When they arrived at Grantham House everything was already in disarray. Mrs. Butte had taken ill, and Mr. Carson was desperately trying to keep everything running smoothly. There was a frantic energy to his orders and not a moment's pause for anyone to do anything but the jobs he requested of them. It was evident that Mrs. Hughes presence was missed.
So whenever Baxter crossed back into the servants dining room, and saw her standing there with Daisy by her side, she was a welcomed sight. However, judging by the lines of uneasiness creasing across her face, there was another crises in need of addressing. She met Baxter's eye, and a wave of relief washed over her expression.
"Do I hear the sound of salvation?" Mrs. Patmore marched into the room, just as grateful to see Mrs. Hughes like the rest of them.
"Salvation or chaos. I've just left Mrs. Levinson on the steps," Mrs. Hughes huffed. She glanced about the room informing everyone present with a noticeable tension invading her tone, "She's here without a maid."
"What happened to the last one?" Anna questioned out of concern.
A man with sandy blonde hair stepped further into the room and piped up unexpectedly, "She had her head bitten off one time too many."
Several sets of curious eyes flickered up to discover his eager expression. Judging from his brash accent, and his foreign presence in the servants hall, Baxter assumed he was a member of the Levinson staff. Nobody either took a moment to accept or refute this fact. There just wasn't time for any of it.
"Ms. Baxter," Mrs. Hughes requested, "could you go up and settle Mrs. Levinson in?"
Baxter assured her plainly, "I don't mind looking after her. But she and her Ladyship will have to make allowances."
"I don't think making allowances is what Mrs. Levinson is famous for," Came a knowing yet unasked for response from the man who appeared to be the sole member of the Levinson staff.
She inverted a questioning brow, fusing her lips together in a tightly drawn line. Already exhausted from running up and down on her feet for nearly twelve hours, his apt description of Mrs. Levinson already filled her with a sense of dread.
There was already so much to do in ensuring Lady Grantham was properly outfitted for Lady Rose's presentation, the at home, and then the ball at Grantham house. To multiple the tasks of styling hair, applying makeup, cleaning jewels, altering dresses, polishing shoes, added up. It didn't seem like a lot of work, but completing each errand in a timely as well as stellar fashion for both women, certainly wouldn't be easy.
Still, Baxter made her way down the main corridor that led upstairs when Daisy came across her.
"Thomas asked me to give you a message," She explained briefly, sending a chill down Baxter's spine.
"Alright, let's hear it." Baxter replied cautiously.
"He said, he's looking forward to hearing the stories you're going to tell him."
Frowning she wondered quietly, "What stories?" There couldn't be possibly anymore for her to tell him.
"I don't know," Daisy shrugged lightly. "That's just what he said."
There was a heaviness in her chest at the sheer thought of having to give him an account of whatever it is he believed she knew. She stared blankly ahead while continuing on her way upstairs, barely noticing the look of concern Mr. Molesley gave her.
Even with all of these added stresses weighing heavily on her, Baxter hurried upstairs. When she reached the main saloon on the first floor, she happened upon Mr. Carson, Molesley, and Jimmy, along with an unfamiliar man and woman, she assumed to be Lady Grantham's mother and brother.
"Ahh very good. Ms. Baxter's here," Mr. Carson rushed to her side, gesturing for her to step forward.
The woman she presumed to be Mrs. Levinson pivoted on the spot, her dark eyes trained sharply on Baxter. She was dressed in an elegant, melon colored jacket infused with an oriental print. Her short auburn curls peeked out from beneath her coffee colored sun hat, an array of orange and brown feathers and flowers adorning it, tying her entire look together.
She was much shorter and more stout than Baxter would have guessed, considering how tall and sleek her daughter's figure was. Even so, Baxter could tell simply by her way of dress that Mrs. Levinson was definitely a modern woman like her daughter.
"Mrs. Levinson, Ms. Baxter, here, will help take care of you during your stay at Grantham House," Mr. Carson inclined his head in direction of both women.
"It'll be my pleasure, Mr. Carson." Ms. Baxter resounded as politely as the nerves filling her stomach would allow. She looked back to Mrs. Levinson whose eyes were still sweeping from across her body, studying her critically.
"Mr. Molesley, Jimmy, will you see to the luggage?" She heard Mr. Carson instruct, "I believe Mrs. Hughes has arranged for Mr. Levinson to stay in the Welby Room while Mrs. Levinson is to occupy the Comtesse Suite."
