AN: Sorry for the delay between updates - GMAT prep has kept me very busy this week! But I have quite a long chapter for you tonight, and it's an important one - we're finally to the trial. Enjoy!

Baxter watched as Lord Grantham whispered to his wife, who was nodding in response. The couple were pressed together, sitting in the row ahead of Baxter in a courtroom in London. Much of the household was gathered together here as the last minutes of the afternoon recess drew to a close. Her ladyship was to take the stand next, the solitary testimony of the trial's first day. The morning had been taken up by opening arguments.

It had been a long, slow three months since the night Baxter had been called to her ladyship's room, but there had been healing as the weeks had slipped by, and in her own estimation Lady Grantham was doing quite well. Baxter credited much of her mistress's recovery to Lord Grantham, who'd exhibited a patience that surprised her. She had not doubted his lordship's love for his wife, but she would never have thought to call him a patient man during her time at Downton, and thus she was almost taken aback at his reported willingness to have the same conversations about her ladyship's fears and insecurities again and again, and at his inexhaustible gentleness in response to the slightest of sadness on her face.

The couple had not, however, been intimate again, at least as far as the maid was aware—and she was the one who, in the past, had often found the sheets twisted in a hopeless bundle, who had been called on to stitch many a torn nightdress, and who had on a few occasions brought her mistress a morning cup of tea only to find his lordship still in her bed, pressing heated kisses against her neck.

"Your lady will conduct her marital affairs with the utmost discretion," Baxter could always hear her mother say. "You'll never be the wiser—anything else would be hopelessly improper." But Baxter had never minded; she'd found the continued passion between a couple far past any hope for more children rather sweet.

Yet there had been none of this in the last few months, and Lord Grantham's apparent patience with her ladyship's unwillingness only increased Baxter's estimation of him, and of their marriage.

Baxter had been struck by the family's quiet support as well. Even the Dowager Countess—from whom her ladyship had certainly expected judgement—had had nothing but sympathy for her daughter-in-law, and there had been no mention of the scandal the trial would create for all of them. The older Lady Grantham, both daughters and Lady Rose, Mr. Branson, and Mrs. Crawley were all in attendance today, a firm presence of both sides of the earl and countess. Mrs. Crawley and Lady Rose would both be testifying in the coming days—Mrs. Crawley, to the injuries she'd seen the following day, and Lady Rose, to what she'd observed of the Crawleys' marriage during her time at Downton. The attorneys had suggested that her testimony would be more valuable than that of either of the couple's daughters, who would be immediately dismissed by the defense as understandably blind to their mother's affair.

Baxter smiled as she recalled the story she'd heard downstairs of the young lady's altercation with her future father-in-law, who had apparently referred to the rape charge as "an unusual way to cover an affair, when you consider how much more scandal it will invite." Lady Rose, who had otherwise been quite determined to be nothing but pleasant to Lord Sinderby, had been white as a sheet with indignation, informing him sharply that, "My dear cousin Cora was violently attacked by a monstrous criminal, and if you ever suggest otherwise in my presence, I shall never set foot in your house again, nor will you ever be welcome in any house of mine." Fortunately for Lady Rose, her marriage to Mr. Aldridge was still going ahead next month, as her stunned fiancé had backed her boldness, and Lady Sinderby had been quite firm in her own sympathy for Lady Grantham.

The family were not the only ones who had made the trip from Yorkshire. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would be testifying, as would Mr. and Mrs. Bates, Mr. Barrow, and Mr. Molesley. Baxter could not have been more grateful for the latter. He had become something near her shadow in the last few months, hanging about as she did her mending or polished shoes or simply waited for her ladyship's bell. They had not spoken again of their conversation in the courtyard, but there had been no need—the soft kindness in his eyes had been support enough. When it was announced that he would be attending the trial as well, she'd breathed a sigh of relief. For no one in the household but the lord and lady and Molesley knew Baxter's own story, and she would far prefer to look out into those warm, protective eyes as she told it from the stand, rather than register the shock and horror she knew she'd see on her coworkers' faces.

The judge banged his gavel, and the soft chatter in the courtroom quieted. Baxter felt her muscles tense. She dreaded hearing Lady Grantham's testimony, and it took every fiber of determination she had not to get up and dash from the courtroom. She did not want to fill her mind with the details of the attack, nor did she wish to see the pain that she knew would etch itself into her ladyship's face, but most of all, she shuddered at the thought that it was all a preview to her own testimony tomorrow morning. Yet she had promised her ladyship during their many long conversations that she would support her throughout the trial, and she would not abandon her now.

Baxter heard the judge call Lady Grantham to the stand, and she watched as his lordship stood up with his wife—for a moment, Baxter thought he would follow Lady Grantham up—raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it fiercely before he released her. The countess raised her chin, and her hands were steady as she took her place before the court. Baxter swallowed. Her ladyship's determination and anger had ebbed and flowed over the recent months, and Baxter prayed they would be with her strongly today.

