First of all, a HUGE thank you to everyone whose shown interest in this story thus far. I greatly appreciate it. I want to note that while I will be including some dialogue/scenes from canon, there will be some changes in chronology as well as which ones show up in full length and which ones are more briefly mentioned in the character's thoughts. Also, I will be including other characters in this, but only as they relate to Baxter & Molesley's storyline. Alrighty, here we go again folks, enjoy! :)
Baxter walked carefully up the stairs. The wide tray covered with all that Lady Grantham required for breakfast carefully balancing in between her arms. So far this week she managed to forget the marmalade for the toast once, and the sugar for the fruit bowl twice. This time she was convinced she made the tray just perfectly. Even with the additional glass of orange juice that Thomas convinced her to add.
Praise America, and don't forget about Lady Sybil, his words rang throughout her ears. You'll have her eating out of your hand. And as far as he knew, that was her intention.
No matter what he believed her motives to be, Baxter just hoped Lady Grantham would view the added glass as a desire for Baxter to show her appreciation thus far for her employers patience in adjusting to her presence. Also as a sign that she too, wanted the arrangement wanted to work.
She set the tray down on a table in the hall, knocked twice, and then waited for Lady Grantham to answer with her usually singsong response of: "Come in!"
Baxter twisted open the doorknob and poked her head inside, "I have your breakfast, Milady."
"Oh good," She folded up her copy of The Sketch, setting it to the other side of her bed, and sitting up straighter.
Baxter brought the tray into the room with her while she slowly crossed the room, and ceremoniously placed it down in front of Lady Grantham's lap.
"There we are, Milady. Now I...I think I've remembered everything, but I'll just stay here while you check," She took a step back, watching as her mistress studied her breakfast.
"Seems perfect but...what's this?" She placed a hand on the glass of orange juice, the additional item that wasn't apart of her request.
Baxter lifted an uncertain brow, pressing her hands together. "Well I know Americans often drink orange juice with breakfast so...I thought you might like it?" A sanguine lilt evident in her voice.
She met Lady Grantham's warm expression followed by an appreciative, "That is so considerate, Baxter. Thank you."
Baxter smiled with relief before inclining her head, and then crossing the room to leave. Just as she reached the door, his Lordship strolled through.
"Good morning Milord," She lifted her gaze momentarily, waiting for him to step aside so that she could pass by.
"Good Morning," He returned just as pleasantly. "You look very jovial this morning." He remarked to his wife.
Baxter's hand found the outer doorknob, and she started to shut the door behind her.
"Just Baxter reminding me of times gone by," Lady Grantham let out a wistful sigh .
The door clicked shut, but Baxter heard his Lordship ask from the other side, "You're pleased with her?"
Part of her wanted to dart away before she could hear the response. But Baxter's curiosity got the better of her, and she stay rooted in place.
"I am thank heaven."
And she took this slight compliment to heart while making her way back downstairs.
She was grateful to hear that her Ladyship believed everything was running just as smoothly as she hoped. Nearly two weeks passed since she started at Downton, and while Lady Grantham was kind enough, there was still an awkward tension that existed. It was to be expected given the relationship between mistress and ladies maid was an intimate one, and just like Baxter was still growing accustomed to her mistress' preferences, Lady Grantham was similarly adjusting to a new woman's presence in her private life.
But Baxter felt they got on just fine at this stage. She hoped things would only get easier from this moment forward. Then she was reminded of the difficulties that lie ahead whenever she ran into Thomas, who waited patiently for her at the bottom of the stairs in the servants quarters.
"Well?" He lifted a question brow in her direction, demanding to know whether or not she was successful in her task.
Swallowing back her irritation, she answered simply, "It worked." She focused her gaze further down the corridor as she turned to around the corner, in the direction of the laundry wing.
"Is that all you have?" Thomas asked skeptically, his footsteps scraping against the floor behind her.
Baxter's head snapped up again, and she looked over her shoulder. "I mentioned America, and she was pleased," She offered before shaking her head, palms opening to the side. "Isn't that enough?"
"And Lady Sybil?" He reminded her, his mouth curling into a devious smirk.
"Tonight," Baxter insisted plainly, "I'll make mention of her tonight."
"See that you do," Thomas lifted a brow, and took a step back. "I'm only doing this for your own good, ye know."
I seriously doubt that, she thought. But Baxter continued about her business, keeping her head down, and her mind focused at the task ahead. As far as she knew, that was the only way she'd survive under this arrangement at Downton.
