill in for George, be the second man of the house, until it was his turn to go.

"I would be lucky if I'd even get to train and if I get to see any action, it probably wouldn't be much."

He sounded genuinely disappointed about the fact. His parents didn't protest. They stopped after the second week. They couldn't expect him to know how serious war really was.

The third week since George's departure they received a letter from him. He wrote how he was, nothing about his training other than it was tiring.

Once a month he would send a letter to his parents and one to Jo. Two weeks before December, he would be shipped off. He didn't say where.

'Probably somewhere in France' as they say.

George didn't throw himself right into things. He was articulate, like his father, not impulsive like Andy. It could be good or bad out here. He learned that quickly during his training.

He wished that his grandfather Donk could see him now. He would be proud of him.

Only a few people had died in training, that he omitted from his letters and the accidents had happened before he had arrived. From bright eyed, fresh, full of energy, the rigorous training had him on the edge of exhaustion at the end of the day and he wondered when he was going to get used to it.


The downstairs was already in a hustle and bustle, the kitchen working with anything they had. It was nosy, though it was quiet since young Master George had left.

"Merida, where are the utensils?" Ms. Mackenzie, affectionately called Ms. Mac by no one but the family. She let the new hires on day one knows that. It was a miracle to find them, as one of her girls had left to work in a ammunitions' factory.

"Still in the scullery." The girl nervously rushed from the scullery room, drying some cutlery on her apron.

Ms. Mackenzie didn't yell or bark orders like Miss Patmore had. Miss Patmore had gone to live with her sister after she retired. Her bed and breakfast had been shut down; it had been deemed a 'house of repute" where married men or woman would come to have affairs. All without her knowledge of course. Lord Grantham, well a few years before he was, and Lady Mary had tried to help her save it but to no avail even though they tried. That was more than ten years ago, long before she had come to work at the Abbey. She had been hired about the same time Morrison had. She also doubled as housekeeper, until the new one would arrive.

Just by a look you could tell when Ms. Mackenzie was angry. She had always been a confidant to the Earl and Countess's children, especially to the two older ones. Whenever they needed to talk about their problems, she would made them their favorites sweets or give them the leftovers and listen. Lady Josephine would go to Morrison if she didn't get her way with Ms. Mac, when she couldn't go to her parents about something. When they were younger, she used to give them extra sweets; George would look up at her with his soft, soulful brown eyes, pleading. So, it was hard for her too as for anyone else when Master Geroge got his papers. The Downstairs hadn't heard about it till he was actually going.

He had wanted it kept that way.

Ms. Mac rolled her eyes at the girl, eyeing carefully to see that she only had spoons and forks cradled into the bundle of her apron.

"At least I don't have to tell her not to run with knives."


A train full of trainees died after it had derailed in the snow, in December. He wrote to Josephine about it but not about his hope that none of them had been his friends. He tried not to think of things that could or would go wrong, as he wrote to his sister. He couldn't mention those things to her, even though they were close and always felt that he could tell her anything, and he'd be posted close to home, at least for a while. He had never felt so alone. It had only been his first week fighting and he was already tired of it. Men seemed to die easily despite their training.

Some believe that no amount of training can prepare a soldier for the real thing, other's ninety percent. That is partly right, it depends.

The problem, however, is that you don't know exactly which of the things that you've learned in training are part of this ninety percent and which aren't. You can separate what you've learned in training into three categories:

Useless shit that you never ever need in combat:

This includes formation drills, "building" your bed, shining your boots, and all those stupid things that the army fills your time with.

Things you probably don't need in combat, but you can't be completely sure about it.

Things that you absolutely need to know:

The 10% of useful combat skills that you should learn in training. Shooting, marching, and building defense positions. First aid, Radio communication, and small unit tactics.

One might object that teaching these "essential" skills takes up more space than 10% of training time, at least in infantry units, but another problem is that these skills are often not properly taught and that therefore, a lot of time is wasted.

For example, soldiers have to learn the right names for every little piece of their weapon just to forget all about it only a few weeks later. Additionally, weapons training is often completely unrealistic. Too much time is wasted on techniques that are almost never used.