The prosecution approached first, slowly guiding Lady Grantham into her story, and she began to recount the events of that night. How she'd gone outside, how she'd realized she was not alone, how Bricker had approached her and grabbed her and struck her, how he'd called her a bitch and a slut and a whore and pushed her to the ground, and how they had fought and struggled until he had finally held her down.

Baxter had begun to tremble at the beginning of the tale, and Molesley, who had been sure to sit next to her, had laid his hand on her knee, and she tried to close her ears and focus on the calming weight. Yet the details of Lady Grantham's attack pushed into her mind anyway, images of the rape filling her brain as they mixed with her own memories of that empty hallway so long ago. When her ladyship reached the point in her account where Bricker forced himself inside of her, Baxter gave a small cry, earning her a sharp look from the judge and curious and sympathetic glances from her own colleagues. Mr. Molesley reached for her hand and she slipped it into his, squeezing tightly. It anchored her to the present, pulling her back before she could tumble headlong into the past. She had never held his hand before, she realized, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How she dreaded standing in her ladyship's shoes tomorrow morning. Lady Grantham's voice was tight but steady, but her hands were visibly shaking, and Baxter could not fathom how it would feel to take the stand herself and tell her own story.

"Lady Grantham, can you identify your attacker?" the attorney asked at last.

"Yes."

"And who was it who attacked you on the 9th of June?"

"Mr. Simon Bricker."

"Do you see Mr. Bricker in the courtroom today?"

"Yes." Her ladyship's hand shook slightly as she raised it to point to Bricker, but her voice was even, and there was fury and disgust etched in her face. "The defendant."

Baxter did not turn to see Bricker. She had determined that she would not look at him until she was forced to tomorrow. How awful that her ladyship had had to face him throughout her testimony…and how awful that she herself would do the same in the morning.

And yet as awful as the testimony for the prosecution had been, Baxter had not comprehended what a cross-examination would be like.

"Lady Grantham," Bricker's attorney began, "is it correct that you chose to invite Mr. Bricker to your home on a night when you knew that your husband would be in London?"

"Mr. Bricker wasn't coming to see his lordship," Lady Grantham said evenly. "He'd only asked to see one of our paintings."

"But is it true that you purposefully invited him to your home when you knew your husband would be gone?"

"Not purposefully; I didn't think it mattered whether his lordship was in attendance—"

"But you knew your husband would not be at home on the night you invited Mr. Bricker?"

"Yes."

"Lady Grantham, is that something a woman who fears a man would do?"

"I didn't fear Mr. Bricker then; I didn't think I had any reason to—"

"Of course not. I would suggest that this is not only the behavior of a woman who isn't frightened of a man; it's the behavior of a woman who is comfortable with a man. Quite comfortable. And wouldn't you agree, Lady Grantham, that you were quite comfortable with Mr. Bricker?"

"I suppose that would depend on what you mean by—"

"You'd dined alone with Mr. Bricker in London, correct?"

"Yes, I—"

"You were observed to be quite comfortable in his company, your ladyship. Alone in his company. So isn't it true that you chose a night when Lord Grantham would be absent to invite Mr. Bricker to Downton because you were hoping to carry on with your affair away from your husband's attention?"

Lady Grantham drew back as though she'd been slapped, and there was a murmur in the courtroom. The skin on the back of his lordship's neck had turned bright red.

"I never had an affair with Mr. Bricker," she said quietly.

"Lady Grantham, we are all here today because you've told us Mr. Bricker had sexual relations with you. What would you call that besides an affair?"

"I didn't do it willingly!" Her voice broke on the last syllable.

"Why did you go outside alone that evening?"

There was a pause as her ladyship steadied the trembling in her chin. "I–I couldn't sleep."

"Do you make a habit of walking outside alone in the middle of the night, Lady Grantham?"

"No, but it was quite warm, and I thought I've have some fresh air."

"So the only night you've chosen to go outside, alone, late at night also happens to be the night you've invited Mr. Bricker to your home when Lord Grantham was not present?"

"That's not quite how—"

"Answer the question, Lady Grantham. Is it true that the night of Mr. Bricker's visit was the only night in recent memory that you've walked alone outside?"

Lady Grantham lowered her eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Why did you not call your maid? Is it not unusual for a great lady not to call her maid?"

"I did call my maid. I did call Miss Baxter." Baxter groaned inwardly, realizing her mistress's misunderstanding…and knowing it would be used against her.

"Lady Grantham, you claimed in your police report that you did not call Miss Baxter, that you dressed yourself and went outside alone."

"I…yes, that's true."

"But you've just told us that it isn't. You've just said you did call your maid."

Correct him, Baxter thought. Tell him you meant afterwards. Tell him you didn't understand. We all know you're under great stress!

But her ladyship did not take the silent advice. "I didn't, sir." Lady Grantham looked down again, her voice small. "I did not call my maid. I dressed alone. I didn't expect to see anyone, and I saw no reason to wake her."

The lawyer smiled coldly. "I would imagine, Lady Grantham, that it's indeed difficult to remember a story you've invented. But I agree: you did not call your maid. And I think you did not call your maid because you didn't want witnesses to your extramarital affairs."

