Chapter 1

The trouble with Papa, thought Mary glumly, is that he's terribly old-fashioned and stuck in his ways. And he's as stubborn as an ox. Just that morning, for instance, she and Branson had suggested a perfectly reasonable solution to their growing electricity bills: to install a small wind farm a mile or so from the house. If they generated their own electricity, the money previously spent on bills could be used on much more pleasant and fascinating items, such as pineapples. Mary had only tasted the exotic fruit once before, as a child visiting the Duke and Duchess of Wellworthitshire. She could still remember the exquisite taste, the acidic sugary sting on her tongue . . . Yet when she had suggested Downton invest in one or two of the aforementioned fruit, Lord Grantham had scoffed at her plea, telling her that they were far too expensive, and rather tasteless, too.

"Mary?" It was Branson.

She looked up, shaken out of her frustrated daydream.

"What is it, Brans - Tom?"

"It's just that I've had a wonderful idea," Branson enthused. "A bit of a eureka moment, actually."

"Well?"

"A racetrack."

"Pardon?"

"A racetrack. A racetrack at Downton. It's the perfect solution."

"Are you mad?"

"We already have plenty of fine horses. We buy five, ten more, set up bleachers and a track, a couple of concession stands here and there - Mrs Patmore can help with that - and we're in business. People will flock from all over and they can enter their horses in the races, too. And it will be great fun for Sybbie and George. They love horsies, you know."

"I don't know . . . Are you sure it would be popular?"

"Popular? Popular? Mary, have you seen the races at Newmarket? Thousands of people flooding the bleachers! Bets being cashed! Food being consumed! Money being payed! It's obviously the thing to do around here. In Ireland we'd never -"

"Yes, yes. But you may actually have something going here, Branson . . ." Mary was deep in thought.

"Tom."

"Yes. Branson."

"No -"

"Alright." Mary was decided. "It's settled." Suddenly her face fell.

"What's the matter?"

"It's Papa. He'd never agree."

"Oh . . . Well, we'll have to work on him slowly. Get him used to the idea."

Mary was still doubtful.

"Tonight at dinner, we'll mention how much fun horse riding is," continued Branson. "Then maybe we could arrange a family outing to Newmarket."

"Maybe . . ."

"Definitely. I have a good feeling about this, Mary. I really do."

Chapter 2

"It's not silly, Mrs Patmore, and it's perfectly respectable," sighed Daisy.

"Respectable, my foot! Do you think it's respectable to change people's minds for them? To convince them of things they don't want to do?" Huffed the cook.

"It's not changing their minds, really. Just . . . persuading them a teensy-weensy bit."

"Harumph. I bet it doesn't work, anyway."

"Oh, it does! It's Science, you know. The machine radiates persuasium-24, an isotope of a newly discovered element. It does wonders to the human mind."

"So you're a scientist now, are you? What'll it be next?"

"Mrs Patmore?" Mary's head peered around the door.

The servants stood up, dusting their aprons and straightening their caps.

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I just wanted a word with you - and Daisy," Mary explained.

They went into the hall. Daisy shrunk behind Mrs Patmore, timid of the formidable Lady from Upstairs. She'd heard so much about Lady Mary, yet had only seen her once or twice before. She was surprised she even knew her name.

"Before I begin, I must let you know that I overheard your conversation," said Mary. "A machine that persuades people to do what you want them to do?"

"Oh, that's nothing, m'Lady," said Mrs Patmore hurriedly. "Just some silly joke Daisy fell for."

Daisy glared at her, but said nothing.

"It didn't sound like that to me," intoned Mary. "In fact, it sounded Scientific. What was the new element called, Daisy?"

"Persuasium-24, m'Lady," murmured Daisy shyly.

"Hmm. It sounds plausible. In fact, I would go as far as saying quite probable. Many elements end with -ium, don't they? Like lithium, and hydrium. Or was that hydrogen? Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that this is Science. In my experience, it is best to accept the word of Science. They usually know what they're talking about."

"Exactly, m'Lady," said Daisy, glowing. "Just what I was telling Mrs Patmore."

"Do you have this machine, Daisy?" Mary demanded.

"It came in the post this morning, m'Lady," Daisy explained. "Shall I fetch it, m'Lady?"

"Please do."

Chapter 3

Mary settled comfortably into the red couch, her hands warmed by a large mug of tea. She smiled at Branson mysteriously. He rolled his eyes.

"What is it, Mary? You've been acting so pleased with yourself all of dinner."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have I?"

"Please. You know you have. Let me guess: you've convinced Mrs Patmore to bake treats for the concession."

"Why, yes, I have - but that's not why I'm happy. If you must know, I've found out a way to convince Papa about the racetrack."