He found her working alone in the boot room one evening, insisting she uncover what was happening with the Bates' next. There was a notable change in their attitudes towards one another. It started before Baxter arrived, but nobody knew why or what prompted the change in the once happily married couple. She had no choice but to make it a priority, to discover every detail of that whole business.
Even though Baxter couldn't understand why Thomas had it in for the Bates'. But she could sense the disconnect between them. In fact, she noticed there was a disconnect between him, and the majority of the downstairs staff. It made his motives for making her collect secrets from everyone even more curious to her.
Still, she kept quiet. It was still early days, and she couldn't take any unnecessary risks that might land her on the streets of Yorkshire without any future prospects.
She finished her breakfast rather quickly the next morning. Only Mr. Carson, Alfred, Jimmy, and a few of the house boys and maids sat around the table with seats nearly between everyone. Baxter was grateful Thomas had gone out for the papers (and another smoke most likely), leaving her some peace.
Baxter decided to finish up before he could return. She did have quite a few tasks to complete for her Ladyship before taking up her breakfast anyway. Besides, it was far too early in the day for her to have gathered any adequate information for Thomas to badger her about.
But as she pushed back her chair and started back towards the main corridor, she soon learned she was wrong.
"To me that requires an explanation."
Baxter heard the low, terse words just as she stepped out of the dining hall, accidentally happening upon what appeared to be a private conversation between Mr. & Mrs. Bates. Her eyes instantly widened in slight horror at the intrusion. She felt her lips twitching up at the corners into a nervous half smile.
"Good Morning, Miss. Baxter," Mr. Bates greeted as genially as he could muster in the moment.
She inclined her head towards each of them while she returned a similarly, "Hello, Mr. Bates. Mrs. Bates."
"I wondered...if you might help me?" She started and then paused, hoping to fill the awkward silence with anything that would detract them from realizing she overheard a part of their discussion.
"We will if we can," Mr. Bates informed her helpfully.
"It's my sewing machine," She explained, gesturing to the device she left to sit just outside the dining hall since her arrival. "I've no sockets in my bedroom, and what with the sewing room being in the laundry wing, I wondered if Mrs. Hughes might let me use it in the servants hall."
Mr. Bates suggested, "I should ask her if I were you."
"Yes of course, I'll do that." Baxter finally answered, smiling as if she didn't suspect anything about the circumstances in which she found the Bates' this morning.
But her gaze flickered back to Anna's face, which appeared stony and cold. She also couldn't help, but notice the darkened mark surrounding Anna's eye. She could tell it was faded, like it marred her face for a coupe of weeks now. Or it was still fresh, and she just did a poor job at covering it up.
Anna found her staring, and looked away instantly. Baxter felt like she was intruding, like perhaps Anna picked up on the fact that Baxter could sense her shame of how the bruise came to be.
With this realization coming to light, Baxter bowed her head, and trudged onward in search of Mrs. Hughes.
She couldn't help but think of Anna though. She could deny it, and she probably would if Baxter were to question her. But Baxter recognized a hastily covered up bruise more so than most people. And Mr. Bates' voice had shifted dramatically in a matter of seconds. He sounded so demanding and frustrated towards his wife, and then he was nothing short of cordial towards Baxter. So eager to help her in any possible way he could. Perhaps so that she wouldn't notice anything amiss, and be on her merry way.
Everything was in the tone of voice. Or so, Baxter recalled from her own experiences in dealing with a dishonorable man. There was anger present, on the verge of mounting into something beyond harsh words.
Suddenly, the toast with jam and tea she had for breakfast didn't agree with her as the most likely scenario, the one that Baxter was all too familiar with, crossed her mind. The horrific image of a purplish mark lining her cheek, and the red handprints splayed across her pale throat entered Baxter's mind against her will. She flinched, bringing a hand to her cover her throat instinctively.
The physical marks were long gone. It had been years since she had to concern herself with wearing dresses with higher collars or layering on her face powder so strategically. Even with the absence of visible scars, she still bore the memories that she feared she'd never be rid of.
Baxter shook her head, willing herself to think of something else. Anything else. The task at hand. Using the servants hall to hem the bottom of Lady Grantham's numerous nightgowns. Gaining Mrs. Hughes permission. Polishing her Ladyship's shoes. Cleaning her jewels, and sprucing up the Countess' Coronet for the dinner that evening
Once she arrived at the door to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, she simply couldn't forget as easily as she wished she could. She glanced back where the Bates' once stood.
