If the days leading up to the church bazaar were full of highly charged energy, the day itself passed by in a whirlwind. Baxter and Anna were tasked with ensuring that enough complementary refreshments from the house were set out for the villagers.
After setting down a tray of tea, Baxter thought to remark to Anna while a group of young women from the village came by to pick up some finger sandwiches.
"I never realized just many people lived in the area."
"It's a good many," Anna answered mildly. "Although there used to be more," She added with a deflated shrug. "Or at least. It feels that way."
"Well I wouldn't be surprised," Baxter inclined her head, working to arrange the cups of tea in a visually appealing manner that might entice the guests to come back for more.
"Do you come from a small village, Ms. Baxter?" Anna sounded intrigued.
"It was small then," Baxter informed her as she worked. "But it's grown now. Most of the farms have turned into factories now. And with all the work moving there, so have more people."
She thought for a moment about her childhood home. About the buildings that were nearly encroaching on the few acres of land her sister Myrtle and her husband still owned and farmed. Baxter wasn't sure how much longer they'd be able to keep it before it was bought out by the city. She saw the notices piled up, yet cast aside, on top of a rollaway desk whenever she visited last.
A pang of sadness spread through her chest unexpectedly as something occurred to her. That might have been the last time Baxter saw the house she grew up in as she knew it. She'd been so concerned about how Myrtle and her family would react to her presence, she wasn't able to enjoy being home properly. And if it had been the last time, she didn't have a chance to do all the things that would have made the final goodbye easier to face.
She remembered all the times Myrtle and her took turns pushing one another on the wooden swing that hung off of one of the sturdy oaks in the backyard. How she would have liked to watch her nieces do so. Or help them gather up wildflowers that sprouted up in the high grass, along the fenced in perimeter. She'd show them how to make flower crowns like her and Myrtle did as children. Or climb up into the barn loft with them, sharing ghost stories that would prompt them to cling tightly to her, like their Mother and Aunt did many years ago.
But to pass along the memories to her sister's children would only be a lost cause. They didn't see her as the doting, maiden aunt. No, she was their lowly, spinster aunt who'd spent time in prison. Their mother had told them:You can't choose your family. But you must love them all the same. It was because of this, they didn't admire her. If anything, they were frightened of her.
At the very least, Myrtle did grant her some of the things Phyllis was promised upon her return. Some family photographs, a few of her books, and of course, the sewing machine Mother planned on giving to Phyllis as a congratulatory gift for her promotion to ladies maid.
Even if no good, lasting memories were to be formed during her last stay, even if was to be her last visit to the house she grew up in and regarded as her home, Phyllis could take away her most prized possessions with her as she headed towards a new life.
"I heard you worked in London before coming to Downton," Anna's voice brought her mind back to the present again.
"It's true," Baxter picked up her empty tray, pressing it flat to the front of her chest.
"Did you enjoyed it?" Anna asked, tilting her head to the side.
"I did at first but...it wasn't for me," Was all she felt the need to say on the matter. Lifting her shoulders, she explained more easily, "I've always enjoyed more of a quiet life to all that business you find in a large city."
Anna ribbed sweetly, "Well...I don't know how much of that you'll get here."
"Oh, it doesn't seem so bad to me," Baxter decided, casting her eyes across the grassy expanse.
There were vendors replenishing their stores, children cheering as they rushed through the various field games that lay about while their parents milled from tent to tent, chattering animatedly with old friends. So much activity unfolded before her eyes, yet somehow her eyes were drawn to Mr. Molesley.
He lounged in one of the lawn chairs set behind the floral display. His head tilted backbasking in the rays of sunlight, eyes shut and his hands folded together across his chest.
She sucked in her lips to stifle a soft peal of laughter that threatened to escape once she realized he was fast asleep. But the urge soon passed when everyone's attention shifted to the unidentified car that slowly drove along the back drive before halting in a restricted area.
Cries of, His Lordship is back, his Lordship is back from America, soon filled the air.
And everyone bustled about to ensure everything appeared tidy. Baxter quickly stowed her tray beneath the nearest covered table, Anna following suit. The man servants were hurrying anxiously to the approaching car, the ladies clearing away all of the emptied dishes left abandoned on tables, and bussing them to the servants tent.
