Well ... I've made you all wait for it. But here's Chapter 12 at long LONG last. I am still working my way through this story. And I now have the ending planned. I hope that you enjoy your Christmas Day with the Bates, Masons and Moseleys.

"Well..." Mrs Patmore sank with a satisfied huff into an armchair in the snug, "that's that then."

Many tired, happy faces, rosy in the firelight, turned to greet her. Their congratulations for the marvellous Christmas Goose and all of the Downton trimmings had rung loud around the table for the last three hours, as the Masons, Bates and Moseleys had sat and feasted on food which would surely rival that being served at the Abbey later tonight.

Four o'clock in the afternoon and the sky outside was already an inky black. To Josie's disappointment, there had not been any snow this morning, but the first bitter flakes were beginning to fall across the frozen ground now. Not that it had cast a dampener on Christmas morning in the slightest. Josie had been out of bed at 5.30am, determined to go and check her stocking. She was not disappointed.

Inside were some crayons, a colouring book, a large ripe orange and some boiled sweeties in a paper bag. Father Christmas had even eaten the mince pie and consumed the glass of Bill's cherry brandy, which had been left on the sideboard in lieu of a sherry. Mr Moseley's cheeks were a little redder than usual this morning, to be sure, but with Bill already drinking his customary tot and John abstaining, well ... it was only right that he should help Father Christmas out with his obligations.

Under the tree were more presents, many of them home made, if not bought locally. John proudly tucked the first monogrammed handkerchief into his pocket, beaming down at Anna, whose dainty fingers had been busy throughout her long autumn rest. She exclaimed softly at the new gloves of soft suede which were wrapped up for her. Extravagant, but John would not be dissuaded from spoiling her each year at Christmas. Next came a pink knitted hat, with ear flaps and a bobble on the top, and matching pink gloves, were wrapped into a little package for Josie, who it must be admitted had been spoilt rotten by the assembled company. By mid morning, her pile contained many goodies, including cookies from Mrs Patmore, and a tiny sou'ester hat from Mr Mason, to go with the little wellington boots. John, during a shopping trip to Downton, had obtained a beautiful doll with long flaxen hair, and Daisy and Anna, in on the secret, had measured and knitted and stitched during Josie's nap times to give the doll a trousseau to rival even Lady Mary's. Dolly now sat proudly on Josie's lap, arrayed in her Sunday Best outfit, a dark green velvet dress made from an old curtain, a lace cap fashioned from an old doily and a two tiny little yellow booties, which had been knitted by Anna.

"Everything's in the larder for tea time, we'll just bring the plates out and slice some bread and cheese to go with it for..."

Everybody groaned.

"Mrs Patmore," remonstrated Phyllis, shifting uncomfortably to try and loosen her unforgiving waistband. "How can you think of more food after that gargantuan feast we just consumed?"

"I agree," said John. "The last thing I can imagine, right now, is wanting to eat another single thing."

Mrs Patmore shook her head, wise in the ways of her stuffed guests and family.

"Mark my words, John Bates, come five o'clock you'll be looking longingly at that kettle and dreaming of a slice of Christmas Cake..."

Another general moan of protest was cut off by a knock at the back door. Mr Mason was on his feet before anyone else could refuse to move. Anna marvelled at how he could be so spry and active still, even when kept on Mrs Patmore's cooking.

"Doctor! And Mrs Clarkson, how lovely! A very merry Christmas to you both!"

The pair were ushered inside, dressed in their finery, sprinkled with a dusting of snow flakes. A ripple of effort to rise to their feet in the presence of a lady spread through the assembled gentlemen, but Mrs Clarkson soon had them all at ease, perched on a chair, waiving a gloved hand.

"I think we can give that a rest, it's Christmas Day after all," she beamed. Dr Clarkson appeared behind her, bearing several wrapped parcels. "And anyway, we're only stopping in briefly before we go up to Downton Abbey. We've been invited for Christmas Dinner, as George is staying up for the first time tonight."

The pride in her face at the mention of her grandson was enough to move the assembled company dangerously near to tears.

"But before we go," Isobel dived back into conversation before the emotional clouds could gather, "I also wanted to give you your Christmas gifts."

A general murmur of protest spread through the assembled company, only to be shushed at once.

"Anna, this one is for you. And John, one for you too..."

Anna and John's presents were noticeable larger than the rest, which for a moment caused some embarrassment. The others unwrapped little keepsakes, a new pouch of tobacco for Mr Mason, lacy hankies for Mrs Patmore and Daisy and Phyllis, a new bookmark for Mr Moseley. All the finest quality, but nothing compared to the large packages ensconced on the laps of the bases.

"Do open them," Isobel urged. "Please..."

"John, you go first."

Inside John's parcel was box, neatly wrapped. Inside, wrapped into a protective folding of tissue, lay a folded linen shirt, a pair of dark trousers and a folded jacket. A new suit. Not a full and formal suit, such as a dinner jacket or tuxedo, but a fine and smart one none the less. A new tie of navy blue and a matching handkerchief peeped out of the breast pocket of the jacket.

John felt a lump rise in his throat, and suddenly understood the reasoning behind the gifts. Tomorrow would be the great gathering at Downton Abbey, and while everyone else had their wardrobes to hand with all their beloved finery, he and Anna had come away so quickly in their haste to get her into the hands of loving friends that they had only brought with them the most rudimentary of clothing supplies.

Now he would be dressed to impress, exactly in line with his station, without feeling like he would shame his host and hostess, or his family. Also, the suit was perfectly suitable for a hotel manager to wear about his business, when he eventually returned to work.

