Molesley hadn't had much of a chance to visit his dad ever since he started back at Downton. And while he knew his father would understand that his duty more heavily concerned the Crawley Family than anything else, Molesley wanted to ensure he wasn't being neglectful.
So he took his chance one afternoon to compose a short letter to his father, hoping it might find him well. He inquired about the floral display the Molesley's often set up for the annual church bazaar, asking if he found someone to help him with it. Of course, the house staff would assist in decorating it as well as the installation once Mr. Molesley brought it up to the grassy expanse. But this didn't help him with the transporting of goods up from his garden to the main house. Joe hoped his Dad wouldn't miss out on one of the most exciting events in the village simply because he was back at the Big House, and couldn't be there to aid in this.
Molesley then gave a brief account of the comings and goings of the family. How Lord Grantham left for America to help cover up some scandal Lady Grantham's brother found himself stuck in. How Lady Edith appeared to be spending more of her time in London these days ever since the disappearance of Mr. Gregson. And how Lady Mary seemed torn between two suitors, but lately Mr. Blake appeared to be the front runner due to his prolonged stay at The Abbey.
He finished the letter by mentioning how welcoming the downstairs staff had been during the course of his return. How he felt glad to be of use, even if it wasn't in the way he imagined. Molesley was certain his father would be pleased to hear about all of it. The man didn't have much else in this world aside from his son and his gardening. Yet he didn't appear to want for anything else.
Molesley dropped the letter in the box Mr. Carson reserved for sending outgoing messages in his office, and he was about to head back upstairs to his room for a bit of afternoon reading when a peculiar purring sound captured his attention.
He paused just before passing the dining hall, poking his head through the doorway. He witnessed Ms. Baxter sitting with her back to him in front of her sewing machine.
She appeared wholly focused on the task at hand, and he didn't want to disturb her. Still, it was fascinating to watch her work. He never saw a machine up close like this before. Indulging in his own curiosity, Molesley casually strolled into the room.
"I admire that," He interjected in between the rhythmic humming of the needle.
Ms. Baxter shot him a quick glance before reverting her attention back to her work.
"That's a real skill," He finished his compliment of her speedy craftsmanship, gesturing towards the machine.
She adjusted one of the wheels that lifted the needle. Peering up again, she arched an inquisitive brow in his direction and asked, "Mr. Molesley, is it true that you were valet to the late Mr. Crawley?"
Placing his hands on the back of the chair sitting beside her, he nodded. "And butler to his mother before that," He informed her, watching as she pulled out some pins from the fabric, tossing them in a tiny tin box.
His fingers drummed along the fine wood of the chair, watching her move the fabric in synchronization with that of the whirring needle. It must have made things so much easier for her as she completed each row of stitches in a timely fashion.
In that moment, he was slightly envious of her. To have a device that would increase productivity while lessening the burden of an already heavy workload. He wished there was something similar that would allow him to polish all the silver in twice the amount of time it normally did.
Molesley let out an exhalation of slight disappointment. Thinking back to one of their earlier exchanges, he couldn't help but reiterate, "I've come down in the world."
Her hands froze at the machine, but she didn't look away from her work. "You can climb up again," She counseled.
It was almost like Ms. Baxter had some exclusive knowledge of the way these things worked. Information that he wasn't privy to.
"Maybe," He lamented, shrugging his shoulders, shuffling his feet despondently. "But life kicks the stuffing out of you sometimes, doesn't it?"
He would leave it at that. She didn't want to hear about his troubles. But just as soon as his hands lifted from the back of the chair and he started to exit the room, did Ms. Baxter's soft response surprised him.
"Oh. I've had me stuffing kicked out more than once. I've often wondered if there's any point to it."
He turned to meet her gaze. She was smiling proudly as she went on,
"Yet here I am, ladies maid to a Countess. So..." Tipping her head at him, she told him more confidently, "...it can happen. For anyone of us."
His mouth split into an intrigued half smile and he took a step back towards her. "Now you've made me curious," Molesley admitted.
It was the first instance she volunteered any information in regards to herself. And he found himself wanting to learn more about her.
Clearing her throat, she began tentatively, "I'm curious about something and you could...help me."
"Oh? What's that?"
Molesley watched her brow furrow, angling back her face to regard his face more fully, "Do you know if, Mr. & Mrs. Bates, have had a falling out?"
"Mr. & Mrs. Bates?" He frowned, no doubt mirroring her muddled expression. "Doesn't sound very likely. Why d'you want to know?"
Shaking her head slowly, Baxter went back to readjusting the fabric in her sewing machine, "No reason."