"Oh my goodness! What a mess it all is, and with His Lordship back! While...he'll have a heart attack if he sees..." Mrs. Patmore exclaimed, arms flapping about in the tent where dirty dishes steadily piled up. It was as though His Lordship could burst through the flaps at any given moment, and critique it all for cleanliness.
"What a surprise it must be for the family," Madge muttered hurriedly, stacking up as many teacups as she could in between Mrs. Patmore's sharp orders.
"They all did look as though they were in for a mighty shock as he pulled up," Anna agreed, placing the dessert plates in a tub full of warm, soapy water. "Did Her Ladyship mention anything to you, Ms. Baxter?"
"No," She took a towel and began drying one of the plates Anna placed just outside of the tub of water. "I don't think she heard from His Lordship for a few days. Which I suppose makes sense, if he was sailing back." She deposited the plate on an empty space near the adjacent table.
"And you never heard anything from Mr. Barrow?" Madge supposed curiously, leaning forward to catch Baxter's eye from further down the line.
With the mention of his name, Baxter nearly dropped the plate Anna blindly passed to her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at Madge's mention of him. Thomas hadn't crossed her mind for days, how pleasant that had been. And now with his arrival, she had to contend with putting up with his constant inquiry yet again.
"Ms. Baxter?" Anna studied her suspiciously, glancing down briefly at the plate in her hand.
"Sorry," She muttered quickly, taking the dish and then running over it with a towel. "No," She looked up at Madge as an afterthought, "no I didn't hear from him while he was away."
Baxter finished drying the plate in her hands, setting it on top of the other one. When she turned back expectantly to where Anna's next dish would be waiting, she noticed Anna peering back at her, brown eyes tinged with concern. Baxter shone a warm smile in her direction before taking the plate and continuing on with her work as though this changed nothing.
Once it appeared the guests were sated with food and drink, Molesley casually strolled over to his father's floral stand, eager to see what he'd done with the arrangements.
Baskets full of tightly settled pale blue harebells interspersed with flecks of babies breath, and golden hued daisies to emphasize vibrant beauty. Then there were pails full of miniature calla lilies, a rare specimen and rather difficult to tend to this time of year. Yet his father appeared to keep them thriving under the circumstances. Molesley then noticed a basket full of already blooming roses in varying shades of pinks and reds. But it was the forget-me-not's with their fussy green stems and electric blue petals with their yellow star shaped centers, and traces of white lining the petals edges that really captured Molesley's attention.
A slight smile spread at his mouth, and he instinctively reached forward to run his fingers along the soft stems like he'd done many times. As a child, he marveled at how different these stems felt in comparison to the waxiness or brittleness of others his family grew. While he was often fearful of tending to the roses because of pricking his fingers on the thorns, his parents could find him eagerly trimming and plucking up the forget-me-not's when they needed help in the garden.
Their origin was something of a mystery to the Molesley family. Typically categorized as a wildflower, the forget-me-nots popped up on spring without any real forewarning. Somehow they thrived in a small corner of the garden, near Mr. Molesley's rose bushes. He was half tempted to tear them out, for fear that they might impede upon his most prized flowers. However, when he saw Joe, no more than six years old at the time, take a liking to them, he relinquished such fears and they remained a fixture in the Molesley's decorative garden from that moment onward.
He couldn't say what it was that drew him to the forget-me-not's, but they were without a doubt, Joe Molesley's favorite if he had to claim one.
A buzzing of low mutterings stole Molesley's attention, and he turned his head only to notice a clump of small children who couldn't be older than five or six standing on the other end of the display. Their eyes widened in astonishment while Bill Molesley produced his usual magic trick on the children by pulling a live orchid from his sleeve.
The fragile petals fluttering about through the air like tiny snowflakes. One of the smallest girls at the front of the group giggled so loudly that she quickly covered her mouth with both hands to stifle the sound.
Joe watched with keen amusement like the other adults did, as his dad skillfully wrapped the rogue and white colored flower among a group of harebells, violets, and some Queen Anne's lace, tying it together with a red ribbon. When her mother came to collect her, she politely declined the arrangement under the guise of being unable to pay. But Bill merely handed it over to the young woman, insisting that no payment was needed as far as he was concerned.
