The first rays of sunlight peeked through the tiny window in her room, dancing across her face. Baxter stirred from her deep slumber, inwardly groaning before she rolled over in bed, bringing the sheets up over the lower half of her face. The idea of an extra hour of sleep was a welcoming notion.
Shutting her eyes for a split second, she nearly gave into the drifting feeling. Nearly allowed her mind to go completely dark and weightless. The comforting sensation of falling back to sleep and waking up of her own accord nearly consumed her. But she forced her eyes open in spite of how difficult the task felt at present.
She knew if she gave into the sensation, waking up later would be even harder. So rubbing the residual effects of sleep from her eyes, Baxter yawned and slowly sat up.
She cast the bed coverings aside, swung her feet to the floor, feeling the cool wood beneath them as she paced towards the washing basin. Checking her pitcher, Baxter was grateful to learn, Helen, the newest scullery maid, already came round with the hot water. She poured the steaming liquid into the white basin, cautiously dipping the coarse sponge inside.
Her hands burned instantly from the contact, and she recoiled for a split second. Deciding to let it sit for a moment to cool, Baxter paced to her tall dresser standing beside it, gazing into the tiny mirror that hung on the wall above it. She unwound the band that kept her hair braided into a single pleat, unraveling it before shaking out her dark brown waves.
It was odd to see herself this way, hair tumbling wildly past her shoulders as opposed to the slicked back low bun she'd grown accustomed to fashioning during her many years of working in service. She looked younger; as though forty-six years hadn't touched her, and the three years she spent locked away in Holloway, hadn't weathered her. With her long hair framing her face, she didn't notice the sagging skin around her mouth or the deep creases that etched across her forehead when she lifted her eyebrow.
She liked the look. It made her feel desirable, dare she think it. Not that anyone else could possibly desire her in such a way. Not that anyone else would ever think to when she kept it tucked neatly away day in and day out.
Baxter let out a sigh, running her fingers through her thick tresses before gathering it at the nape of her neck. She glanced from side to side, determining if she wanted to leave any texture to it this morning. Settling on her decision, Baxter picked up her hairbrush and sought to work it through her unruly tangles. It caught on a few knots here and there, but eventually she smoothed out most of the kinks.
She managed her part to the right, sweeping more of her hair across the left side of her face. It waved loosely, despite her efforts to smooth it, but she let it be as she twisted the remaining hair until it curled into a low hanging bun. She added several pins in strategic places that would hold it upright. The process took no more than a few minutes, and by the time she finished, the water to wash her hands and face with would be cooled sufficiently for her.
She splashed it across her face, rubbing soft soap in between both hands to create suds. Lathering it against her face, Baxter then wiped it away with a small towel she kept on the washstand. Moving towards the adjacent dresser, she pulled out a brazier and undershorts from the stop draw, tossing them onto her bed behind her. She then paced to the front of the fireplace, carefully picking off her black stockings from the metal grate that covered the opening.
As she stood up straighter, Baxter's gaze caught on the thin vase resting atop the fireplace mantle. Inside it were the blue and yellow flowers Mr. Molesley gave her at the bazaar several days ago. They were a splash of color against the white walls, brown furniture, and black uniforms that occupied her room. Brighter and more vibrant than anything else, even in the days following the bazaar, they still managed to bring her comfort and a small smile to her lips.
Baxter pivoted in place, tossed her stockings onto the bed, and then walked over to where her black dress hung in the closet. Pulling it down from the hanger, it soon joined all the other elements that comprised her outfit for the day. She stole a brief glance of herself in the mirror, the one hanging on the back of her dressing room door, and then purposefully strode to the other side of her bed.
Her back facing the reflective glass, she slipped her lightweight nightgown overhead and let it fall to the floor. She quickly slipped her brazier up over her shoulders, securing it into place a single motion. Next came her drawers, followed by the stockings that she slid over her bony knees while placing one foot on the bed at a time. It was an art form how quickly she could get the long sleeved, black dress on after all of this and still refrain from catching sight of herself in the mirror.