Both Molesley and Jimmy nodded at the instructions, and began gathering the trunks to take upstairs. Baxter waited for both of the men to begin upstairs before stepping forward to meet Mrs. Levinson.
Folding her hands together Baxter smiled warmly at Mrs. Levinson, "It's good to finally meet you Mrs. Levinson. Now if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room, and you can tell me just how it is you like things done."
For an instant, she wondered if she was being too forward. Mrs. Levinson's steady gaze still fixed on her, wholly unreadable. But then her mouth curled into a half smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Patting Baxter on the arm, she remarked dryly, "Well, why don't we see if my late husband's money is being put to good use as my daughter seems to suggest. Goodness knows we've already wasted enough funds on insufficient ladies maids."
Baxter suddenly felt her face flush unexpectedly, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She wasn't quite sure how to respond. Not that she had any right to do so. Even though Mrs. Levinson wasn't technically her employer, she was still charged with caring for her.
Despite the tension building in her mouth and jaw, Baxter kept her expression as pleasant as possible. She let the slight roll off her shoulders, and started ascending the staircase with Mrs. Levinson in tow.
The walk from the main room downstairs up to the Comtesse Suite felt endless. And just from this alone, Baxter could already tell she was in for a long summer spent at Grantham House.
He could tell her time was being spread rather thin between Lady Grantham and Mrs. Levinson. When she wasn't dutifully rushing back and forth between upstairs and down, her head was bent low focusing on altering half a dozen dresses, or she was in the boot room meticulously shining shoes, or cleaning their many jewels. He tried to make conversation with her, to steal a few moments with her every now and then, but he was often met with an apologetic smile before she was forced to rush off to complete her next job.
Even during the less chaotic times of day, her focus was elsewhere. He wished there was something he could do to ease her burden. To make her time in London more enjoyable somehow. Such an opportunity presented itself when he found her half slumped over the breakfast table early one morning before everyone except for the kitchen staff were awake for the day.
Cocking his head to the side, Molesley edged closer to the table. He leaned in just enough to catch her fast asleep. Her eyelids fluttering erratically, cheek squashed against her palm, he couldn't help but smile slightly when he realized light snores were escaping her parted lips.
Had she been there all night? He recalled her working well into early morning, even after his eyes grew tired from hours of reading and he was forced to bid her goodnight. Deciding it was best to wake her, instead of her being discovered by Mrs. Hughes or Mrs. Patmore, Molesley carefully placed a hand on her shoulder, nudging her ever so slightly from her slumber.
At first there was no response. But then he muttered her name softly while shaking her arm yet again, only to be met with the shrill inhalation and a widened expression full of terror from being startled.
He jumped from the unexpectedness of her reaction, his coffee nearly splashing over him or the floor.
Baxter placed a hand over her heart, her breath racing as she tried to catch it. His meek apologies attempting to assuage her momentary shock.
Molesley held up his hands in surrender while insisting, "Sorry, so sorry it's just...you were sleeping."
Baxter glanced around at her surroundings, then down at her tiny wristwatch. "Oh no, no, no," She muttered in a worrisome tone. She peered up at him and asked desperately, "Is it morning already? Please tell me it isn't."
"Erm...well it is," He confessed, frowning at her with deep concern.
"Damn," She exhaled, beginning to frantically gather up the emerald gown with thousands of beads that rustled with every move she made. She stood suddenly, the chair skittering back across the floor.
"It's alright. It's still early." He counseled, following her while she scampered down the main corridor to the wadrobe room.
"That doesn't rightly matter," Baxter grumbled in response, plopping down at the table where her sewing machine lay abandoned. "I still should've had this finished all of this last night." She began searching for the right colored thread, weaving it shakily back through the machine. "Now I'll have to do with the machine, and it probably won't be done to Mrs. Levinson's liking."
Molesley added hopefully, "But...surely you still have time?"
"No, no I really don't!" She snapped, her hands coming down hard against the table with enough force to make him jump again. Baxter looked up at him, dark clouds residing beneath her eyes, both of which glowed with irritation while she ranted vehemently.