It just went to show the sort of man he was. Even though they never had much, they had enough. And anything more they didn't need always went to someone else in need. Whether it was money, some food from their gardens, or a gift of flowers to be given to a loved one, the Molesley's did what they could to make themselves useful in the village.
Which only made Molesley think back to Ms. Baxter's earlier observation. He did have reason to be lucky. Being rich in material wasn't always better than being rich in spirit. He supposed he was luckier than most in regards to the things that truly mattered.
"Well son," Mr. Molesley greeted jovially, gesturing to the tiered tables full of his floral displays, "not half bad, eh?"
"You've outdone yourself, Dad." Joe complimented with an approving smile. "I won't be surprised if the ladies of village start a petition to bring back the shop."
Bill flipped a diffident hand and chortled at this statement, "Oh I doubt that. I'm just glad to be doing some good again."
He leaned forward and remarked, nodding to the group of children passing around the tiny bouquet he fashioned, "That's why yer Mother really loved the garden. Seeing the joy it brought others."
"Well she'd be glad to see you doing it again," He clapped a hand on his dad's shoulder.
The mention of his mother stirred up thoughts in regards to the latticed archway. He'd been meaning to mention it to his father. Now seemed like good a moment as any to tell him they should think about either investing in it for repairs or tear it down altogether.
"Dad, uh...there's something we need to discuss..." Joe rubbed at the back of his neck, peering up to meet his dad's encouraging gaze. Clearing his throat, he continued stammering, "It's about the...the archway out front...ye see..."
"Oi! Mr. Molesley!"
The cry that came from the other side of the tables, prompted both men to turn. It was Roy Beachum's son, eagerly waving a purse full of coins to signal he was in need of the older Mr. Molesley's assistance.
"Ahh...I'm sorry son," Bill offered a sheepish grin. "Can we talk about this later? I uh..hafta handle..." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the young lad, looking to buy from the stalls.
Molesley nodded without a beat of hesitation, "Of course. Yeah. We can." He watched his father walk away earnestly, and he already knew there'd be a lecture on how the boy needed to learn some patience and respect when it came to addressing his elder's.
Shaking his head, the corners of his mouth curled with a smile as he heard his father attempt to educate the boy on some manners that weren't unfamiliar to Joe. He noticed a vacant lawn chair situated just behind the stall. Glancing momentarily to ensure Mr. Carson wasn't nearby, Molesley took the opportunity to plop down in the seat, and enjoy a moment to himself.
He closed his eyes and took in the many sounds of the bazaar. He could pick up on the giggles of young children, his father's informative tone on how to effectively woo a young girl, and then the whacking noise of a shuttlecock hitting a mesh racket as a game of badminton took place nearby.
He went on identifying the many sounds as he heard them. The clinking of silver spoons in teacups. A light applause infused with cheers and whistles as another competition called for a winner. The faint dinging of a bell in the distance as someone successful managed the strongman game. The he slurping of punch being spooned into a cup.
The sun was warm on his face, the general buzz of many conversations taking place at once, and the ease he felt in his tired feet all led him into a light slumber. It was there he dreamed of being in his father's garden.
He saw himself as a man, only he was more handsome, younger than fifty. He was trimming the rose hedges, and he could hear his mother humming a familiar tune from his youth. He glanced around, excitement bubbling up inside of him at the thought of seeing her again. He tried calling out to her, but the cry caught in the back of his throat.
Then there was a rustling from the other side of one of the bush. He peeked through the gaps in between the tiny stalks that separated the blossoms and took in a woman's face smiling back at him.
Her sable colored hair was swept back in a low bun, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners from the intensity of her smile. He felt himself blush to think of her in such a way, and the hard beating within his chest only intensified whenever she spoke his name in the most angelic of tones.
"Mr. Molesley."
He sighed in response, liking the way she made it sound.
"Mister. Molesley."
There was a hard, authoritative edge to her tone now, but she maintained her radiant expression. Still, it shook him back to the present, and he opened his eyes.
"Mr. Molesley!"