John met Isobel's eyes, anxiously but silently seeking his approval.

"Thank you Mrs Clarkson. It's beautiful. And I shall enjoy wearing it tomorrow evening for the party."

He turned to Anna, overwhelmed by the pleasure his response had kindled in Isobel's eyes.

"Your turn dear," he said gently.

Anna suspected what she would find in her parcel, but wasn't prepared for the contents. Folding away the paper, opening the folds of a large box, Anna was faced with a mound of tissue paper. Delving between the floating layers, her fingers brushed against something soft. Fine material, more sleek than cat's fur.

Velvet.

But not worn and faded like the curtain which had been sacrificed to make Dolly's wardrobe. This was beautifully smooth, rich beneath her finger tips. Lifting the dress from the box, Anna gasped. It was a soft green colour, a shade lighter than mint, just the right hue to compliment the blonde tresses of her hair and rosy colour in her cheeks.

The cut was simple, long sleeved with a high neck, with little stitching details around the collar. The sleeves were edged in a fine line of lace. It was demure, but elegant. Understated, but with just the right touch of glamour. Anna hauled to her feet, holding it against her, spreading the skirt to see the lines of the material. The assembled female company gave small gasps of admiration.

"Oh Isobel... it's wonderful..."

"I'm so glad you like it. I had it cut to fit you, there's this wonderful new style with a high waist which I saw in Vogue last month, which makes carrying a little more weight at the front so much easier. But I thought that you might have it restyled, well, later on, so to speak."

Isobel's glance went to Anna's bump, and met her eyes once more. Ever the cautious nurse, she would not say anything to wish bad luck on the expectant mother.

Dr Clarkson gave a discrete cough, and nodded to the one final package at Isobel's feet.

"Ah yes..." Isobel grinned at Anna and John. "I've saved the best for last. May I?" Her glanced flickered over to Josie. Anna nodded her assent.

"Josephine darling... this is for you."

Josie was speechless. Another present. A big one. Even bigger than the one which had held her beloved Dolly. Her fingers tugged at the loose tied ribbon and folded back the paper on the box. Another mound of tissue paper clouded her view. Anna gently helped her daughter to remove the fluffy mounds and whisps and pulled out the dress that was held inside.

The gasp of admiration, which had been muted with respect for Anna and John's gifts, was far louder for Josie's. Like her mother's dress, it was made of soft velvet, but there the resemblance ended. It was a deep rich plum colour, with light rose ruffles around the wrists. A big fluffy pink petticoat lay underneath the skirt and a rose ribbon was fixed around the waist. There was a rose ribbon for her hair, and long tights made of a plum coloured material. Finally, tucked into the bottom of the box, Josie found a pair of little satin slippers, also plum coloured, with pink rosettes on the toes.

Josie was shrieking with delight, enraptured with every little detail. Ever the gentleman, and anxious that his daughter should learn to mind her manners even in times of joy, John intervened gently.

"Josie...? What do we say to Mrs Clarkson?"

"Oh, Thank you, thank you, thank you...!"

Incoherent with happiness, Josie actually scrambled off the sofa and scampered over to wrap her arms around Isobel's neck and plant a sticky affectionate kiss on her cheek.

All at once, Isobel was overcome, her arms tightening around the little girl for an instant. She looked perilously near to tears. In fact, a shiny trail of one shimmered down her cheek. Anna, faced with the prospect of their guest dissolving into sobs, telegraphed her concern to Daisy via raised eyebrows and a worried pucker of the lips. Daisy, who was perched on the chair next to Isobel, sprang into action.

"Josie? Would you like to come and hang your dress up safely? You can wear it for the big party tomorrow night..."

The few seconds it took to gather up the items and their box and for Daisy to walk Josie over to the bedroom gave Isobel all the time she needed to recover her composure.

"Are you quite alright Mrs Clarkson?"

Phyllis passed over a plain white handkerchief, concern etched into her kindly features.

"Oh... oh yes, quite alright. I am sorry my dears..."

Her concerns were hushed over by the considerate company gathered around the fire.

"It's just ... I never had a daughter. Or a granddaughter, as it turns out. And until now I never realised that I had missed out on something quite important to me."

For a few seconds a silence fell, as ever member of the assembled company thought about her only son, the enigmatic and talented Mr Matthew, who had died scant hours after the birth of his own only son.

Dr Clarkson pressed his wife's hand, planting a gentle kiss onto her gloved fingers. She was able to meet his eyes and recover her composure, reassured by the love and friends that still surrounded her, so long after her tragic losses.

The mantelpiece clock chimed softly, prompting everyone to consider the time.

"Oh my gracious, we must be going..." Isobel hastened to her feet, taking her leave as Dr Clarkson obtained their coats and hats.

"Quite right," Anna smiled. "Lady Mary always did like her guests to arrive on time for dinner."

"Early, if at all possible," interjected Dr Clarkson with a dry smile. "And if we go now, we should just be early enough for a glass of champagne."

With soft goodbyes and thanks, and a confirmation that they would call to collect the Masons and Moseleys on their way to Downton Abbey tomorrow, they were ushered out through the snow to their waiting car.

Resettled into their snug, the friends exchanged their gifts for general admiration. John gathered up his and Anna's finery and headed over toward the bedroom to stow it safely.

"Mrs Patmore?" he called softly with a mischievous smile.

"Yes John?"

"You win."

"Win what dear?"

"Your bet ... I would love a cup of tea..."

Scolding him good naturedly, Mrs Patmore headed back to her domain, to fill the kettle and bring over a second feast of fruit cake, mince pies and cheese.