Anna was gone, and all she saw was Mr. Bates alone. He leaned most of his weight on his cane, shoulders slumped forward in obvious defeat. She wondered if he might need any sort of assistance, but the moment soon passed. He inhaled sharply, and rolled back his shoulders determinedly before he disappeared back into the dining hall.
Maybe she was wrong about the Bates'. Maybe their disagreement was a result of something else entirely that didn't concern Anna's bruised eye. Maybe something less menacing happened than where Baxter's thoughts automatically led her. She certainly hoped so. For she'd hate for her assumption to be proven right.
She pressed her foot down on the petal, the whirring of the needle and thread rapidly stitching through the hem of Lady Grantham's favorite nightgown. Baxter dipped her head forward, concentrating on guiding the fabric through the machine in a straight line so as to make the bottom even once more. The noisy humming of the device filled the usually quiet that occupied the servants midday activities once the family went about their business for several hours.
It didn't take long for some of the staff to filter in the dining hall, inquisitive about what foreign sound was in their midst. Baxter looked up, to adjust the placement of the fabric in the machine, only to discover she was beginning to gain an audience.
She smiled up uneasily at Mrs. Patmore's disapproving stare, then moved her attention onto Daisy, who looked simultaneously transfixed by it yet terrified all the same.
"What in heaven are you...?" Came Mrs. Patmore's intonation of horror.
"Mrs. Hughes said I could use the socket in here," Baxter assured her, but it didn't appear to settle the cook's discomfort.
Mrs. Patmore huffed, unconvinced before whirling around and departing from the room.
"Don't mind her," Daisy flipped a hand, offering Baxter an encouraging smile. "Ye should have seen what happened when we bought an electric mixer."
"Really now?" Baxter lifted a curious brow. She flipped a couple of switches, securing the fabric back in place.
"You'd think we were at a Sunday Service," Daisy continued jokingly, "with all the 'Oh Lord's' and 'Sweet Jesus'', you'd think we were all going to heaven."
Baxter laughed quietly at this. She could almost envision what Daisy described, given the way Mrs. Patmore balked at her sewing machine.
Glancing beneath the table for a split second, she found her petal and eased it down. The methodical humming filled the air, and in between stitching runs, Baxter heard more footsteps filtering into the servants hall.
They murmured among themselves about the presence of the sewing machine. Some thrilled at the prospect, others more alarmed. But Baxter continued working, trying not to allow the cluster of intrigued staff members, break her concentration. Once she finished going over the first row of stitches, she released the presser foot, turning the needle wheel and bringing it up.
"But if it's electric aren't ye worried it's going to run off on ya, and sew yer fingers to the table?" Daisy inquired after hearing Thomas' tall tale comment about such a thing being possible.
Baxter smiled at the girl's inquisitiveness laced with a sort of terror she was attempting to mask. She replied, lifting her brow, "I certainly hope not."
"How do you operate it?" Alfred asked, pressing both of his palms on top of the table and leaning forward as if to get a better look at it.
"With a petal, under me foot," Baxter answered, pressing down on it to demonstrate.
There was a slight in take of breath, and she noticed Daisy staring wide eyed at it, trying to work out in her mind how it all worked.
"Well I don't think it has any business in the servants hall," She could hear Mrs. Patmore airing her disapproval from nearby the doorway.
"But there's no socket in her room," Mrs. Hughes defended.
Still, Mrs. Patmore eyed the sewing machine as if it were some unsavory creature, "But she could take it over to the laundry. Or better still, chuck it out altogether!"
Mrs. Hughes blinked back at Mrs. Patmore's sudden outburst, but didn't waver in her stance. Even as Mrs. Patmore turned from the room again, she glanced back at Ms. Baxter and offered a sort of apologetic half smile.
"Mrs. Patmore is not what you would call a futurist." Thomas announced smoothly, his back pressed into one of the walls while he took another sip of tea.
"I think I got that already," Baxter murmured, shooting a knowing look in Daisy's direction, who grinned back at her understandingly.
She adjusted the position of Lady Grantham's skirts beneath the presser foot again. Her own foot hovered above the petal, but she glanced up again to see Daisy staring intently at the needle hanging in midair.
"Would you like to have a try?" She asked, lifting an enticing brow.
"Me?" Daisy echoed in disbelief.
Baxter bobbed her head encouragingly, which prompted Daisy to eagerly nod in reply.