"Truly? He just grumbled when we talked to him at dinner."

"It's this machine, you see," Mary explained. "This perfectly wonderful machine."

She related her encounter with Daisy and Mrs Patmore.

"And then she brought it out for me to see, and turned it on. You wouldn't guess that it was there - it's quite small and the radiation is invisible, of course. Science is quite elusive," she said knowingly. "Then she said, 'Turn around'."

"And you turned around?"

"Exactly! It was fantastic."

"So you think it will work on Robert?"

"I do. In fact, I'm sure it will! He was always a bit gullible . . ."

Chapter 4

Lord Grantham was brooding over a large map of the estate. He had spread it on his dressing room floor, and it took up nearly the entire space, even with all the furniture pushed haphazardly to the side.

"There's just so much dashed land," he grumbled. "Farms, forests, valleys, hills, this, that, and the other. What can one do?"

"Quite a lot, I should think," said Mary, popping in from the ajar door.

Lord Grantham jumped up from his knees, looking sheepish.

"Mary! I wasn't expecting you."

"I should think not. Is someone else here?" She wondered, looking around the airy room.

"No. Just me. Why?"

"I heard you talking. Do you talk to yourself, Papa?" She chuckled. "Well, people have their ways . . . Anyway, I didn't come to be a psychoanalyst. I came to propose a - well, a proposition."

Lord Grantham looked at her suspiciously. He did not trust Mary's so-called propositions any more than he trusted that slimy Thomas. Mary saw his look and discreetly switched on the machine. Lord Grantham's face relaxed immediately and he grinned at his daughter.

"A proposition, eh? Well, that's wonderful."

Mary hid her smile. "Let me tell you all about it. It pertains to horsies. You like horsies, don't you, Papa?"

Lord Grantham nodded meekly. "I like them very much." He blinked. "But I don't see what this has to do -"

"But it has everything to do with Downton! Horses - or horsies, rather - are Downton's future."

Chapter 5

Lady Mary gazed admiringly at the enormous castle. It was sunset, and its warm bricks resembled bars of pure gold in the dappled light. She took in the turrets, the vast windows, the gardens . . . All mine, she thought. It's all mine. Mine. Thanks to persuasium-24, Lord Grantham had been at her command for several days now. That afternoon, she'd snacked on pineapples and oranges while wearing her new dress that was designed by none other than Coco Chanel. It had not been cheap, but then really good quality things never were these days. It was at luncheon that she'd mentioned the sale of this castle. It was only a few miles from Downton, and Mary figured she could keep it as a sort of getaway when the burdens of her family became too much. With the aid of Daisy's machine - although it was really hers now, she felt - she had made short work of convincing him that the purchase of the castle was the right, even the only, thing to do. It was not nearly so grand as Downton, of course, but it had its charm, and its grounds were generous. Perfect for horse riding . . .

Chapter 6

"How is your castle project coming along, Mary?" Lord Grantham wanted to know.

"Oh, it's splendid. You must come down some time."

"I will, I will," he consented. She knew he would, because the machine was on, tucked carefully under her wide belt. It was safest to always keep it firmly in the on position while in his presence.

"Why don't we go now?" Mary suggested. "The weather's fine so we could take a stroll in the gardens."

"Wonderful, wonderful. I'll just fetch my hat." Lord Grantham tottered of compliantly.

In no time at all, they were speeding off to the castle. The chauffeur parked along the curved drive, and Mary and Lord Grantham stepped onto the gravel.

They walked through the expansive grounds.

"There's a lot of land, actually," Mary boasted. "More than you'd guess."

"How much?" Said Lord Grantham casually.

"Oh, I don't know. Fifty, sixty acres. Maybe more."

"Hmm . . . I wonder . . ."

"Wonder what?"

"I think we ought to have the racecourse here. You could hire a cook for the concession, and some local builders to help with the bleachers and track. Downton is so pristine as it is. Let's not mess it up."

Deep inside Mary, she knew that this was wrong. Yet she found her head bobbing enthusiastically with these horrifying remarks.

"What a superb idea, Papa," she burst out. She struggled. "I mean - no - yes -"

"It's settled, then!" Grinned Lord Grantham.

Chapter 7

"Daisy!" Cried Mrs Patmore. "There's a package waiting for you!"

"For - for me?" Daisy hadn't received a parcel since Alfred had sent her a small recipe book from the Ritz. That had been a year ago at least. She reached for the small brown paper package and hurriedly untied the string. Her face fell when she saw that it was simply the persuasium-24 machine.

"So you've finally got that thing back, have you?" Mrs Patmore said. "I thought she'd never return it. What's that there? A note? What's it say?"

It read:

CAUTION. BACKFIRES.