The scene dissipated before him, and he was sitting on a lawn chair behind the main house. Even in his disorientation from the dream, Molesley identified the voice as belonging to Mr. Carson. He sat up more fully in his seat now, ready to get back to work.
"Mr. Molesley, tell those people where they're supposed to park."
Molesley's eyes traveled to the direction where Mr. Carson's finger pointed, and he rose from his seat. Brushing his hands across the front of his trousers, he straightened his vest, wanting to look properly outfitted in spite of his nap.
"Wait a minute," It was then that recognition flooded Mr. Carson's tone. "That's his Lordship. His Lordship's back. Tell the others!" He started ordering everyone to look lively, and the staff that stood nearby were instructed to inform the others of Lord Grantham's return to Downton.
Molesley and Jimmy took off towards where the car parked on the drive, trying to arrive in a timely fashion without appearing too unhinged by the unexpectedness of Lord Grantham's arrival. When they reached the motorcars first, they found Mr. Barrow already unhitching some of the luggage from the back.
"How was it?" Molesley inquired with a broad smile. Even if he wasn't fond of Mr. Barrow, he'd at least want to hear his firsthand account of what his time in America entailed.
"Interesting," Thomas responded genially enough, looking between both Mr. Molesley and Jimmy. "Very modern. And very interesting."
He set down a couple of trunks before wondering himself, "How's it been here?"
Jimmy replied dully, "Not very interesting, and not very modern."
"Huh," Thomas frowned, a bit disappointment by Jimmy's response. He bent his head forward, and picked up the luggage to take inside.
"Let's get a move on, Jimmy," Molesley nudged him in the shoulder eagerly, "the sooner we finish, the sooner we can return to the bazaar."
"Aye," Jimmy returned in agreement while he followed Mr. Molesley back towards the other car with luggage strapped to the roof. "Maybe then Mr. Carson will allow us a bit of fun," He mumbled in a begrudging tone only Molesley could hear.
"Jimmy," Molesley supposed hesitantly, taking down the trunks from the top of the car. "I wonder if you might...help me with...something?"
He felt a bit odd asking the young man for advice, but he seemed to have the upper hand in one area Molesley never considered himself even moderately experienced.
Jimmy must have felt the oddity of Molesley's request for he responded with a reluctant, "Depends on what the something is."
He picked up two cases, waiting for Jimmy to do the same and fall in step beside him while they made their way back into the house. Taking in a deep breath, he attempted to gather his thoughts, but it all came out fragmented. "If you and Ivy were still...keen on another...what would you take her to see...at the bazaar?"
"You're keen on Ivy?" Jimmy echoed in disbelief, raucous laughter soon filling the air.
"No!" Molesley scoffed at how ridiculous the idea was. "Oh no!" He was laughing about it now alongside Jimmy, "No, no, not Ivy."
They crossed the floor in the main hall, starting up the stairs.
"Ohh I see now," Jimmy taunted.
Molesley furrowed his brow, his tone anxious, "Wh-wh-what is it you see?"
"You may not be keen on Ivy. But you're keen on someone. And if I had to put money down on it, I'd say ye'd be keen on Ms. Baxter," He smirked knowingly.
Feeling his face flush at Jimmy's assumption, Molesley piped up defensively, "I am not."
"No?" Jimmy lifted a brow, "Then, why ye asking what yer asking?"
"Well I was only..." His voice stalled, and he caught Jimmy's mocking gaze, "...just...can ye answer me question or not?" He sighed out of exasperation.
This was more embarrassing of an exchange than Molesley cared to admit.
Jimmy rolled his eyes and exhaled heavily, "I dunno...take her to the games." He shrugged before getting one last jest in, "That'll keep her interested. If not in you...than in something."
"Ms. Baxter," Came Mrs. Hughes' breathless tone as she rushed over to meet her. "Might you take the coffee round there, and see if any of those ladies wants more?" She lifted the tray between them, and Baxter was quick to take it off of Mrs. Hughes person.
"Of course," She muttered in response, happy to help.
"Then I think ye can take some time and enjoy what's left of the bazaar," She assured graciously.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Baxter smiled appreciatively before she moved back towards the cluster of ladies Mrs. Hughes referred to.