"In addition to the four dresses Mrs. Levinson requires alterations for because she simply cannot decide which one she wishes to wear to the presentation tomorrow, there are four sets of shoes that need to be polished, and dozens of jewelry pieces that need cleaned. Then there's the Lady Grantham's hair piece, which I haven't even started. And the dressmakers supposed to be bringing along her final gown this afternoon, so of course I'll have to attend to that so she looks well fitted to be in front of the King and Queen and..." She halted, her mouth dropping open, brow arching as if something just occurred to her.
Her hands that were wildly gesturing about, froze in midair, landing against her cheeks before she murmured, "Oh no...I am...so, so sorry, Mr. Molesley." She let out a tired sigh, burying her face in her hands as her elbows pressed into the table. After taking in a few deep breaths, she regarded him again remorsefully, "I didn't mean to go off on you just now."
"It's alright," He shrugged, adding understandingly, "you've quite a bit on your plate."
She bobbed her head, a grateful half smile tugging at her lips.
"Here," He set down his cup and saucer on the sewing table, "have some coffee."
"But it's yours?" She countered softly, "I couldn't take..."
"You need it more than I do," He interrupted kindly, pushing it to her side of the table. It was the least he could do for her.
Lowering her eyes she picked it up and muttered her thanks before taking a slow sip.
He thought back to how he might be of use to her, given the additional tasks she'd been charged with. If he offered his services with the sewing, she'd probably laugh at him. Besides, he didn't know much about women's clothing. And if Mrs. Levinson was as particular and demanding as Ms. Baxter suggested, he surely wouldn't be the best candidate to lend her a hand.
So he suggested further, "Perhaps Anna or Madge can help ye with the additional work Mrs. Levinson requires?"
In between sips of coffee she offered him a timid shake of her head, "I've never been very good at asking for help."
"Well...maybe you could try." He urged, hoping he wasn't overstepping, so he was sure to add. "At least just this once."
She rolled in her lips, chewing on them for a moment before squinting back up at him. She admitted, "I wouldn't want them to think me incapable."
"I doubt they'd think that. But ye can't stretch yourself too thin either. You'll make yourself ill. And I...I wouldn't want to see that." The last part came out less confidently than the former, making him feel his heartbeat quicken beneath her contemplative gaze.
"I suppose you're right," She decided.
"There's no shame in admitting ye need some help from time to time. You're only human, after all. Try as you might to be more than that."
She chuckled softly at this, and he joined in. It made him happy to see her calmer now. Happy to know he could still be of use to her.
Her dark eyes shone more brightly as she acknowledged this, "You're far too good for me, Mr. Molesley. I'm afraid I don't quite deserve your kindness." She lowered her eye back to the cup of coffee he gave her.
"Oh I think ye do," He breathed in a barely audible tone. However, when her gaze flickered back up to meet his, it became quite obvious she heard. And all he could do was flash another smile of reassurance and turn from the room before he felt his face burning from his boldness.
Baxter did as he suggested, and imposed upon Anna to help her ensure that all of the potential gowns for the presentation were properly ready for Mrs. Levinson, should she decide to wear any one of them.
"I really do appreciate your help," She told Anna for what felt like the third or fourth time in the wardrobe room.
Anna flipped a hand and assured lightly from her seat, "Don't mention it. Lady Mary hardly has anything that requires mending, so I don't mind at all." She worked to restring a line of beads on the rust colored gown, Mrs. Levinson charged Baxter with.
"Well even so, it means a lot that you'd take up some of your time to help out," Baxter stated, carefully taking a candle to the edges of the satin veil for Lady Grantham. Madge asked her to do the same to Lady Rose's when she finished.
"We're a team down here, Ms. Baxter," Anna reminded her kindly, "we work together and pitch in when we can."
Baxter nodded, grateful she could accept Anna's help without any strings attached. In her experience, people just didn't do things out of the goodness of their hearts. There was always a stipulation, a trade off that would similarly benefit them. But Anna didn't operate in this fashion. As soon as Baxter explained to her just how much work she had left to do for both Lady Grantham and Mrs. Levinson in a span of less than a day, Anna instantly picked up her sewing materials and asked Baxter where she could start.
"Which reminds me," Anna spoke up again, "Mrs. Hughes is collecting donations to take up to the Scottish church. I believe they're collecting used clothes for the Russian refugees. So if you have anything you could spare..." Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged uncertainly.
Baxter mentally ran through her wardrobe list. She could think of a sweater and a skirt in particular that hung more frequently in her closet than on her body.
