Bill Molesley waited anxiously for his son to return with news from the main house. He hoped for Joe's sake, it was an offer for work. He hated seeing his son despondent with his work when he once lived to serve Mr. Matthew. Now Bill knew the unskilled labor weighed Joe down in more than just the physical sense.
All he ever wanted was for his son's happiness. He didn't think it was too much to wish for. Even if mending roads ended up being work that Joe felt proud of, Bill wouldn't mind. But he knew the work was taxing, and it only seemed to make Joe more withdrawn from the rest of the world.
He tried to appear busy in the backyard garden, gathering up radishes and potatoes that would be taken to market during the next sales day. The Molesley vegetable garden didn't produce much, but it was generally enough for them to set something off to the side for their leisurely spending. However, with Mrs. Molesley gone, and Bill getting on in years, he planned on giving whatever they could make from the market to his son.
His debts were mostly paid off, but it would continue to help some. And given all that Joe did towards the end of his mother's life, Bill figured it was the least he could do for him.
So he took to gathering the roots up in a wide wicket basket, trying not to fixate on when Joe's possible return might be. He didn't want to appear overly anxious. Didn't want to cause his son anymore distress if the news wasn't quite what they both desired.
After he finished the second row of radishes, Bill felt his back muscles pulling rather painfully, and his breathing grew more labored. The task of gathering up all the goods in one fell swoop seemed more daunting than he anticipated. While there was a slight autumn chill in the air, Bill found his brow lined with sweat. He stood up straighter, feeling his back creak in the process. Reaching into his gardening apron, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his brow with it, letting out a lengthy breath.
He hadn't even heard the front gate creak open, nor did he notice any other door in the house make mention of his son's arrival. It wasn't until the back porch door squealed open, that Bill looked up and noticed Joe's sudden presence.
"Dad," He bounded across the garden, his voice flooding with concern, "ye shouldn't be doing this while I'm out."
"Aw I'm not that far gone," Bill argued gruffly.
"Still," Joe insisted with a heavy sigh. "I've got enough to worry about, I don't need to add you hurting yourself in the garden to me list."
"What's the matter lad?" Bill frowned, not fully understanding his son's sudden display of concern for his physical health. It shouldn't have been the first thing they discussed upon his return from the Abbey. Not if the news was good anyway. He asked, "Did Mr. Carson not give ye the news you were hoping to hear?"
Joe glanced away, and then knelt down to where Bill left off in the row of radishes. He paid no mind to the dirt that would now stain his trousers, and Bill didn't think to point this out to him.
"Not quite," He told him in a regrettable tone. And then Joe began pulling the vegetables from the ground with more fervor than he normally would before tossing them carelessly into his dad's basket.
"Hey now, easy there," Bill scolded at his son's severe treatment of the radishes. "You'll bruise 'em if ye aren't careful, and we're to take these to market next week."
Joe paused with his head bent forward. Bill carefully knelt down in the row across from him, groaning as his bones crackled with the shift in position again.
"You know there's not much I can't stand more than a job not done well," Bill reminded his son pointedly.
Joe leaned back on his haunches, looking back over at his father with a pained look on his face momentarily. Jerking his thumb in the direction of the house, he persisted. "Ye should go inside, Dad. I can finish this for ye."
"Oh I don't mind," Bill assured him, reaching for his tiny trowel, he used to dig up the carrots.
"Dad," Joe intoned wearily, prompting Bill to find his eye again. "Please, I...I need to do something worthwhile."
His heart tugged at the defeatism he could read in his son's expression, and the disappointment that rang throughout his words. Even though he wasn't privy to the exchange between Mr. Carson and his son, Bill suspected Joe was merely being too hard on himself.
"Did Mr. Carson not have anything for ye?" He decided to ask, staying rooted in place while he took up his tiny trowel, and began scraping away at the dirt.
"No its not that," Joe sighed. "It's just...he can only offer me a job as a footman. Second footman nonetheless."
"And what's wrong with that?" Bill echoed in disbelief that his son would balk at the offer. "It'd get you back into service, in a more than respectable home. And isn't that what you want?"