She wasn't always so self-conscious of the way she looked without her clothes. Having shared rooms with other girls in the houses she worked in, Baxter was generally accustomed to bearing it all in front of other people. But things were different now. She was marked from the ghosts of her past, and even a single glance of herself in the mirror was enough to bring back memories of the unpleasantness she suffered.
When she zipped the side of her dress up, Baxter slowly turned, daring to look at herself again. This will do, she thought, nodding her head approvingly. Hurrying back across the room towards her dresser, she picked up her wristwatch, tying it around her right wrist.
She then noticed her shoes sitting out beside the tall dresser. Baxter carefully slipped her feet into her shoes, strapping the buckles in place. Once she finished, she read the face of her watch.
6:15. Not bad, she thought. She'd have time for breakfast with the rest of the early risers, and then might have a chance to start gathering more clothes for the family's trip to London before Lady Grantham woke for the day with more instructions on what she'd like done.
Shooting one final glance into the mirror, Baxter patted underside of her bun, smoothing over some of the loosen tendrils at the base of it. She dug a few pins of the pins more tightly into her head, grimacing a bit from the pain. It was worth it, saving herself from needing to restyle it later, and focus more on preparations for the London trip.
Baxter too in a deep, steadying breath, and exhaled. Stepping forward, she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it in a single motion.
She was ready for whatever came her way that day.
Molesley sat in one of the empty chairs by the fireplace, one of the used newspaper's from upstairs unfolded before him. He tried to read anything he could get his hands on, and didn't mind that the majority of the stories he was currently reading, he'd already heard snippets of. Still, it was interesting to see how different his opinions changed after reading the paper versus when one of the downstairs staff paraphrased them during a conversation. The information was relatively the same, but it was the tone that differed. The tone of the writer versus that of the speaker that could change the entire meaning of a story or column. That's what really intrigued him.
He was skimming a gossip column, detailing one of the Prince of Wales' latest exploitation with a Mrs. Freda Dudley Ward. Molesley balked at the article, unable to believe they were allowed to print it without having to face any real consequences. He shook his head slowly in disbelief, set aside the paper, and then lifted the cup of coffee from the nearby table to take a sip.
It was at this moment, he noticed Ms. Baxter enter the servant's hall. Their eyes met, and they smiled in quiet greeting. Mr. Molesley watched her help herself a cup of coffee before she walked towards him. Wordlessly, she settled down in the chair opposite of his, welcoming him in a chipper tone.
"Morning Mr. Molesley."
"Ms. Baxter," He replied similarly. "How are you this morning?"
"Quite well," She sipped her coffee, placed it on the small table next to her, and nodded to newspaper he disposed of on the stool near his feet. "Would you mind if I...?"
"Not at all," Molesley retrieved it for her, leaning forward in his seat while she reached for the paper.
"Anything good I should be aware of?" She asked him with a wry grin.
He shrugged, thinking on it for a moment. He would never advocate for her to read the article printing scandalous details concerning the Prince of Wales. But an idea suddenly sprung to mind and he spoke up while she casually flipped through the pages.
"Oh! There's a good political column. Analyzing the chances the labor government has of being elected next year."
Baxter looked back up at him, wondering with mild interest, "And what are the chances, d'you think?"
"Pretty good," He nodded affirmatively before hesitating for a moment. "Or so the journalist believes it to be so."
She asked, cocking her head to the side, "And what about you? Do you believe it to be so?"
"Well I certainly wouldn't mind it," He admitted earnestly.
It would be a welcomed change for the members of their class. More opportunities than they could have ever dreamed of might arise. He could be back on his way to rising to the top in a respectable house. Especially if some of the more secondary roles were done away with.
His thoughts of what a change in the political climate might mean for them were soon disrupted by Ms. Baxter clucking her tongue in disapproval.
"What a shame this is," She muttered disappointedly, looking up from the paper to catch his eye once more. "How can they write such drivel and get away with it? About the Royal Family, no less."
"I know." Molesley responded out of melancholic agreement, "I couldn't read on once I came across that one."
"Well I won't either," Ms. Baxter noted, turning past it, her eyes quickly scanning the fine print. "Hang on," She furrowed her brow, turning the paper around so he could read the headline in bold lettering. "Did you see this?" She inquired, clearly shocked by what she saw.