Making her way across the lawn, a gust of wind passed by them. And with the influx of air she could hear snippets of a conversation carried to her ears.
"You mean he fell into the road, and he was...hit? Yesterday?"
She slowed her gait, turned her face a fraction of an inch to see Anna and Lady Mary speaking in low tones.
She listened to Lady Mary urge Anna soothingly, "The pavement was crowded. Lots of people saw it."
"Well that's a relief." There was a deep felt exhalation on Anna's behalf, accompanied by Lady Mary's puzzling question.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing I..." Baxter noticed Anna visibly shake her head, her lips forming the words, "I don't mean anything."
Not wanting to be discovered eavesdropping, Baxter adjusted her gaze forward and strolled towards the group of women. "Coffee, ladies?" She offered demurely, smiling as each of them offered their individual thanks, picking up a cup off the tray.
It didn't take long until she found herself with an empty tray yet again. She started back towards the beverage tent, when she heard she name being called from across the lawn.
"Ms. Baxter!"
She stopped, rotating on the spot to see Mr. Molesley hurrying towards her. Her mouth instantly curved into a pleasant smile once she noticed his zealous energy pulsing through his face.
"Are you...are you busy...Ms. Baxter?" He managed in between deep breaths from his short jog.
"No," She answered, "not anymore."
"Jimmy & I..." Molesley jerked his head behind him to where Jimmy stood, explaining, "...were going to check...on some of the games. We haven't had a chance...to properly...see them yet."
"Oh," She tilted her head to the side with interest, her gaze flickering momentarily to Jimmy's before settling back onto Mr. Molesley's. "Well, that sounds like a nice time," She commented cheerfully.
She watched Molesley open his mouth, and she waited for him to elaborate. She thought she knew what it was he'd suggest next, based on the hint of shyness that resonated through his crooked smile. Yet he made a sort of coughing sound, closed his mouth, and cast his gaze to the ground.
It was then that Jimmy chimed in smoothly, "He means to ask you, if you'd like to come along with us."
Molesley's smile faltered a bit as he instinctively elbowed Jimmy in the side, shooting him a pointed look. "Jimmy," He murmured a quiet reproach through clenched teeth.
"What? You said you wanted..."
Baxter shifted her gaze elsewhere, fusing her lips together to disguise her amusement while Molesley tried to discretely stop Jimmy from talking so freely.
"Well, Ms. Baxter?" Molesley's hopeful tone stole her attention once more. "Would ye...be interested?"
"Why not?" She agreed easily. "Let me just set this down somewhere," She looked to the empty tray in between both of her hands, "and I'll meet ye...erm...where we're ye thinking you'll be headed first?"
He blinked at her, his eyes widening and lips parting open.
Baxter arched an inquisitive brow when he didn't respond.
"Uh...the strongman game," Jimmy piped up again.
"Alright. I'll meet ye both there," She looked to Mr. Molesley one last time, who still stood there silently. Her smile deepened before she spun back around, heading in the direction of the tea tent.
Before she could go too far, Baxter heard an audible cry of, "Ow!" from Jimmy, followed by Mr. Molesley's "Must ye be so obvious?"
The words had been right there, on the tip of his tongue. Yet he couldn't seem to articulate them. Once he saw he had her full attention,saw her raise an expectant brow in his direction and tilt her head forward, he lost his nerve.
Nobody ever noticed him. Not completely, anyway. He was used to people only half listening to him. Used to having his thoughts finished for him based off of what others thought they knew what he intended to say. Sometimes they got it right, other times they were wrong. Either way, he was never given the opportunity to be truly heard before.
Then Ms. Baxter unknowingly gave him such the chance to be seen, to be heard. And he ruined it.
He strolled alongside Jimmy, dragging his feet along the grass, kicking up tiny bits of debris every now and again. His brow creased and he grumbled, "Did ye hafta...ask her...I mean she probably thinks...now she probably thinks I...?"
"Oh will ye settle down?" Jimmy groaned, shooting him an annoyed look. "She's agreed to come," He marveled, "what's it matterhow ye asked her?"
Only I didn't ask her, Molesley thought glumly. His shoe came into contact with a tiny rock that shot up from beneath the tendrils of green grass, skittering further down towards the high striker game.