"Oh I don't know Dad its just..." He trailed off, placing a few more radishes in the basket set between them. Brushing the dirt off his hands, he stood and shrugged, "...its just lately I can't seem to see where I'm going."
Bill watched his son head off to the tiny shed, fishing out an apron and some gloves after all. It sounded as though Joe expected to find equitable work than what he'd grown accustomed to. And Bill didn't blame his son for wanting something better than making his return to Downton as a second footman. But even so, he thought Joe would jump at the opportunity to work in a house as opposed to on the roads again.
When he returned, this time equipped with proper gardening attire, Bill tried to comfort his son.
"Well you've had a shock. And it's no wonder. You should have been working for Mr. Matthew until you were old. Maybe been butler at the Abbey before you were gone. Now all that's gone. And yer wages with it."
"You're a nice chap, Dad." Joe murmured halfheartedly, nodding his head. "You know of the difference between us, you were always polite...always kind."
He was grateful for the compliment. "Well I'm glad to hear it."
"But it's raised my standards, do you see?" His son continued on, his voice flecked with a gloominess that even gardening couldn't take away. "I mean, my return to Downton should've been different. Not that of some sad, pitiful tale of a fellow who crawled back into a post well beneath his skills."
"Now wait just a minute," Bill asserted, "in your game if you want to be the best, you've got to be the best, and work at it. Get yourself back into service at a good post, in a well respected house. And you'll soon find your way where you'd like to be. And as it stands, I don't see another finer family to work for in this county than The Crawley's."
Joe stared back at him, considering his words. Then he shook his head and shrugged, grumbling something beneath his breath that Bill couldn't hear.
Yet he tried to drive his point home, hoping his son would change his mind about the job offer at Downton.
"You've got no room for pride son, not ever since you lost it all. And I don't blame ye for it, it's not your fault. But I'm just saying."
He wasn't saying it to be cruel. It was a statement of fact. Beggars couldn't be choosy. And while Joe wasn't in the position of begging for a job just yet, Bill knew he couldn't afford to be particular either. He only hoped for the sake of his son's happiness he would see it.
"Yeah I know, Dad," He exhaled. Pulling a couple of more radishes up from out of the ground, he bobbed his head. "I'll go see Mr. Carson about the position tomorrow morning."
"That's the spirit!" Bill offered up encouragingly. He found his knees digging painfully into the hard ground, and soon stood back up on his feet again. "Now," He crossed over two rows of crops, depositing the trowel by his son.
"I'll get your trousers pressed for the morning. You see about pulling up the rest of the garden, eh?" He clapped him on the shoulder in passing, knowing the work in the garden would allow Joe to focus his energies into something productive. And in turn, it'd make him feel good about himself in some small way.
His nerves bounced around in his stomach at having to face Mr. Carson again. Yet he tried to keep his step lighter, head held high to showcase his eagerness to accept Mr. Carson's offer from yesterday. When he arrived downstairs, he found the backdoor unlocked, and could hear the lows sounds of conversation drifting from the servants dining hall and into the corridor.
He took off his hat, and then slowly padded towards the sound of noise. His footsteps echoed off the near silent halls. He looked into the kitchens briefly, noticing Mrs. Patmore and the cooks sitting down for their breakfast as well. She smiled and waved at him, to which he replied mutely with an inclination of his head and a pleasant smile.
He could see Mr. Carson, seated at the head of the table, enjoying his breakfast. This revelation only intensified his nerves as the thought of disturbing Mr. Carson suddenly filled him with dread. He didn't want to be an inconvenience, but feared he might come across as such even if it wasn't his intent.
Rapping lightly on the doorframe, he instantly caught Mrs. Hughes attention. Mr. Molesley swallowed back his nerves and wondered meekly, "Might I have a word, Mr. Carson?"
"Certainly," Carson appeared to be eager to speak with him as he pushed back his chair and met Mr. Molesley in the hall.
"I've given it a lot of thought," Molesley started confidently.
"Have you indeed?"
He hadn't picked up on the condescending lilt in Carson's tone for he was trying to recall the precise words he practiced over and over again in his mind on the way there.
"First I needed to deal with my father's disappointment when he learned of my downward path. But I weighed it, against the power to do good that all employment brings."