Her question was a rather odd one, given the way their conversation started. But Molesley's thoughts circled back to the interaction he overhead between Ms. Baxter and Mr. Barrow. Maybe his assumptions about her working with him were correct. Maybe she was just another Ms. O'Brien, trying to learn all that she could in order to further her own agenda.
However, her tone resonated with genuine curious about who was who among the downstairs staff at Downton. And she didn't press the topic further beyond her initial question, or try to find another way in. Which was the exact opposite of what Ms. O'Brien might do. Still, he was curious to know more.
Opening his mouth to ask her why she was so interested in the Bates', Mrs. Patmore stepped in before he had a chance.
"Can I ask you to put that machine away? We'll be laying for tea soon."
Her eye met his, and he swore Mrs. Patmore glanced between them with an air of intrigue. And although there was nothing improper about their friendly conversation, Molesley found himself taking a few steps back from Ms. Baxter. He realized any further conversation would have to wait until later that evening.
The downstairs was generally quiet. There was still the intermittent pitter patter of footsteps as people came and went about their business that evening. Every now and again, Baxter heard the shrill demands of Mrs. Patmore cutting through the silence while the kitchen staff still worked to put everything away.
Dinner was already served and cleared for the family as well as the staff. The Dowager and Mrs. Crawley departed for the evening, and His Lord and Ladyship already went to bed. Lady Mary was on her way up now, leaving Baxter and Mr. Bates to be the only two sitting in the dining hall.
She sat in one of the rocking chairs near the fire, the lacy fabric of Lady Grantham's nightgown cascading down her lap like a feather light blanket. She squinted in the low light, working to thread a rosy hued ribbon through the collar. It wasn't too difficult a task to complete by hand this time of day. Unlike working on intricate embroidery or stringing patterns of beads across evening gowns, Baxter could work this piece of material without straining her eyes too harshly beneath the dim light.
Mr. Bates sat further down the length of the table, pretending to read one of the newspapers His Lordship tossed aside. He drummed his fingers against the wood every few seconds while he waited for his wife to finish putting Lady Mary to bed. She imagined it was difficult for him. To sit idle mostof the day, knowing Thomas was halfway around the world, tending to his master.
Every now and again, he looked up and remarked about this or that to Baxter, giving her reason to look up from her work and respond politely. But both of them were typically guarded individuals who didn't like speaking much about themselves. The silence was welcoming to the pair of them.
Still, in one of instances where she craved conversation, Baxter mentioned lightly, "Must make the days feel longer with His Lordship being away."
"Ah yes," He nodded. "Less work to be done, that's for sure." After a moments pause, Bates inclined his head towards her work resting in her lap and supplied jokingly, "I could help with that, but I doubt you'd want me to."
Baxter chuckled and shook her head, "Not quite the same as replacing buttons on His Lordship's coat?"
"Not quite the same," He echoed in agreement. "My Mother always used to say, Men should learn to mend two things: socks and the buttons on their coats. Leave the rest of the finer work to the ladies. And I tend to agree with her," He offered, "I doubt I could manage something so delicate with such precision."
She took his complimentary words in stride, continuing about her work. Returning the pleasantry, Baxter noted, "Well she sounds like a smart woman to have instilled that skill in ye."
"She was," He intoned wistfully, "a very smart woman indeed."
There was another slight break in their conversation before Ms. Baxter spoke again. "Anna says she left you two a house in London?"
"That's right," Bates bobbed his head.
"Do you...visit it often?" She asked.
"Not as often as we'd like to."
Baxter nodded as she continued threading the ribbon through the open holes in the lace collar. "Perhaps, yeoushould go visit it now? I'm sure you have time now with His Lordship being away." She suggested lightly.
"I did buy a ticket but..." He admitted conversationally before his voice dropped off abruptly.
She looked up at him, to see his gaze narrowing in her direction. And she felt a chill course through her whenever he wondered suspiciously, "Why are you so interested in it all, Ms. Baxter?"
Feeling the color wash from her face, Baxter's eyes widened in shock at his change of tone. "I...I'm not. Not really. I was only just..." Lowering her gaze she finished her meek apology, still feeling his steady gaze upon her.
"Just checking up on my whereabouts for Mr. Barrow?" He finished defensively.
"No," Baxter countered swiftly, shifting forward in her seat. She frowned at him, feeling her own ire rise at his accusation that held some true. "No, I was only just...trying to be polite. But if you don't wish me to..."
"Forgive me," Mr. Bates interjected, holding up a hand as an appeasing gesture.