Jimmy and him weren't particularly close. And given what Molesley gathered from the lad's relationship with Thomas, he'd most likely poke fun at him if he admitted to the concerns weighing heavily on his mind.
In spite of this, he spoke out anyway, "Well I...I don't want her to think I can't...can't handle things."
"Why do you think we're meeting her here? At the strongman game?" Jimmy prompted, smirking at him as if it should be obvious.
Molesley scoffed at the insinuation, "What? So I can make a fool of myself? You know I can't do that." He pointed to the stand skeptically.
"And who says ye can't?" Jimmy shoved him in the shoulder good naturedly. Taking a step closer, he explained in low tones only they could hear, "The games fixed anyway. One look at you and they'll let ye win, just to attract more attention."
Molesley wasn't sure whether to be offended by his statement or not, but he didn't have much time to decide.
"My, this is quite a gathering," The temperate curiosity that often filled Ms. Baxter's voice sounded from behind them.
She entered his peripheral, prompting Molesley to glance to his right. He found her there, glancing up at him with a genial expression.
How long had she been standing there? Had she heard everything? Molesley felt his face flood with a self-conscious heat. He forced a smile, swallowing the nerves bouncing around in his stomach.
"Has anybody won it yet?" She queried, her welcoming brown eyes searching him specifically for an answer.
He opened his mouth, looking back to the few participants gathered around the game. An incoherent stammering came from him, "W-w-we-well..."
"No one, yet," Jimmy's suave tone came from the other side of him. "I'm up next though." He puffed his chest out, ambling off towards the game.
"Best of luck, Jimmy." Ms. Baxter encouraged with a slight bob of her head.
Jimmy strode confidently up to the stand, slapped down a few coins down to pay for his turn. Unbuttoning his long coat, he rolled back his shoulders and swung his arms back and forth in preparation. The game organizer handed him the mallet, and Jimmy took it in both hands.
He took the final steps up towards the metal plate, taking a noticeable deep breath. Then in a single motion he brought the mallet high above his head, letting it fall onto the metal plate with a notable thud. They watched the puck shoot about halfway up the pole, falling a few notches short of ringing the bell before continuing its downward path.
"That isn't fair," Jimmy grunted at the vendor. He tossed the mallet at the man's feet before moving back to join Baxter and him. Throwing his hand in the air out of frustration, he informed them bitterly, "It's weighted."
"Suppose it's all about luck," Molesley supplemented with a slight shrug.
"Go on, you have a go, Mr. Molesley," Baxter urged, leaning close enough into him that their shoulder's touched.
"Hahaha!" He chuckled, shaking his head, "No, no. I won't manage it if Jimmy can't."
"Try," She insisted gently, "I want to see it."
He let his laughter ride out, half expecting her to join in. It seemed ridiculous that she thought he,might win in a game that Jimmy, who was practically half his age and still retained a youthful vigor that Molesley lost many years prior, couldn't.
It wasn't that he was weak. No, he was stronger than most people gave him credit for. A footman had to be for holding up trays full of food for long periods of time, and handling cases of jam packed luggage. But he doubted he was much of a match for a game that proved to be futile for a man like Jimmy. Even if what he said earlier about it being rigged was true, Molesley wasn't certain he wanted to find out.
But her expression didn't change. She continued to regard him with nothing but all the sincerity in the world. She meant what she said. And this was just the right amount of reassurance Molesley needed to take her words seriously.
His jeering smile dissolved, and he cleared his throat. Straightening the front of his jacket, Molesley trudged forward to the gaming platform. Even if he wasn't certain he could win it along with Ms. Baxter's favor, he'd at least try. That's all she asked him to do anyway.
He traded his fare for the mallet. His eyes shifted between the metal plate and the mallet, and he inhaled deeply before letting out a steady breath. It gave him enough balance to lift the hammer above his head, and strike the plate.
Ding, ding!
The ringing bell prompted Molesley to look up, watching the puck slide the entire way back down the tower. Had he really won? How on earth...?
"Well done!" He heard Ms. Baxter's exclamation come from behind him.