Molesley shifted forward in his chair to read:
Valet of the Great Viscount Gillingham's Dies in Mysterious Lorry Crash Near Piccadilly Square
His stomach lurched. He couldn't conceal the shock as it worked its way across his visage. Mouth dropping open, he gasped, "Mr. Greene's...?"
"...dead." She finished neutrally, saying the almighty word that caught in his throat for whatever reason. "How sad," Baxter leaned back in her seat, remarking regretfully, "he seemed a nice enough man."
Molesley nodded mutely, staring off to the side. He caught sight of the table where they once gathered round at Mr. Greene's insistence to play cards. The room buzzed with excitement, the staff finally finding someone to be happy about ever since the death of Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley.
"He was," He added in a faraway voice. "I hate to see someone like that go out in such a horrific way. I wonder how Lord Gillingham's taking the news."
"What's this?" Thomas' crisp question grabbed his rapt attention once more.
Molesley's gaze briefly swept over Ms. Baxter's countenance, and he noticed her shoulder's tensing at the unexpected nature of Mr. Barrow's presence.
"Mr. Greene's met a rather tragic end," Molesley explained swiftly.
"Let me see," He held out a hand, silently demanding the newspaper from Ms. Baxter.
She wordlessly handed it over to him, not bothering to make eye contact.
Mr. Molesley leaned forward in his chair, urging her to meet his eye again. He wanted to assure her that she wouldn't have to incur Mr. Barrow's wrath. Not as long as he was around. But Ms. Baxter kept her eyes trained to the floor, the muscles in her jaw clenching uncomfortably while Mr. Barrow hovered nearby with the paper in his hands.
"What a pity," He remarked lightly whenever he was finished reading. "Don't ye think, Ms. Baxter?"
"Yes," She replied quietly, still keeping her face downward, "it is a pity."
"Seems as though this happened just as I was returning from America," Thomas pointed out, his tone cold. Gesturing towards the newspaper he explained suspiciously, "This here, says the accident occurred the day before that even..."
"What's your point, Mr. Barrow?" She retorted sharply, tilting back her face and narrowing her gaze up at him.
"Well it's just curious how you didn't know a thing about this before when I asked..."
"And how could she have known, Mr. Barrow?" Mr. Molesley rejoined, standing up from his chair impulsively. He didn't like the implied accusations that were being tossed about. "The paper was only printed three days ago."
Molesley stepped forward, placing a finger on the publication date like this should be proof enough of Ms. Baxter's innocence. Although he didn't know why she needed to proof her ignorance on the matter to him.
Thomas' lips curled into a devilish half smile as he stared back at Molesley. "I don't know, Mr. Molesley," His words grating on Molesley's nerves as he insinuated, "But I didn't think there were things here, Ms. Baxter didn't already know about."
"Apparently there are," Molesley countered defensively, placing hand on the newspaper in Thomas hands and crunching it beneath his hand that dissolved into a fist. "Now, if you don't mind, I think Ms. Baxter would like to finish the rest of her coffee without being subjected to an interrogation."
He watched Thomas cast a sideways glance in Baxter's direction, and he could hear the irriations in her words as she requested.
"I would, thank you."
Letting out a gravelly breath, Thomas released his hold on the papers that Molesley crumbled further up in his tightly formed fist. He then focused on Ms. Baxter before gesturing to the papers in his hand, trying to smooth them out again. Shrugging sheepishly, he remarked, "I uh...I hope you were finished with this."
Her mouth twisted into a weak half smile, and she nodded before staring blankly into the fireplace.
Baxter flitted from compartment to compartment, poking her head inside to see if there was any empty space for her to sit. So far, the majority of the compartments in third class were already full or three-fourth's of the way to becoming occupied while the last fourth was claimed to be reserved for someone who'd yet to arrive.
She knew the train to London would be crowded this time of year with all the respectable families in the county and their households traveling in for the start of the social season. And while she knew she couldn't be picky, Baxter still held onto a sliver of hope that she'd find a familiar face to share a seat with for a few hours.