Pushing back her chair, Baxter then motioned for the young woman to sit. "It's already aligned with the track here, you see?" She pointed to the ridge that ran along the bottom where the fabric was lined up with. "Put one hand on either side, like this," Baxter placed Daisy's hands in the appropriate places. "Now all you have to do, is lightly press on the petal and guide the dress along as the needle goes."
"That's it?" Daisy peered up at her, unconvinced at how simple working such a complicated machine could be.
"That's it," Baxter assured.
Taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves, Daisy touched her toe to the petal as Ms. Baxter instructed. Nothing happened.
"It doesn't work," Daisy informed her anxiously.
"Press a little harder then," Baxter coached gently.
Everyone waited with baited breath for Daisy to try again. This time she pressed the petal nearly down the whole way, and the needle flickered up and down at a maddening rate, causing Daisy to jump and shriek a bit out of fear. The hum of unanimous laughter filled the room at her reaction.
"Steady now," Baxter softly cheered, trying to stifle her amusement that everyone else seemed to let go so easily. She placed a hand at her shoulder, promising, "It's not going to get you if you keep your hands where I showed you."
Daisy appeared doubtful, but she refocused her efforts again.
Baxter watched her try again, and smiled contentedly as Daisy grew accustomed to the whirring purr of the needle darting into the fabric. She saw the girl's hands carefully moving the fabric as each stitch passed through the hem of Lady Grantham's dressing gown. When she finished, Baxter moved the gown so that she might continue on sewing more of the hemline.
She kept a close eye on this, until she saw a flash of blonde appear in one of the doorways.
"Anna," She heard Mr. Bates greet happily.
But the look on his wife's face fell into that of a rather annoyed expression. Letting out a sigh she muttered halfheartedly, "I've forgotten something." And before another word could be exchanged among them, she went back the way she came.
Mrs. Hughes then faced Mr. Bates, a look of strained concern invading her visage. With the rattling of the sewing machine echoing through the hall while Daisy tried it out, Baxter couldn't make out the words that were exchanged. However, the remorseful smile, followed by Mrs. Hughes departure suggested perhaps she was somehow involved in whatever conflict put space between the Bates'.
Everything Baxter thought she once knew on the matter, suddenly shattered. It didn't look the same as what she personally experienced several years ago. The avoidance was certainly telling, but Anna's earlier trepidation had turned into a bitterness that made the circumstances even more muddled for an outsider like Baxter to decipher. And with Mrs. Hughes rapt interference just now, there was another piece to the riddle.
Maybe she wasn't meant to understand. Maybe it was more complicated and foreign to her than she initially thought.
"Ms. Baxter," Daisy's eager voice soon shook her out of her deep contemplation. "How did I do?"
Glancing down at the stitching, it was nearly straight with some minor imperfections. But for a first time try, Daisy had done mighty well. "Very nicely," She complimented with a warm smile, "I should be careful not to tell Lady Grantham, otherwise she might prefer your steady hand to mine."
"Oh I doubt that!" A light giggle escaped Daisy as she shook her head. Then she probed, "But do ye really think I have a steady hand for it?"
Baxter's smile deepened, and she settled back down in her chair, "Aye, I do." She watched the young girl rush out of the room, declaring she'd have to tell Mrs. Patmore the sewing machine was perfectly harmless.
There was a sweet enthusiasm she found to be agreeable in Daisy's character. A quality she once possessed herself at that age. Her thoughts briefly lingered on those happier times when the world seemed full of endless possibilities, and she felt like she could accomplish anything.
But she soon forgot whenever Thomas set down his tea, and pulled in a chair across from her. "Well done, Ms. Baxter," He complimented, a smug look crossing his face. "It appears you've made another friend."
Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, noticing they weren't alone. She began unthreading the machine while adding in a voice that attempted to come off as teasing, "Are you jealous, Mr. Barrow?"
He chuckled, feigning delight. "Not jealous, no. Just pleased you're settling in."
Baxter stowed the white thread back away in her button box, letting out a deep exhalation while she fished out some black. Adding it in place of the white, she whirled around in her seat to pick up another one of Lady Grantham's darker gowns that rested on one of the stools. She never felt more grateful for the distraction her work provided, even if Thomas was intent on hovering over her.
Later that afternoon, Mrs. Patmore came into the servants hall just as she was finishing up with her Ladyship's dresses, a rather frantic expression crossing her face.