He stared back at the game before looking up at the vendor. Pivoting slowly, he took in Ms. Baxter's unrestrained excitement. Her hands clasped together beneath her chin, her smile so wide he saw the whites of her teeth.
"That was cheating," Jimmy griped lowly, narrowing his gaze at the game organizer.
"Well it...it's in the arms," Molesley mused lightly, feeling his confidence restored. "In the swing, and the arms," He flexed his arms dramatically, and Jimmy snorted at this before stomping off in the other direction.
Molesley set down the mallet, collected his meager winnings from the vendor, and then noticed Mr. Barrow hovering beside Ms. Baxter.
The color drained from her face, hands wrung together anxiously. He watched her jaw clench while Thomas talked with her in lowly tones only they were privy to.
Even as Molesley walked in their direction, he managed to hear Thomas probe, "So Ms. Baxter, anything to tell me about life since I've been away?"
Tossing back her head, she asserted with a blank expression, "No, nothing's happened."
"I'll find out if it has, you know," He finished menacingly, causing her to visibly flinch and lower her eyes.
That was enough. He didn't care what their shared history entailed. She couldn't convince him any longer that what unfolded between her and Mr. Barrow was nothing but teasing among old acquaintances. He recognized the familiarity of it all. He identified with it more than she knew.
Molesley strode up confidently to where they stood, his chin jutting out. "Leave her alone, Mr. Barrow," He remarked stiffly, rolling back his shoulders. "We don't want any bullying brought from overseas, do we Miss. Baxter?" He looked to her for affirmation, watching the softness return to the contours of her face. A smile of pleasant surprise reflected up at him, giving him the feedback he needed to know what he should do next.
"Now, are there any stalls you'd like to see?" Molesley lifted his arm in Ms. Baxter's direction, finally finding the nerve to extend her a proper invitation.
He could feel Mr. Barrow glowering at him while he smoked his cigarette. But it didn't matter to either of them.
She didn't need to deliberate for more than half a second. Her arm linked easily around his, regarding him with a mixture of immense gratitude. Her acceptance of his gesture was enough to lift his spirits, and make him feel more than just a winner in a game.
"So...what shall we see, Ms. Baxter?" He asked again while they casually strolled across the lawn.
Their gazes met, and she looked back over her shoulder while relaying, "You mentioned...the other day...your Dad has a stall?" Staring up at him once more, she tilted her head to the side suggestively.
"Ahh yes," Molesley nodded, "he does."
"Might I see it?"
"Alright. This way," He pointed to just the left of where they walked, guiding her towards the middle of the bazaar.
He felt her adjust her grip on his arm as she spoke next, "I should thank you, Mr. Molesley."
"Oh you don't have to," Molesley assured with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing," Baxter insisted, slowing her gait, which prompted him to do the same.
He blinked back at her, not understanding why she felt the need to offer him any praise.
"Ye see," She went on to explain, "nobody's ever stood up for me like that before. I'm used to having to face people like Mr. Barrow all on me own."
He felt as though he didn't do anything meaningful. He was merely doing the right thing. Yet she regarded him as if his actions were somehow gallant. It made him feel special, although he wasn't quite sure he deserved such recognition.
He focused his eyes in front of them again, endeavoring for them to continue on their way to his Dad's stall. "Well...I told ye before," He stated plainly, "I can't just let ye be bullied because you're new to Downton. Everyone need's a...a friend."
"Well, I'm glad to see you've kept your word. Just as I'm glad to be your friend," She returned softly.
He bent his face forward momentarily to conceal the slight smile that desired to work its way across his face. She remembered. She was glad. Because of him.
They passed by the cake vendor, the hook-a-duck game where Mr. Branson and young Lady Sybbie were playing with Anna, and the long table with a giant crystal punch bowl along with other assorted drinks before they happened upon the floral stand. Molesley saw his Dad, deep in conversation with a young couple near a pail full of chrysanthemums and Queen Anne's lace.
"Here we are," He announced mildly.
He relinquished his arm so she could step forward and regard them more closely. A breath of astonishment filled the air while Ms. Baxter tentatively leaned forward to sniff a basket over flowering with a variety of blossoms. She reached out a hand to run her fingers across the silk petals.