One reason why military training is often far away from the realities of the battlefield is that military bureaucracy is very slow, and it takes years for a field manual to be drafted, reviewed, approved, and finally handed out to the troops.

Another problem is the lack of experienced instructors. If you haven't used a technique in combat, you can't properly teach it. Your training is about as good as who is training you.


It had been almost three months since George had left for training. The longest he's been away from home, alone. He would never talk about what it was like over there or what he'd been doing, just about how he was. He had gone through grueling training. It had been cut in half to six weeks instead of twelve. On the 26th of October he had been shipped out, (the location where he was sent was blacked out) The letters would always arrive a month apart.

December1939

A passenger train collided with a troop train in (blank), forty were killed.

He doesn't list anyone he might have known.

Josephine responded immediately. He would send a letter to Mama and Papa as well, which left out a great deal more. George and Jo kept the contents of their correspondence private, an unwritten pact. He wouldn't want to upset them and neither did she. Though they knew their parents didn't have to imagine how horrible it was.

In her first letters she had written about nothing, that nothing exciting was happening at home. She had gone to the pictures with a few girls from the village, going to see a Clark Gable film and working part time at the phone exchange, how they were informed to report anything suspicious.

Already doing my bit.

She hesitantly wrote about a friend of hers, Charlie Jones, who was in France. And that she was worried about their cousin Sybil, who would soon be joining the front. She had just completed her training as a nurse.

George replied he'd keep an eye out for him, and was wondering if he treated her well, hoping he was better than the Duke. He was not a very intelligent in George's opinion and was 'dull as bricks' and that Sybil could take care of herself, asking why she cared.

She didn't correct him that Charlie was a woman, Charlotte Jones. How could she? She wrote,

Just asking you to look out for a friend, nothing really special there. Didn't you know, dear brother? I don't have a heart to love.

-Your sister, the Ice Princess

His response,

Josephine Alexandria Crawley, I've been anxiously waiting, bored out of my mind, till they give me something worthwhile to do in this hell, waiting to hear your words of encouragement and this is all you write?

She had replied back that she was mad. Mad that he didn't write much of anything, so she couldn't really help in the 'encouragement' department. Don't write back till you go something more to say.

Two whole months went by. She hadn't heard from him. She asked her parents if they had gotten anything from George. They hadn't.

Josephine frantically wrote him back, telling her if he was mad at her he should just write back instead of having them worry. Kate kept herself busy, and papa. She thinks it helps him not to think. Just please write back.

It would be months until she would hear from him, till any of them would.


Jo met Oliver for lunch. It was a few days after Christmas. They've been seeing each other a few times now but she didn't want to make things official. She would have to tell him. She couldn't dodge him forever.

It wasn't really him that irritated her. She told him "People in general do. It's not you that I'm angry at. It's everything that I'm angry at."

"Mmm." He swallowed his drink. "I get it. Most people are; being dragged into another pointless war."

"It's not that. I was even before the war."

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

"You first."

"Well. I was sent off to boarding school fairly young. My mother never really hugged me except for the nanny. I did see my father on occasion, when it had to do with my future responsibilities. He showed me more affection than my mother ever did."

"Sad."

"It is. But I'm hoping for that to change. That I can find a woman...who will love me and care for me. Doesn't that sound pathetic?"

"Not in the least."

A woman walked up and handed him a feather, which he graciously took, waving it about, putting it under his nose.

"Thanks, dear." He placed it in the front pocket of his shirt. The young woman gave him an odd look, then a scowl and walked away. He sniffed it, placing it on his upper lip, imitating a mustache. "Who am I?" He covered both ends of the feather.

She and Oliver burst out laughing. It seemed they were always laughing about something. But how long would that last, with the war? It was so much of a risk to be in love, even if she could feel that way about Ollie.

"That is ridiculous! Are you always this embarrassing?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"You're lucky we're in England." She slapped his arm playfully. "Why haven't you signed up?" She asked, their laughter subsided.

He let the feather flutter down on top of the table.

"Haven't gotten my letter. I should any day now. My parents have been putting it off for as long as they can; me being their only son and heir. I'd rather be out fighting but looks like they'll be arranging me a desk job."

