A/N: Again, a big thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this, your comments mean the world to me! You might notice some more adjustments to canon in the the drabbles to come. Also, this takes place in 1917; I forgot to say that before.
_french song_
The days are long, the nights longer still. He had always thought the continent to have a more temperate climate, has heard stories from passing travellers of heat and too much sun.
He finds France cold and wet, cannot abide the smell that seems to come from the very land itself. Cannot look at the fields and not think that they should be greener, flatter and more English.
They keep to villages and half-destroyed towns, have not yet been sent to trenches and muddy plains.
Everything he has, he keeps in the small pack on his back, or the pockets of his clothes. All he has that the army did not give him are her letters, handkerchief and picture.
It is a risk, keeping the letters, but Mrs Hughes is a clever woman and has never written anything that could cause him harm.
"New orders coming in, Mr Car-Captain." He has only Barrow with him from the house. Knows that William was sent with Mr Matthew. Has no idea where His Lordship has taken charge.
He did not promise to look out for them, but he had meant to regardless.
He claps a hand on Barrow's shoulder, feels the nervous thrum that resides in all of them beneath the skin. "Then we best get to it, Lieutenant." He says in the best Butler voice he can manage without England beneath his feet.
Barrow nods and straightens, falling into step behind him like he has uncountable times before.
He cannot look out for Mr Matthew for Lady Mary or His Lordship for Her Ladyship. Cannot protect William for Mrs Hughes. But he can settle Barrow when he must.
He knows enough of her unexplainable fondness for the man, to believe she would be comforted a little at least, to know he can do that.