"Objection!" Baxter heard the prosecutor call out, but the judge waved it away.

"Lady Grantham, can you tell us what happened to the dress you were wearing that evening? The police report states that it was torn, so I'm curious that it hasn't been submitted for evidence."

Her ladyship drew a shaky breath. "I asked my maid to burn it." Baxter almost jumped. Had Lady Grantham asked that? No, she hadn't. The details of their conversation that night, and in the next few days, were burned into Baxter's brain. Her ladyship had given no instructions about her dress, nor had she ever inquired after it. Baxter had looked it over the next day and determined that it wasn't salvageable…after which, she had disposed of it with other household rags. Had she told the police that? she wondered with a sinking feeling.

"And did she burn it?"

Lady Grantham paused, chewing her lip. "I–I'm not sure. I don't think I actually asked her to do that. No—oh, I don't know!"

"You don't seem to have asked your maid to burn the dress. At least, she told the police that she determined the next day that she could not repair it, and she disposed of it from there. Quite convenient. But I wonder, if you don't remember your conversation with Miss Baxter, how many other details of the evening do you remember incorrectly? Where did the alleged rape occur?"

Her ladyship jumped slightly at the word. "Outside. Near the trees near the drive up to the house."

The attorney nodded. "Which tree?"

"Which tree?"

"Yes, Lady Grantham. There are a great many trees leading up to Downton Abbey. Which tree were you and Mr. Bricker nearest?"

"I–I'm not sure I recall. It was quite dark—"

"It would seem to be an important detail."

"I was not focused on the trees!" A dry sob escaped her ladyship, and Baxter willed her not to cry.

"No doubt. Lady Grantham, the police report claims that your left rib and your right wrist were injured. Why, if you were pushed to the ground and landed on your left side, was your right wrist injured?"

"I'm not sure that's how it happened—"

"You're not sure?" The last word was tinged with a mocking skepticism.

"I don't think my wrist was injured falling to the ground; I think it was when he grabbed me—"

"'Falling to the ground?' I thought you say you were pushed—"

"I was pushed—" There was another sob, and it was quickly followed by tears. Baxter closed her eyes, feeling both her mistress's pain and her humiliation, and Molesley laid his other hand on her forearm and squeezed.

"And you've also stated that Mr. Bricker grabbed your arm, not your wrist. How was your wrist injured again?"

"I–I'm not sure I remember—"

"Lady Grantham, for a woman who's supposed to have been through such great trauma, you don't seem to remember any of it very well. It's almost as though no rape occurred in the first place." Stop it! Baxter wanted to scream. Stop harassing her!

"But please tell me what I've been so greatly curious about: if you were so terribly injured, why didn't you see a doctor right away, or in the morning?"

"I–I saw my cousin, my cousin Mrs. Crawley." Her ladyship took a great gulp of air, as though in an effort to slow her tears. "Mrs. Crawley is a trained nurse; my maid and I thought her examination sufficient."

"Yes, but you believed that your rib was broken. You've just told the prosecution so—you claim you heard your rib snap. Doesn't someone who believes they have a broken bone want to see an actual doctor? Your cousin says she then confirmed that your rib was indeed broken, and you still would not see a doctor. Why was that?"

"I–I didn't want to. I didn't want anyone to know what had happened!"

"Of course you didn't. You didn't see a doctor that morning because you were not yet injured. You weren't injured until Lord Grantham returned home and discovered your affair. And you were reluctant to call a doctor when your injuries were freshest because you did not want the village doctor—and the rest of the village from there—to know your husband had struck you in his anger."

"He didn't!" she cried in earnest. "Robert would never!"

Over her voice, the prosecutor called out, "Objection!"

"Sustained," the judge said, his voice bored.

"Nothing further," the attorney said smoothly. "Gentlemen of the jury, you have before you a woman who does not remember the details of a rape that never happened, a rape she invented, a lie for her husband's benefit, a lie to protect herself from further violence from him—"

"Stop this at once!" Lord Grantham had leapt from his seat, and all eyes whirled around to focus on him.

"Lord Grantham, I will have order in this court," the judge snapped. "Take your seat!"

Slowly, his lordship sank back down, as though he had suddenly calmed enough to realize that his outburst was to no one's benefit.

"Nothing further," Bricker's attorney repeated, and the judge directed Lady Grantham to return to her seat. She was weeping steadily now, and his lordship seized her, drawing her so tightly into his arms that it looked as though he expected hurricane winds to tear her away.

Baxter heard the judge's announcement that the court would adjourn for the day with a sickening dread. Tomorrow she'd be the one on the stand, announcing to the world that she'd been among Bricker's first victims, only to be painted as a flighty, dirty servant girl who'd enjoyed, or even sought, the attentions of her master.

"Miss Baxter—" Mr. Molesley began. She met his eyes and saw that he shared her terror, her dread, and her grief.

She shook her head. "There's nothing for it. I've given my word that I'll testify."