It was the lead grey sky that he first noticed as he exited into the yard, the second was how quickly the light was fading despite it being quite early. He pulled his hat down as low as it was possible to go in hopes that it would add to its protection against the cold. It did very little so he instead attempted to turn his scarf up so as to save his ears but again it proved pointless. There was no reasonable way to make the uniform of a butler suitable for the cold snap that appeared determined to descend upon them. He harrumphed at his own attempt to do so and at the waste of minutes taken to discover something that he already knew from the bitter Yorkshire winters of years gone by. All he could realistically do now was get back to the cottage before the snow fell in earnest, the few flakes that were circulating wouldn't cause him any bother but it wouldn't take much to have him slipping and sliding down the hill to home.

As he rounded the corner of the building, passing first in front of the open door of the garage and checking it was still empty, he felt reassured that he still had time. Mr Talbot was expected but had evidently been delayed, a fact only further confirmed as he crossed the empty shingled expanse of the drive. He was running later than he'd hoped for himself and so was hardly in a position to pass judgement. If he was lucky then he still had sufficient time to put his little plan into action. It was modest enough, he would admit to not having the imagination required for the grand romantic gestures that his wife no doubt deserved. But he could at least light the fires, prepare the only dish he really knew how to, and air the wine that he carried surreptitiously, if not lopsidedly, in his pocket with his Lordship's permission.

He supposed he'd have to get used to this, having time on his own, given it was only a week now until he'd be surplus to requirements. The key to the silver cupboard and wine cellar would be handed over officially to his replacement and that would be that. He'd been trying to pretend that he was prepared for it, for his own sake as much as anything else. Everyone's kind understanding had made it all worse somehow and he'd snapped more than once in response to their polite concerns for him. But he couldn't deny it any longer, his imminent redundancy felt as earth shattering as anything he could have contemplated. But he'd still have Elsie, that was something to hold onto he thought as he crossed the lane and up their gravel path. At one time not so long ago he'd have faced this alone but not anymore. She'd be there each morning and evening and that would be enough, somehow it would have to be enough.

It was gone six by the time he'd managed to find a telephone box, although frankly with it being such a small and seemingly backward sort of a place that he was surprised there'd been one to find. His original thought had been to try at the pub but that looked to be shut up and he doubted whether any of the houses were fitted with them, none looking sufficiently affluent. Then there's been the additional hurdle of having enough pennies to put in the thing but he'd been lucky on that score. And so it was that he stood, freezing cold, in the middle of goodness knows where waiting for the operator to connect him to Downton.

"Henry?" she said, the sound of voice filling his heart quite unexpectedly.

"Mary, thank goodness. I thought you might have been out."

"Out? I'm waiting for you. Where are you?" she questioned.

"Collinsdale? Cottondale? Something dale, anyway. Whatever the name of the place was you told to be, I'm there. But your Mrs Hughes certainly is not."

"She's not mine," she replied sharply. He could hear the frown that would not doubt have passed across her face. "What do you mean she's not there? Wasn't she on the train?"

"What train?" he sighed, "There's no one and nothing here, just an empty platform and no sign that even the station master is at home."

"A train was due," she insisted. "I checked the timetable myself."

Henry shook his head as he rubbed at a small glass pane to peer out across the empty village green. "No, it never came. Although I've passed through some pretty icy patches to get here and there's definitely snow in the air. Maybe it got held up?"

"Look," he continued when she didn't reply, "I think I better head on back to Downton. I don't want to risk getting trapped, the car can handle a bit of snow but not if it comes down quickly."

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "But what about Mrs Hughes? What shall I tell Carson?"

"Chances are she's got stuck somewhere, Leeds perhaps. She could be trying to call at this very minute."

He kept on the line a little longer before the beeps to indicate his money was running out and swiftly signed off. Replacing the receiver and pushing the heavy door open, he braced himself against the icy blast and he hurried back to the relative sanctuary of the car. If he was lucky he'd be in front of roaring fire within a couple of hours but not, he realised as he looked up at the moonless sky, unless he got a shift on.

Charles hummed happily to himself as he tipped the last of the vegetable scraps into a bowl. The idea of creating a compost heap in the far corner of the garden had come to him about halfway through the task of peeling the potatoes. By the time they were chopped and safely stowed in a pan of cold water to stop them turning black, a technique he'd noticed Daisy using the previous Sunday, a plan had emerged as to how he could use wooden planks to somehow contain it. He thought that Elsie wouldn't be too impressed at the idea of kitchen waste spilling over the path and as he finished up the last of carrots and green beans he'd resolved to check his thoughts with one of the under gardeners the next day.

He wiped his hands on the apron he'd tied around his waist before setting about laying the table. The wine was open and a drop or two had already made its way into his glass. His previous hum of a tune turned into a tuneful ditty as he pottered, taking a few sips in reward as it began to take shape. Stepping back he wondered about a centrepiece and whether that seemed a bit excessive. But the chime of the wall clock coinciding with the shrill ring of the telephone had him rushing to the hall.

He answered it with his usual efficiency, a state that quickly turned to surprise when he realised who it was who was calling. Most improper, he thought as he listened. But as information was delayed he felt his mild indignation turn quickly to concern and then to worry, all proper manners set aside as he uttered, "But that wasn't the plan! And if she's not with Mr Talbot then where on earth is she?"

Sorry, a bit of a gap since posting the last chapter and now a short one at that. I will do better!