She sunk back in the rocking chair, relaxing considerably.
"It's just...we're all curious...as to what it is you see in Mr. Barrow," He went on explaining as assuredly. "And I'm not asking to know. But I'd ask you not tell him what we just discussed."
Keeping her focus downward she nodded, "I won't."
She certainly didn't mean to pry, but apparently he took it as such. Aligning herself with Thomas only made doing his bidding harder on her. Hardly anyone trusted her. Even in the few months she'd been at Downton, Baxter showed nothing but her capacity to work hard and extended every common courtesy to the majority of the people living there. Still this didn't amount to friendship that she assumed might come to fruition, especially with Mr. Bates, her counterpart in the grand scheme of the household.
Based on how quickly his defensiveness sprang up, her assumptions couldn't be further off base. After a few seconds of tense silence, she lifted her gaze just a fraction of an inch. He was staring off into space, as though he'd forgotten the whole incident.
Baxter was about halfway finished with adorning the neckline with ribbon whenever Anna returned into the room. Mr. Bates pushed back his chair, and stood to take his leave. Both of them managed brief farewells to Ms. Baxter that she politely returned before they took their leave for the evening.
She was still uncertain of what to make of them. Of the tension that still existed between them, and appeared to only feel more palpable somehow with the appearance of Mr. Greene. But Anna moved back into the cottage they shared. If what she learned about them thus far from Lady Grantham and their hurried exchanges indicated a setback, she supposed this was progress.
Still, she found it rather difficult to form an adequate opinion of Mr. Bates. Their latest interaction did nothing to clear anything up that she wondered from the moment she arrived at Downton. Not that it mattered. He had yet to give her cause for any real concern. She she'd remain quiet on that matter. There was no need to stir up trouble where none could be found.
Her silent speculation was soon interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Molesley.
"I thought I might make some coffee," He intoned suddenly, causing her body to tense.
Baxter hadn't heard him approaching. Her mind was clearly miles away while she worked.
"Would you like a cup?" He wondered softly.
"No," Baxter pulled the ribbon through one of the holes, adding as an afterthought, "thank you."
"It's just coffee," He went on, a teasing quality permeating his words, "You won't have to surrender uh...any of your uh...independence."
She exhaled, the corners of her mouth flickering upwards at his keen insistence, "Uh, you win." Baxter casually tossed a glance over her shoulder, notifying him of her preferences. "Milk with no sugar."
There was a pause. The floorboards creaked beneath Molesley's feet, and she wondered if he'd taken his leave just as stealthily as he arrived. But she heard his footsteps approaching her once more as he spoke reassuringly.
"Miss. Baxter, I do know what it's like...to feel fragile."
Her brow creased at this. She wasn't sure she understood where he was going with this turn in the conversation. Stealing a momentary glance from him, she watched Mr. Molesley admit with a rather downcast expression, "I've felt fragile my whole life."
Baxter lowered her eyes. She sensed his apprehension, the discomfort brewing in the edges of his tone with this unexpected confession. It made her feel as though she was intruding on a private aspect of his life. It seemed like something he didn't easily disclose to many people. Yet here he was, confiding it to her.
Molesley cleared his throat, shifting gears in their conversation. "You'd have realized by now that down here, we don't much care for Mr. Barrow."
Baxter inclined her head in mute agreement. She didn't need anyone to disclose this to her for her to see it was true. Thomas had a reputation for being nasty. For lashing out at people without prior provocation. And for having poorly connected ties to the Bates' that she only just fully learned the extent of.
He was quick to supplement, "Which...may offend you."
"I'm not..." She started off defensively, not wanting him to think she wontedly associated with Mr. Barrow like Mr. Bates did. Her eyes flittered up to find his for the briefest of seconds before she murmured more lightly, "...offended."
There wasn't any harshness in his visage. Quite the contrary actually. He looked at her with mild concern, which gave her an odd sense of comfort.
"But I wish..." Molesley persisted, "...I wish you'd give us credit for making up our own minds about you."
Baxter noticed him disappear from the edges of her vision, the sounds of his feet pacing back out of the room, leaving her to her to consider his words. She turned her face in the opposite direction, eyes fixating on the tiny flames that lazily danced through the wooden logs.
Was she being narrow minded as he tried to discretely imply? Was she discrediting him and all the others? Putting them an arm's length away from her, because of what it might do to her relationship with Thomas? Or was she just retreating into the safe corners of her mind due to her earlier conversation with Mr. Bates, and imposing this experience on the one she currently shared with Mr. Molesley?