"Did you now? And you thought all that?"
"I feel I could...contain my skills and guide them into a more modest channel without loss of dignity," Molesley continued smoothly.
"Just fancy."
"So, all in all, after mature deliberation. You'll be pleased to hear that I can accept your offer."
"What offer?"
His stomach dropped a bit, and he could feel his face growing hot. Had he not been clear in his intent? Furrowing his brow, Molesley clarified uncertainly, "To replace Alfred as footman?"
"Oh my dear Mr. Molesley. I'm afraid that Alfred's not leaving now."
His throat ran dry, and he felt his heart sink at the news.
Mr. Carson continued on in his usually professional manner, "It's a pity you didn't accept the job when we last talked then I'd be stuck with you. As it is, you've missed your chance."
He nodded, the buoyancy in his tone deflating considerably, "As I generally do."
Molesley started shuffling back down the corridor, hoping to leave unnoticed by any of the other staff. It was embarrassing enough to initially be considered for the role of footman. But to be rejected for the position because of something as uncontrollable as changing circumstances in Alfred's fortune, was another entirely.
However, fate had other plans, and he heard the soft familiarity of a woman's voice reach his ears.
"Have you come back with your answer for Mr. Carson, Mr. Molesley?"
He paused, pivoting slowly and finding Ms. Baxter exiting one of the sewing rooms at about the same time he was passing by.
"I have," Molesley told her, unable to conceal his disappointing frown from her. "Only to learn that Alfred's staying on, and I won't be needed." He shrugged and shook his head, hoping to avoid anymore pity being shot in his direction.
"Oh I am sorry," She remarked sympathetically.
And from what he could tell, she truthfully meant it.
"But from what it sounds like, he was a near miss." Ms. Baxter informed him with a promising beat of hope pervading her words, "Perhaps...someone'll drop out or...he'll find another course that takes him? Then Mr. Carson will have a place for ye again."
Or perhaps not, he thought bitterly. The negativity swirling in his mind manifested in his response.
"I doubt it. I'm sure Mr. Carson thinks me too proud for the position now. Not that I blame him. I should've just taken the offer then and there."
He slowly watched her soft expression dissipate, and not wanting to appear ungrateful yet again he added sincerely.
"But...thank you for your kind words anyway, Ms. Baxter. G'day."
Molesley donned his hat, and left Downton wholly unsatisfied yet again. Only he couldn't blame anyone but himself for his lapse in judgment.
A few days passed before Mr. Molesley crossed Baxter's mind again. She was busy trying to give Mr. Barrow bits of gossip she didn't actually believe would harm anyone in any significant way. There was one rumor in particular that Lady Rose was planning a particular surprise for His Lordship's birthday, which Thomas somehow spun into meaning there might be significant layoffs. She couldn't be sure how his mind arrived at such a venture. Even after she disclosed this to him, he expected her to find out more.
In the meantime, Baxter was still trying to work through the whole business with Mr. & Mrs. Bates, but she kept this to herself. No real new developments presented themselves that would be of any interest to Thomas anyway.
She did notice, changes in Anna's overall demeanor. When she could once barely meet her gaze, Anna now appeared to be more lively though than in the days when Baxter first started working at Downton. They spoke more genially about things if they found themselves in the laundry wing or the boot room working together. And she could see her warming back up to her husband again, albeit slowly, but there was still a notable change between them. The brought on Baxter's dismissal of any prior suspicions she may have had in regards to any physical abuse transpiring between them.
They never discussed their private lives. Only the daily happenings of the family, the weather, the latest styles in hair or fashion, or upcoming events in the family's social calendar that they'd be part of.
But even with the frivolity that surrounded their conversation, Baxter came to understand precisely just what Thomas meant about Anna being incorruptible. She was a sweet spirit, who'd been wronged in some manner. Which was a shame, but not altogether surprising to Baxter. She knew all too well about how the world could mistreat the kindest souls without any fair explanation.
It was with this thought and the exciting news of Alfred's departure that Mr. Molesley invaded her thoughts. He seemed to be someone who experienced a great many injustices in his life, but someone who remained good in spite of it all the same. She felt a certain fondness for these types of people, having experienced the world in a similar fashion herself.