"I'm very glad. That you're not." She put her hand on his, like a friend would.

He glanced down at it curiously, frowning at it as if he couldn't make sense of it. He put his hand on top of hers. "But they could send me to the front at any time, later on." He removed his hand. "Now, you didn't tell me about you."

"Well, first off, I love horses."

"I already know that." He smiled and gave a laugh. He noticed the serious expression on her face. "Oh, you were joking. Well, go on."

"I had a great childhood. Parents that love each other madly. My father absolutely loves me and adores me." She tells him how much they were loved by their father. Though he loved all of them equally, she always felt like she was in the shadows. "I don't always get on with my mother. I suppose it's because we're too much alike."

"I think I would have to be judge of that myself."

She turned her head to the window, watching the rain, taking note of each rain drop, focusing on two unparticular, watching them race. "I can't be that woman, Oliver." She muttered.

He frowned. Did it have to do with her mother or the war? Was she afraid to love in a time where life and death were uncertain? Yes, that could likely be it. Why would she be afraid if her parents loved each other so much and had a happy marriage?

He wanted the truth. Maybe it was him, he had come on too strongly. Whatever it was, they could work through it, he'd give her some time if she needed. But then there was a war on. People rushing into relationships and marriages, she clearly didn't think that a good idea, like any rational person would. Instead, he inquired, "Can I ask why...?"

"It's not the time."

Despite her answer, she kept seeing him, she didn't want to lead him on. It was fine with him that they were friends. He had said.

Carrie was skipping around the room before he had arrived, chanting, "Jo's invited her boyfriend! Jo's invited her boyfriend!"

Their mother's eyes widen with intrigue, "Did she?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It was all last minute."

When Oliver arrived, Carrie greeted him. "Hello Jo's boyfriend." She shook his hand and started skipping again, her curls bouncing higher, "Jo's boyfriend is here."

"Carrie, stop that at once or I shall tell nanny what you're doing is not proper." Jo scolded her sister to hide her embarrassment. They used the word proper for amusement, as Papa used it often.

Mama asked her politely to get ready for dinner and Carrie skipped out of the room.

"Sorry about that. You see what I have to put up with." Jo turned to Oliver.

Her mother appeared pleased when she learned he was a Duke, that she was proud of her daughter. Jo felt pleased. But her mother's feeling of platitude was one that wouldn't last, though Jo knew that wasn't true, that her mother loved her.

They sit had a few minutes till it would be ready to go through to the dining room. Papa was left to interrogate him, while everyone else went into the drawing room. Once they got to talking, he seemed a decent enough chap, just because he had a title, didn't mean that he was.

As expected, the young lad was taking aback by the presence of him in a wheelchair.

"I'm sorry that I'm staring it's just..."

"That you aren't used to being around people like me." Matthew finished for him.

"No, actually. I didn't mean it. It's just she didn't tell me."

"No. I figured. She's always had a hard time explaining to people."

"Do you mind me asking...what happened?" It sounded rude, in his head, to ask if he had always been like that. He didn't want to offend the Earl if one day he was to be part of this family.

"I was injured in the first war. I was partially paralyzed. I don't need to use it all the time. Just on bad days."

Oliver followed him through to the drawing room, not wanting to ask what the bad days were.

Jo was growing increasingly embarrassed as Carrie beamed at Ollie from across the table and her other sisters kept glancing with curiosity.

"I met him once when he volunteered at the hospital." Kate said.

"You did?" Asked their mother, with equal curiosity.

"Only in passing."

Things grew increasingly worse when Mary asked him why he hasn't joined the fight yet.

"Mary, don't embarrass the dear boy." Matthew replied.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. My papers took some time to arrive. In fact, I just got them a few days ago. I got a job at the Home Office. I leave on the fifth." The fifth of January. "But I can be sent to the front at any time."


It would be George's first Christmas away from home and the first without him. Matthew was employed at the War office, in the recruitment department, mostly to keep track of his son's whereabouts and to feel useful, which he hadn't felt in years. Yet, it was somber seeing the endless stream of younger men, growing younger by the day, and shorter.