So far, he proved to be nothing but kind. He wasn't troubled. And she doubted striking up a friendship with Mr. Molesley could mean trouble for her. She needed a bit of goodness in her life. Mr. Molesley could be just the thing for her.
After several moments, he returned with a small tray, setting it down on the long table.
She looked up at him, a smile instantly tugging at her lips as he carefully brought a cup over in her direction. Baxter lifted the nightgown off her lap, draping it over one of the smaller stools near her feet.
"I brought in some more milk," He told her, gingerly placing the cup and saucer in her outstretched hands. Shrugging, he added, "In case its not to your liking."
Baxter blew on the steaming drink, took a slow sip, and nodded. "It's perfectly fine, thank you."
He flashed a relieved smile, picking up his own cup along with the newspaper Mr. Bates left behind. Gestured towards the empty chair resting across from hers by the fireplace, he asked hesitantly, "Mind if I...?"
Shaking her head slowly, "Not at all."
He settled in the seat across from her. Their eyes connected for several moments while they thoughtfully drank their coffee.
She wanted to say something, even opened her mouth to formulate a response. But whatever words she intended wiped clean from her mind, and she cast her gaze downward before bringing the cup to her mouth again. Her face flushed with heat, and she racked her brain for something meaningful to add to their uncomfortable stillness.
Surprisingly, it was Molesley who found his voice first. "Does that need done tonight?" He jerked his head in the direction of the nightgown she abandoned atop the stool.
Her eyes realigned with his, and everything felt easier again. "No, not really," She shrugged, explaining plainly, "but I like to stay on top of things. Otherwise the work piles up rather fast."
"Ahh yes," He nodded understandingly before commenting, "especially with the church bazaar fast approaching. It'll be here before we know it."
Baxter took another sip of her coffee, placing the cup back against the saucer. "Yes, Lady Grantham mentioned that she was going to be running around frantic for weeks organizing all of that with his Lordship being away."
Molesley gushed enthusiastically, "I should think, it's one of the biggest events in the village."
She lifted her brow at him, entranced by his eagerness. "Really now?"
"Oh yes," He nodded animatedly, his eyes alighting with excitement.
"I take it, you rather enjoy the bazaar then, Mr. Molesley?" A hint of laughter spreading through her question.
"What's not to enjoy?" He went on wistfully, looking up and off to the side as though many memories played through his head. "Games, cakes, music, good food & drink."
She watched him with great interest, unable to stop herself from smiling at the picture he stared painting for her with the words.
He looked back at her, and she felt an unexpected jolt deep within her heart. "And the villagers they all have a chance to present their very best trades or crafts." He continued explaining, wholly unaware of the effect his excitement had on her.
"And your family, Mr. Molesley?" She probed, not even certain if he had any ties to the community or not. Tilting her head to the side, Baxter finished her thought. "Do they...contribute?"
"Me Dad does, yes," He bobbed his head in response. "He gardens," He provided without anymore prompting from her. "Quite well actually." There was a sort of unmasked pride that resonated in his voice, "He...he's won the Grantham Cup for his roses nearly every year. Of course..."
She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by this, but judging by the way he said it, the Grantham Cup must've been a prestigious award of sorts. Her confusion must have translated across her face because he felt the need to explain.
"It's an award. Given at the annual flower show. It goes to the best kept bloom in the village."
"Well..." Her grin deepened, and she found herself going on without any restraint, "...you'll hafta show me if we get a moment."
It didn't even occur to her that they might not be in bloom this time of year. And if they weren't, Molesley didn't think to correct her.
The days leading up to the bazaar were just as Molesley predicted. In addition to catering to the family's daily needs, he had other things that forced him to rise hours earlier than he usually would. Finding time for himself was nearly impossible.
Even so, he managed to learn that his father would be bringing up things to create a full of floral display after all. The neighbor, Mr. Mullens and his wife, were to help him bring it all up to the house. They owned a wagon that made hauling these things easier than anything Bill Molesley could use on his own.
Molesley looked forward to it, really. While he knew what his father grew in the garden to sell during market days, the floral arrangements were another matter altogether.
He could only see the flowers blossom slowly. The vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, violets, pinks, and whites all popping up at their own pace. Segregated on individual bushes or vines all lined up neatly in rows that promoted sustainability for each passing year. No matter how much they appeared to thrive, it was impossible to tell what the arrangements would look like until Bill Molesley clipped and put them all together inside each pot, vase, or basket.