"My goodness," She exhaled, standing up straight again to glance over at him. "Are all these home grown?" She asked, opening her palms in reference to everything placed on the table.
"Sure are," Molesley bobbed his head, "Dad's outdone himself with the garden this year." He slowly followed her down the length of the table, watching her peruse the variety of arrangements, her brown eyes alive with rapt interest.
"They're so lovely," She complimented, bending over again to regard a basket resting on the lowest tier. "Are these the roses you were telling me about?" Baxter pointed to the pink and red blooms, looking to him for an answer.
He nodded his response, and was about to step in closer to tell her about what went into trimming them so they gave off a nearly symmetrical appearance whenever they were discovered.
"Aye, back again I see," Bill intoned attentively, his eye resting on Ms. Baxter. "And this time you brought a pretty lady with ye."
Baxter hummed out of amusement, bowing her head forward and exposing the blush creeping along the back of her neck.
"Dad, this is Ms. Baxter. She works up at the house," He explained evenly, hoping the steadiness to his words would dispel his father's blatant curiosity as to the how they were acquainted.
"Oh, I'm always glad to meet a friendof Joe's," Bill winked over at him before extending a hand for her to shake.
He let out an exasperated exhalation, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head at his father's bold insinuation.
But Ms. Baxter didn't appear phased by the side look the men briefly shared. Without missing a beat, she extended her hand and offered politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Molesley. Your son's spoke nothing but praises of your work in the garden." Sweeping her gaze down to the flowers for emphasis, "And I can see he tells nothing but the truth on the matter."
"Oh, you're too kind, Ms. Baxter." He covered their joined hands with his other one, patting it. "Tell ye what, if ye see anything you like, I'll make ye a complimentary bundle."
She tilted her head from side to side, "Oh I couldn't just take..."
"It's a special we're running," Bill interjected plainly.
"Special?" Molesley frowned, blinking back out of his confusion, "What special? Ye never said anything about..."
"That's because it's just started," Bill affirmed, lifting a discerning brow in his direction.
He should have known this would have happened. That his Dad would grow overzealous at him bringing a woman over, regardless of the extent of their relationship.
Moving his attention back to Baxter, he released her hand, throwing his arms around excitedly, "Look around, Ms. Baxter. Pick out anything you like, anything at all, and it's yours."
"My that's very generous of you, Mr. Molesley," She breathed, clearly flattered by this welcoming gesture.
Folding her hands together, Baxter slowly paced down the length of the table, pausing here and there to inquire about particulars of certain flowers. Bill answered all of her inquiries about species, compatibility with other blooms, as well as how to care for them.
Molesley watched his Dad pull out one of the bluish harebells, a national flower of the region, a luscious fern leaf taken from the growth near the creek, a golden hued daisy, and a few sprigs of babies breath as an added touch of something special. He was about to tie the hand held bouquet together with one of silver ribbons when something else caught Ms. Baxter's eye.
"Oh these are exceptional here," She blurted out from further down the table, prompting both men to turn and see what she referred to.
"Ahh...the forget-me-not's," Mr. Molesley informed her with a proud nod. "Did Joe tell ye those were his favorite?"
"No, I..." She found his gaze once more, a curious half grin tugging her mouth up at the corners. "...I had no idea."
"Ah well, when he was a boy..."
"Dad, please." Molesley interrupted, "She doesn't want to hear about any of that." He shook his head dismissively, trying to end this charade his father found to be amusing.
He didn't want him to cause Ms. Baxter anymore embarrassment that he suspected Bill already had. But he quickly learned, he didn't have to worry when she countered this thought.
"Don't be ridiculous," She cocked her head to the side, her alluring gaze catching him off guard whenever she confirmed softly, "of course I do."
First and foremost, a HUGE round of thank you's to all of you who've read/reviewed/followed/favorited this. I genuinely appreciate it. I'm hopeful to get in one more update before Nano officially ends. (Don't fret, this story has A LONG way to go. I'm nearly at 50k words & I'm fairly certain I'll have a good 20-30k following that to wrap things up. ;)) In regards to this chapter I feel it was something of a marathon to write hah. Hopefully it wasn't as laborious for you to read, and kept your interest most of the way.
Coming up, we'll see some events from the Series 4 CS.