A flash of blonde soon darted out from one of the compartments to her left, and she instantly recognized Madge's distinct profile and her dark, plum dress.
"Madge!" Baxter intoned, catching hold of her forearm.
Lady Edith's maid whirled around, flashing a look of bewilderment from the suddenness of their meeting.
"Please, tell me ye have an extra seat in there," She begged urgently, only to feel her hope shatter whenever Madge offered her a deflated smile.
"I'm sorry Miss. Baxter," She inclined her head. "We're all full in there."
Baxter peeked through the glass window of the sliding door, smiling as she noticed Mr. & Mrs. Bates sitting side by side and a strange woman occupying the window seat beside an empty place that could only belong to Madge.
Nodding her head, Baxter let out a disappointed sigh, releasing Madge's sleeve. She was resolved to press on whenever Madge added helpfully.
"But...I think Jimmy & Ivy still have some space in theirs. Just a couple down on the right, I think they are."
It wasn't ideal. Things were rather unstable as far as Jimmy & Ivy were concerned. But beggars couldn't be choosers at this point, she told herself.
"Thank you," She offered her thanks to Madge, and then followed the vague instructions that might lead to a potential seat and lift another burden from her.
When she peered into the window, she saw Ivy & Jimmy sitting to one side of the carriage and Mr. Molesley all alone on the other side. None of them appeared to notice her hovering there at first, until she slid back the door and looked between the three of them.
"Madge said you might have room for one more?" Her lips strained into a desperate grin.
"Certainly," Mr. Molesley chimed in eagerly, gesturing to the empty window seat beside him, "of course we do!"
"Yes, of course," Jimmy mocked, "we have room for another chaperone, ye mean?"
"What's this?" Baxter inquired, closing the door behind her, and plopping down next to Molesley.
Molesley let out a hefty sigh, gesturing to the others sitting across from them. "Jimmy & Ivy were..." He coughed a bit, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck.
"Alright," Jimmy interjected firmly, "we don't need to relive it all again."
Whatever it was that Mr. Molesley witnessed, the event was clearly embarrassing. But it became clearer to Baxter whenever she heard Ivy mutter coquettishly, leaning into Jimmy enough for her hand to cover his.
"I'd sure like to relive it. Preferably without an audience."
Jimmy grinned at this before confidently sliding his arm round both of her shoulders, "Well I'm sure we could find some time for a reenactment."
"Oh my," Baxter's eyes widened out of discomfort. Sitting back in her seat, she cast a perturbed look at Mr. Molesley, and wondered quietly, "How long is a train ride from Yorkshire to London again?"
When his gaze met hers it was pretty clear from his expression that he was just as bothered as she felt. He mumbled back for only her to hear, "Hour and a half, if we're lucky. Two hours, if we're not."
There was a hint of mirth in his words. She chuckled lightly, somewhat amused by the circumstances and relieved to hear she wasn't the only one who found it all to be horribly awkward.
"That's what I was afraid of," Baxter sighed heavily. A moment of silence encompassed them while Jimmy and Ivy continued making doe eyes at one another, a string of giggles breaking through the quiet ever now and again.
She bent her face towards Molesley's ear, lowering her voice she teased, "How long do you think we got til they start mauling one another like wild animals?"
"Hey," Jimmy spoke up defensively, "we're sitting right here y'know?"
Baxter countered with a similar air of annoyance, "So are we. And as long as that stands, why don't we all try to...restrain ourselves for the duration of the trip?" She eyed the both of them pointedly, inclining her head towards the arm slung around Ivy's shoulders.
"Fine," Jimmy retracted his arm from around Ivy's shoulders, shifting in his seat to place a respectable amount of space between them.
A somewhat peaceful silence descended upon them. Ms. Baxter pulled out her yarn and crochet needles, Jimmy dealt out a hand of cards for Ivy and him to play a game, and Mr. Molesley was deeply engrossed in his book.
The train whistled while it slowly rolled out of the station, the chug chug chug rhythm of the engine turning the wheels slowly yet determinedly building while it started to pick up a noticeable speed.
Ms. Baxter inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing and her head pressing flat into the cushioned back of her seat while her stomach lurched uncomfortably. Her grip on her crochet needle tightened, and the bundle of woven yarn rested in her lap.