That, was what lifted Molesley's spirits. The prospect of bearing witness to what his father created. To see that it gave him just as much enjoyment now, without his mother, just as it once did before her death. He liked whenever good things could still be reborn from the ashes of something bad.
On the morning they were ordered to decorate the stalls, Molesley caught a glimpse of his father on the far end of the lawn, building his three tiered table with the Mullens' assistance. A slight smile curled his mouth out of the kind gesture. It warmed his heart to see, no matter how briefly while he was instructed to hurriedly deposit another tray full of beer and sandwiches before rushing back down the stairs to take more from the kitchens.
Jimmy trailed closely behind him, and they were soon picking up more refreshments for the workers at Mrs. Patmore's sharply delivered requests. It was at this particular moment, he nearly ran into Ms. Baxter on his way back up out the back again.
"You've been busy, Mr. Molesley," She observed, her voice borderline teasing in a way that prompted him to smile.
"Oh I like the bazaar, I always enjoy it." He reminded her of their exchange a couple of night's earlier. "I hope you will too," Molesley supposed daringly.
He watched her face crease into a similar expression as she fell into step beside him, deliberately keeping an appropriate amount of space between them.
"Can you help her to, Mr. Molesley?" Jimmy jabbed impishly, passing through both of them.
Molesley's eyes widened, and he slowed his gait. Keeping his gaze fixed forward, he was determined to press on as though Jimmy's remark hadn't bothered him. He was clearly mortified by the implication. In that moment, he didn't dare meet Ms. Baxter's eye. He didn't want to see the effect Jimmy's cajoling might have on her. But he realized he didn't have to worry about her being offended when the sound of breathy laughter came from beside him.
He turned to face Ms. Baxter again, noticing her cheeks appeared rosier than he recalled. But she was smiling earnestly. And no mark of shock or horror could be found in her expression. If anything, Molesley could have sworn she appeared delighted by what Jimmy said.
This gave him the confidence to match his pace with hers. He didn't need to run off so suddenly now. His mouth twisted into a half smile as he inquired, "Will you come, Ms. Baxter? Give you a chance to meet a few people from the village."
The blush in her cheeks dissipated, and she answered his question with another one, "Is it not just the estate workers helping out?"
"Oh no," He shook his head emphatically describing, "no the whole area gets behind the church bazaar!"
Another giggle escaped her, and Ms. Baxter looked downward once more. "You're very lucky, ye know?" She squinted up at him, tilting her head off to the side.
"Haha, nobody's ever called me that...least of all myself." He laughed at this, hardly believing he heard her correctly.
If she was trying to make her own assumptions of him, and how he might relate to the rest of the Downton Village, she couldn't be further from the truth. He would never describe himself as lucky, no matter what minute fortunes might strike him.
It was all random as far as he was concerned. And the randomness never appeared to serve him well for some unknown reason. Some larger force was at work, and this entity did not smile favorably at him.
She continued on, so certain of her assumptions, "To grow up in a village where people know and like you. Where your family's respected. There's plenty who'd give an eye for that."
It sounded as though Ms. Baxter had a different view of the world. Like she wasn't accustomed to living in a place that was built upon the principles of community togetherness. That she didn't have experiences of a village where people pitched in to help for these sorts of events. And because of this, she had a different opinion of him based off of what she'd grown to know about him in such a short span of time.
His mood lightened at this, and he acknowledged his feelings out loud, "I'm not used to feeling lucky."
"Well," Ms. Baxter told him behind a tightly drawn smirk, "you should be."
"Come now, Ms. Molesley!" Mr. Patmore shrieked when she happened upon them standing motionless in the corridor while everyone else appeared to be hustling around them, helping with the preparations for the bazaar. "If yer quite done trying to charm, Ms. Baxter, would you mind taking up lunch for the workers?"
He met her gaze for the briefest of seconds before they both bowed their heads and hurried away in opposite directions. Molesley felt his cheeks flush with an embarrassed heat as he took Mrs. Patmore's words to heart.
Well I know some of you were expecting to see a particular scene of Baxter/Molesley at the bazaar in this chapter. But I kind of got carried away with other things, and this chapter ended up being far too large to post in one setting. So, it'll be featured in the next update (I promise). Also, I've been slacking on updating because only 9 more days of Nano & I still have a little of 9k words to win. However, updates will appear more regularly once I finish with that & can relax a bit/have more time for editing/etc. Anyway, a HUGE thank you to all of you out there reading. It means the world to me to know there are others out there who are just as enamored with this ship as I am. Coming up next, the other half of the humungous bazaar chapter. Until then, hopefully this will hold you over!