"Ms. Baxter!" She intoned desperately, holding up her apron between her hands. "Can ye help me with this?"
Baxter took the cloth from Mrs. Patmore's hands, examining the tear at the bottom corner.
"Normally I'd mend it meself, but her Ladyship's coming down this afternoon and I've no time," She explained meekly.
"Oh, it's an easy fix," Baxter decided softly, already pulling pins from her tin box, and fusing the tear in the apron together. She then slid it beneath the needle, and pressed down on the petal again.
"Whew! I can't get over the speed of it," Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, her tone more welcoming than from earlier before as she watched the machine in action, up close.
This prompted Baxter to smile. Perhaps Daisy's earlier go with the device had soothed her fears.
She still admitted with a peal of astonished laughter permeating her words, "I feel quite dizzy watching!"
Lifting up the plate again, Baxter pulled it out, and quickly plucked out the pins. She smoothed over the once torn corner of the apron across the tabletop, examining her handiwork. "I don't think it'll show," She informed Mrs. Patmore before passing back the apron.
"Show? That's better than it was before I bought it!" She exclaimed happily.
Baxter hummed, glad to be of use. Not to mention, she was glad to have the chance to prove her sewing machine useful, even to the most skeptical of people.
"Awwe..thanks very much!" Mrs. Patmore patted her on the shoulder, obviously grateful.
"Her Ladyship's on her way down," Came Thomas' cool voice from the doorway.
Mrs. Patmore scurried out of the room, throwing her apron back over her, and tying it on her way back to the kitchen as she barked out orders to her understaff to clear up the place.
There was a tense silence settling between them. Thomas pulled out a cigarette, balancing it between his lips while he asked, "Another one roped to chariot?"
Baxter's hands stilled atop her sewing machine. Squeezing her eyes shut for a second, she tried to gather her thoughts. Pulling the thread out from the top, she remarked as neutrally as possible, "I'm grateful for this job Thomas, and we both know why."
She looked up at him as he settled into a chair opposite her. His dark eyes bore into her, watching her closely. He was waiting for her to snap. He knew how to bend her until she reached a breaking point. Yet, she knew things would take a turn for the worse if she lost her nerve at this point.
Swallowing back any bitterness she wished she could throw his way, Baxter wondered. "But what's it all about?"
Thomas lit up the cigarette, slowly blowing out lazy tendrils of smoke before stating, "Well there's going to be changes at Downton. There's bound to be."
"I'm sure."
"So I want to know about any plans upstairs. Any detail, no matter how small," He was just as vague as the letter he sent her in London. Cocking his head to the side, he wondered with a condescending smirk, "D'you understand?"
"Did the other ladies maids keep you informed?" She countered, starting to put all of her things away.
"Miss. O'Brien, yes. But we fell out."
She wished she could fish more information about Miss. O'Brien out of him. But the infamous ladies maid who left Lady Grantham in the lurch for a tour of exotic India was an obvious sore spot to him. And Baxter had enough sense not to incite his ire by edging him on about how they too, might fall out similarly if he wasn't careful. She couldn't just yet.
"What about Mrs. Bates?" She tried instead. At least if Anna was in leagues with him, she could find an ally. Someone who'd be on her side. "Is she an enemy?" She continued, not wanting him to decipher her line of reasoning. "She knows what's going on."
"No, she's not an enemy." Thomas assured her plainly. His mouth twitched up at the corners as he added, "But she's incorruptible. So we have nothing in common."
And I am corruptible? She thought irritably, resenting him for the insinuation. But she dared not vocalize this because he certainly did have a point. She allowed herself be corrupted by a sleazy footman once before. And even if she tried to convince herself this time was different, it was beginning to feel eerily similar.
"She's also silent," Baxter shut the lid to her button box more forcefully to show he was testing her patience far more than she appreciated. She argued mildly, "I couldn't get four words out of her since I arrived."
Thomas sighed, matching her annoyance with his. Taking another drag on his cigarette he finished with, "Just get them all to trust you. And tell you everything."
This time she didn't respond. Grabbing the box for her sewing machine she carefully slid the device back inside before gathering the rest of her things. She wasn't in the mood to discuss whatever he planned for her to do next. Especially if it included the few people who had shown her nothing but kindness since she arrived.
Stay tuned for the next chapter, which will feature a brief history on the Molesley family (yay!-I am really excited about this *grins stupidly*) as well as Baxter & Molesley's first meeting at Downton.