Aside from reaching forward to hold down their cards, Ivy and Jimmy appeared nonplussed by the increased speed. When she shifted her eyes to the side, she saw Mr. Molesley staring back at her with mild concern.
She flashed a somewhat reassuring smile, realigning her eyes to wall across from her prior to squeezing them shut again. The anxiety would pass. It always did.
He wondered if he should reach over to place comforting hand over hers. But that would involve him overstepping the line of restraint they both asked Jimmy & Ivy not to cross. So he refrained, only watching her from his peripheral as he continued reading on about the reign of Queen Anne.
After turning a few pages, he heard an alleviated exhalation from his left, prompting him to look up again.
"You a nervous traveler, Ms. Baxter?" He wondered lightly.
"The speed..." She explained abruptly, "...makes me stomach turn. At least at the start."
"Ahh I see...well ye alright now?" His brow lifted out of mild concern.
Her smile creased gratefully and she bobbed her head, "Yes, I'm fine, thank you."
They were about to settle back into their solitary activities whenever Jimmy asserted boldly. "Think I'm gonna stretch me legs for a bit." He cast a telling grin in Ivy's direction, "I could use some company."
She blushed and giggled a bit, "Alright then. Lead the way."
Molesley shook his head at this, hearing Ms. Baxter scoff while Jimmy and Ivy slipped back through the compartment door.
"At least they've gone elsewhere to do...whatever it is they're going to..." His voice cut out, not trying to disclose his disapproval regarding the whole thing.
"I thought Ivy wasn't sweet on Jimmy anymore," Baxter vocalized her puzzlement. "I mean, according to Daisy that is," She looped another bit of yarn around the needle, pulling it through the chain.
"Ahh well...who knows?" Molesley echoed identical confusion. He half turned his face in her direction, watching her hands deftly work. "First they were both sweet on Alfred. Then Alfred was sweet on Ivy while Ivy was sweet on Jimmy. All the while Daisy was sweet on Alfred. Then Ivy couldn't stand Jimmy and was keen on Alfred again, and Jimmy made a pass at Daisy. But Daisy still stayed true to Alfred. And now I suppose that Alfred is gone, Ivy's gone back to fancying Jimmy again," He explained, sounding rather pleased with himself for figuring that whole puzzle out.
Her eyes widened at this, and she glanced up at him. She mused, "How does yer head not spin round trying to explain all of that?"
"Oh it does," Molesley concurred, smiling when he could hear her laughing softly. "As Mrs. Patmore once told them, the trouble with yer lot is you're all in love with the wrong people."
She tilted her head from side to side, and sighed empathetically, "Well...sadly that's how it happens sometimes."
There was some note of familiarity in her voice, deep understanding spreading through her expression. It was almost as though she could relate to their plight. And this only fanned the flames of his curiosity in his mind.
He couldn't help but comment, clearly intrigued, "You sound as though you speak from experience Ms. Baxter."
She stopped wrapping the yarn around her crochet needle. Her gaze lifted to stare at the opposite wall for a split second. After a few seconds, she looked over at him. Her eyes flooded with a glint of sadness.
"Hasn't everyone felt the bitter sting of unrequited love at one point or another?" Ms. Baxter supposed plainly.
"Know I have," Molesley inclined his head in agreement.
"Then I suppose it's more or less a general feeling that we've all experienced," She remarked neutrally, focusing on the work in her lap.
And he found himself understanding everything a little bit better than before.
Well I've successfully finished Nano (yay!). Which means I'll have more time now to simply edit all 50k + words of this thing & should be able to update it more quickly now. :) I know I said I was going to include elements from Series 4 CS in this update, but once again, my muse got carried away & this was more or less a preamble to that. Hopefully this is ok. Also, I haven't had adequate time to research certain things I normally would like to, so sorry if there are glaring inconsistencies. Anywho, thank you to everyone who has expressed interest in this story thus far, your words of encouragement surely mean a great deal to me! :) And only 25ish more days until the S5 CS (I am not getting emotional about this. Not at all. Nope. ;))