Which is why when Mrs. Hughes made mention of Mr. Molesley one evening at dinner, Ms. Baxter's ears perked up.
"Will you...send a message to Mr. Molesley in the morning?"
"Why should I?" Mr. Carson countered, clearly perplexed by Mrs. Hughes' proposition.
"Because Alfred's going," She explained.
"So?"
Ms. Baxter found herself speaking up unexpectedly, "Won't you need him now?"
"I'll need a new footman, yes..." He cast his gaze upon her visage before explaining evenly, "but...Mr. Molesley has, as the saying goes, had his chance and missed it."
What a shame, Ms. Baxter thought, biting on the bottom lip.
She noticed Mrs. Hughes face warm considerably in her direction, as if she could read Baxter's thoughts written across her face. "You don't mean that," She insisted gently to Mr. Carson, "Not when he agreed to come last time."
Mr. Carson nodded dutifully at her, "Yes, he agreed. Much as Kaiser Bill agreed to abdicate with the greatest possible reluctance."
"But surely..." She piped up urgently, only to be interrupted by Mr. Carson's steady and certain voice.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes. But Young Alfred, here, gave thanks tonight for the courtesy and kindness that he has received here, both from the family and from me. And that, is what I like to see, gratitude. I don't want someone who has to be dragged into the house by his heels."
Ms. Baxter glanced down at her plate, she heard Mrs. Patmore's voice coming from behind her shoulder.
"Yes, but Mr. Molesley has had a lot to..."
"...a lot to put up with." Carson finished her thought. "We've all had a lot to put up with, Mrs. Patmore. And it is not made easier by working with people who don't want to be here." He stood up from his seat, and everyone else in the hall followed suit.
Once he left, and they all settled back down in their chairs again, Ms. Baxter couldn't help but look across the table at Mrs. Hughes.
"I think he sorely regrets not taking Mr. Carson up on his offer sooner," Baxter told her, taking a bite of her potatoes.
"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes lifted an intrigued brow, "And have you spoken with Mr. Molesley, yourself Ms. Baxter?"
She chewed and swallowed thoughtful before countering, "As it so happens, I have."
It was then she realized her tone sounded argumentative, even though that wasn't her intent at all. So Baxter quickly supplemented, "We met in the corridor after he met with Mr. Carson. The first time, I think. He seemed rather disappointed in the whole arrangement. Start to finish. But...more so with the end result than anything else."
"Well..." Mrs. Hughes inhaled and then cast a knowing look over Baxter's shoulder at whom she assumed would be Mrs. Patmore, "...I suppose I can try to work on getting Mr. Carson to agree." She refocused her gaze on Baxter again, a momentarily smile twitching at her mouth.
Baxter opened her mouth to express her gratitude only to be met with Mrs. Hughes realistic amendment to her statement, "But I can't promise anything."
It was Thomas' cool, calculating voice that floated down from the other end of the table, "Why are you so keen to get Mr. Molesley back on, Ms. Baxter? You've known him what, a few minutes? For all you know he could be unworthy of the post like Mr. Carson seems to think."
Baxter lifted her eyes up from beneath heavy lids, finding Mrs. Hughes studying her curiously. She knew people were beginning to wonder precisely how it was the two of them knew one another. If they were childhood friends, why did Mr. Barrow come across as so cold to Ms. Baxter? This did nothing to help her nerves in the matter of keeping her reason for employment at Downton a secret.
But Baxter rolled her eyes at him, displaying her softest smile as she answered his question with one of her own, "I thought you believed in giving people a second chance to prove their worth, Mr. Barrow?"
She noticed his smug smirk dissipate once she arched her brow defiantly at him. Things were changing at Downton, indeed. Baxter felt a surge of hopefulness rise within her that they just might change in her favor.
Any thoughts? Hopefully it's still going as strong as CH 1. :)
Coming up next: Mr. Molesley returns to Downton yet again for the footman job (yes, I'm giving him whiplash w/all the running back & forth, I know, but this is all in canon). Ms. Baxter warms up to her Ladyship even more, and struggles to determine where her loyalties truly lie.