Nodding, she replied, "Well I do have a sweater that's a bit frayed along the bottom. And a skirt with a couple of stains on it. Ye think they'd still take them?"
"Oh I'm sure they'd be grateful for it," Anna encouraged with a smile before explaining, "Mr. Bates has a grey overcoat with a few holes in the collar. I plan on giving it up. Perhaps then I can persuade him to go shopping for a new one while we're here. He hates it so much though."
Baxter laughed at this, "Well I'm sure he'll change his mind once he realizes the alternative is to freeze this coming winter."
Anna snickered in amusement, draping the gown she was working on over her arm. She announced, "Speaking of, I should hand over the coat now, while it's fresh in me mind.
"And I think Mr. Bates is busy in the boot room," Baxter added.
"Exactly. He probably wouldn't even miss it if he doesn't see me take it," Anna chided with an understanding smile. She lifted the dress over her arm and promised, "I'll have this for ye and the rest of the jewels done by this afternoon like ye asked."
"Thank you," Baxter told her again just before she left the room.
She continued running the flame over the edge of the long piece of material that was draped over a dress form when Mr. Molesley poked his head into the room, "I just ran into Anna. See you've finally found your reinforcement?"
Baxter kept her focus on singeing the edges of the fabric, but replied politely, "Yes, she's been nothing short of gracious about it all."
"See? I told ye she'd be," He told her proudly, stepping further into the room.
"You did," She inclined her head forward.
He entered her peripheral and Baxter could feel him watching her curiously. She glanced up when he gestured to the candle and the veil and asked, "Why d'ye...do that? Aren't ye afraid it'll catch fire?"
"Not really," She answered confidently before going on to explain. "Ye don't let it touch the fabric long enough for it to catch fire. Ye just...singe the edges so they don't fray. And then I have to add a lace trim to go over it so that ye don't see...this." She pulled the candle away, and flattened out a piece against her palm. Holding it up closer for him to see the crusted edges that resulted from the heat, she questioned, "Right here, see?"
"Ahh..." He made a sound to show he comprehended before confessing lightly, "I wouldn't have even noticed had ye not pointed it out to me."
She smiled and explained while she continued working at it, "Normally I'd leave it be. But this is for the presentation tomorrow. Nothing can be short of perfect."
He paused to consider her words, and then she heard him state, "Women's work is...much harder it seems. All I ever had to worry about with Mr. Crawley were buttons and cufflinks."
Baxter snickered a bit, "That sounds about right." Pulling the flame away from the fabric, her eyes studied her momentarily before she blew it out. Setting the candle back in a holder on the table, she looked up at him, "All finished now. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Molesley, I must see about the lace."
"Right, of course, I should be off too." He remarked with his usual air of urgency.
They both departed from the room, heading in different directions. Ms. Baxter was in search of Madge. She claimed to have some leftover pieces from one of Lady Edith's gowns that would add a finishing touch to Lady Grantham's head piece for the ceremony.
Baxter was about to check in the servants dining room, when Mrs. Hughes stepped out suddenly from her sitting room.
Slowing her gait to avoid a collision, she noticed Mrs. Hughes glance down both ends of the corridor, searching for something or someone. Her brow was creased in confusion, and there was a hint of trouble dancing through her narrowed gaze.
"May I help, Mrs. Hughes?" Baxter offered, a cooperative edge in her voice.
She shook her head and explained, "I was just looking for Anna, but uh, it doesn't matter." Turning on the spot, she disappeared back into her sitting room.
It was then Baxter happened to notice the grey overcoat slung over one arm, and a slip of paper she held in another. She hovered for an instance longer, watching Mrs. Hughes standing there, studying whatever it was she discovered in the coat. Baxter felt her brow knit together out of confusion as she came to realize it was Mr. Bates coat that Ana was referring to just a few moments ago. And the slip of paper that Mrs. Hughes now held in her hand looked awfully a lot like a train ticket. She couldn't say for certain precisely what it all meant, but there was something curious about it all. Before she could read too far into it, Baxter continued on her way in search of Madge.
He was ushered into the servants hall just like everyone at Mr. Carson's insistence. His voice boomed over the genial chatter while he asked Mrs. Patmore, "Do we have any ice we can send up to the drawing room?"
"Why d'you need ice?" She retorted in confusion.