He could not send more young people to their deaths. He had had enough of that, so he put in his resignation. They wouldn't let him go that easily of course. They were so fond of the Earl, that they made up a position for him, drawing up wills for the men going off to war.

He'd get one or two clients, mostly the older generals. Most of the time he spent sitting and reading, wasting time doing nothing. He couldn't afford to waste days that he could be spending with his wife and daughters, and his son, Andy, days he probably didn't have time to waste.

His condition was very uncertain. He rehearsed his speech in his head for his leaving. He could do the same thing on his own time, at home. Confident it was enough to convince them, he was about to leave the room when a young man came into his office, scarcely older than George.

What would he want with a will? He was too young to have an estate or any property of value of his own. Perhaps he had the wrong office.

"You've got the wrong room. I'm not recruiting anymore."

"Corporal Thomas Smith. The army sent me to make a will before I ship out. They told me you were the best."

Matthew hesitated a moment. "Take a seat Corporal." He waited for the young man to sit down.

"You see, my circumstances are complicated."

"Because of the war?"

"Not just that. My brother and I own a share of our father's clothing company. We provide uniforms and shoes for the army. He had me make up a will when I was drafted. He's set to inherit my shares upon my death. But circumstances have changed."

"You want to make a new one."

"Yes. You see, I've gotten married."

"Congratulations!"

"Thank you. I know what you're probably thinking that I'm being rash by jumping into a marriage. But...well, you see there's a baby."

"I see. You did the right thing."

"I want them both to be provided for. I want to leave my wife my shares of the company. I wanted to give part of them to the child too, though I don't think you can leave that sort of a thing to a baby. Can you?"

"Yes, you can. But I'd advise against it. It wouldn't be a good idea." He noted Smith's phrase, of 'the child' It was probably some other poor soldier's child. It often happened. The soldier was either already married or no intentions to marry or he had already been tragically killed. "Your wife would use her inheritance to support herself and the child, to ensure the child's welfare. Is that what you want?"

"Yes. I think so...Fred won't like it. That's my brother. But I'm married now and there's nothing he can do to change it."

"Does he want to change it?"

"He doesn't even know that I'm married. With me shipping out on such short notice...and with the baby.."

"Right." Matthew took out some papers from his desk and put on his glasses and spread the papers out across his desk. "Just to make sure your intentions are clear; you want to give your entire estate and earthly possessions to your wife."

"Correct. And to make sure that the old will is no longer valid."

"First I will need a copy of your marriage certificate, that I don't doubt would be on public regard."

"Oh yes! Defiantly." The young man cleared his throat.

"and the signed copy of the old will. Do you have it with you?"

"Oh no. Fred has it. He said it'd be safer. He's the executor of the will. Although I'm not quite sure what that means."

Matthew took off his glasses and sighed. This young man had no clear idea or understanding of the law, regarding wills. But this was his job, to help make sure the clients understood the terms and conditions. "Just that he is the person who's legally bound to make sure that the terms of the will are followed and met."

"Could you do it? Be executor? I mean I don't want Fred to be for this one. He won't want Rosie to get anything."

"It'd not usually advise it. It'd have you list a family member. But if the filer has no other family, generally, a law firm would serve as executor." He paused to think for a moment. He was starting to like this boy. "tell you what. I will do it. If I'm available. But hopefully that won't be for many years, which by then I will hopefully be retired."

He smiled across at the young man, who smiled back.

"Thank you, sir. I really hope so too." He reached across the desk to shake his hand.

It seemed not a week later, that his brother was in his office, standing in the exact spot, asking about the will.

"What business of it is yours?"

"My brother is dead, Mr. Crawley."

"Lord Grantham." Matthew corrected.

"Lord Grantham."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Smith. He was a fine young man." Another tragic loss in another horrible war. At last, he once again could not escape it. The poor boy could not have been out on the battlefield for more than a week.

He thought of his own son.

"We can't ignore the statistics." He said to his wife, as they lay in bed. "Many of them don't last for more than a few weeks. It might be him."

"It's already been more than a few weeks. It's Christmas. George would want us to be celebrating."

"I'm finding it more than a little hard to celebrate." He of all people knew what it felt like, knowing any moment that time could run out.