"Mr. Levinson appears to want it in everything he drinks," Mr. Carson informed her, slightly irritated by the extra work the man's preferences was causing everyone.
"Glad you're all here," He clapped his hands together, moving towards the head of the table. His tone whirled with as much excitement as he'd allow himself to show in front of the staff. "I have something that I want to tell you. Her Ladyship wants to give us all a day out while we're in the South."
There was a murmur of excitement that buzzed agreeably throughout the hall. Molesley found himself, like many others, staring at Mr. Carson with anticipation.
"I've been thinking a visit to the Science Museum," He offered cheerily, hoping to receive a similar response to the previous one. When he was met with stunned silence, he suggested again with an enthusiastic air, "Or perhaps a trip to see where they've put the Crystal Palace?"
Molesley glanced around warily, and saw others doing the same.
"Then there's The Royal Institution," Mr. Carson continued on, his voice losing its bubbly edge. "Or The Natural History Museum."
Still, the tension kept brewing. It was then that Mr. Carson tried out, now sounding more desperate than ever, "Of course, Westminster Abbey is always a good day out."
Molesley found his eye, his gaze shortly after drifting back down towards the table. He didn't want to be singled out to give an opinion that might result in Mr. Carson's final decision and give everyone reason to blame him for a dull outing.
Letting out a heavy breath he went on, "Well...I'm sure we'll come up with something." Mr. Carson cleared his throat, "Ehh...could I have that ice?"
Molesley heard Mrs. Patmore respond before the both of them were shuffling back out into the hallway. He focused his attention back to the London magazine, someone had left at the space in front of his seat. He started flipping through it casually, reading various advertisements for beauty products that couldn't be found anywhere in Yorkshire.
Suddenly, Mrs. Hughes questioning tone prompted him to look up from the work.
"Can I help you, Ms. Baxter?"
His eyes traveled to Ms. Baxter who sat on the opposite end and side of the table as him. He saw her smile at both Ana and Mrs. Hughes, who were staring back at her curiously, before shaking her head and muttering something he couldn't hear.
He'd look away again and read on in the magazine if it wasn't for Thomas, who slid onto the seat beside her. She shifted away from him in her seat, keeping her gaze fixed on the table space in front of her. Thomas pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. "...get my message?" He muttered in a tone, Molesley could barely make out, causing him to lean forward so he could hear the exchange more properly.
"She did, yes." Baxter responded shortly, not lifting her gaze in his direction.
He assumed it was in reference to the earlier exchange between Daisy and Baxter that he'd unintentionally overheard.
"So what's going on?" Thomas flicked open his lighter, bringing it to the cigarette and inhaling. Whenever he took his next breath he added caustically, "I know you, there's something." He leaned closer to Baxter, and she cringed in discomfort.
"Are you free...Ms. Baxter?" Mr. Molesley suddenly heard himself calling from across the room. He stood confidently whenever she looked up in relief. "I've a...book I've been meaning to show you." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the corridor that led to the servants hall, slowly edging towards the doorway.
"Thank you, Mr. Molesley." Baxter exhaled, gratefully. And without a second thought, she stood, making her way out of the room.
Once they were both in the corridor, Molesley leaned into her, muttering lowly. "What's he on about now? Aside from the American Invasion and Lady Rose's coming out, there's not a whole lot going on."
"Your guess is as good as mine, really," She replied agreeably, halting her gait. She glanced up and he saw another soft smile that reached the depths of her brown eyes, warming her expression. "Thank you. Truly, Mr. Molesley. I don't know what I'd do without your kindness."
"Ah y'know it's nothing really," He bobbed his head, before trailing after her urgently. "I uh..." He stuttered, stealing her attention and changing her path. "I really do have a book. If you'd like to see it."
She cocked her head to the side, asking with mild interest, "Is it the one ye had on the train?"
"It's all about the life and times of Queen Anne," He informed her.
"Alright then, let's have a look," She concurred, gesturing for him to lead the way.
He blinked back in utter surprise at her. He never expected she'd share in his interest of history. Most of the women he met over the years certainly didn't understand his passions for it. But as he was slowly beginning to realize, Ms. Baxter wasn't like most women; not in his eyes anyway.
Thanks for reading so far! It means a lot to me. Truly, (as Ms. Baxter said in this chapter, teehee), I don't know what I'd do without your kindness. Anyway, more to come around Sunday-ish! :)