Even with Mr. Molesley kind words of reassurance, Baxter's stomach still felt tied up as the thought of returning back to help her mistress ready for bed loomed in the forefront of her mind. She tried to immerse herself in the book about Queen Anne, but her concentration was only half there. She tossed a casual glance over her shoulder here and there, catching snippets of a conversation between the Bates'. But nothing really sunk in.
Madge worked across the table from where she sat, the swishing of her knitting needles maneuvering back and forth while she worked on a tiny pair of pink booties. No doubt a gift for the new niece she gushed about two days ago when the postman arrived with news from her distant sister. Baxter felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward at the thought before she lowered her eyes back to the book.
She thought about Myrtle and her girls. About how things were getting on at the farm. If they were still there. She wondered if she should write them, just to see. But perhaps her inquiries wouldn't be well received.
Ever since her imprisonment, Myrtle never quite trusted her again. And she had good reason too. As far as she knew, her baby sister was a common criminal. She'd been driven to thievery due to vanity and pride that came along with her inflated position among their class. That's what Myrtle believed. Because that's what Phyllis wished her to.
She couldn't tell her the whole story. It would only make things more tense between them.
Myrtle was an upstanding, married woman. She'd never bend to the pressures and influences of a handsome man as Phyllis once had. She'd only use her story as a cautionary tale to her own daughters. And Phyllis refused to allow a single miscalculation in judgment from her past define her present and future.
So Baxter's eyes fluttered back up across the page a few lines and she pushed away thoughts of the family she had left. The family that didn't want her.
Squinting, she forced herself to absorb the tiny printed words, to ignore the clicking of Madge's knitting needles as they scraped by with every loop and pull of yarn.
Shortly following the story of Anne's bought with smallpox that detained her from her sister Mary's wedding to their cousin William of Orange, a parade of footsteps came marching down the main stairs. Shutting the book, she tucked it under her arm, and started towards the staircase.
Molesley and Carson hurried downstairs, their arms full of trays with empty glasses once full of claret and sherry.
"Are they all headed up?" She asked, head tilted to the side while she hovered on the bottom stairs.
"Just Her Ladyship and Lady Edith," Molesley informed her, lips curling into a half smile.
Nodding, Baxter set the book atop one of the chests at the foot of the stairs before swallowing and starting back up. Her heart hammered with every step she took, palms feeling clammy as it skated across the top of the railing.
She knew there would more questions in need of answers. There'd be more time for judgment to pass over her, especially if His Lordship was still indulging in the library.
Baxter tried to gather her thoughts, mentally preparing herself for the impending continuation of their earlier conversation. Her mind was meters away whenever she rounded the corner, and was startled by her shoulder painfully colliding into something rather solid.
"You think you're so clever don't you?" Thomas barked at her.
Her head shot up for a split second, and she found his steely eyes.
Flinching momentarily, she pressed her back back against the nearest wall. Before she could figure out precisely what caused his latest outburst, he was stomping the rest of the way downstairs. Shaking it off, Baxter pressed on, she had more important things to worry about than the state of her relationship with Thomas Barrow.
She helped Lady Grantham out of her dinner gown, careful not to meet her mistress' probing eye. There was a tense silence that engulfed them. An uncertainty filled Baxter's actions, prompting Her Ladyship to respond with similar hesitancy. It was no longer a seamless task getting her ready for bed as it once had been.
But neither one of them made mention of this. Baxter carefully draped the gown across the bed, lifting the nightgown out for her mistress to slip into. As the pale creme gown spread across her slender figure, Baxter noticed the absence of the diamond and emerald jewels that lined her neck and dropped from her ears.
Perhaps it was a deliberate gesture of mistrust conceived between them. Or perhaps she'd forgotten to take them off before the transition from coiffed chignon to braided plait, from dinner dress to nightgown, and Lady Grantham chose to comment. Regardless, Baxter pretended like the absence of jewels wasn't significant.
"Will there be anything else, Milady?" She wondered, carefully picking the emerald gown up off the bed, and draping it over her arms.
"I have questions, Baxter," Her Ladyship started, letting out a heavy sigh.
Baxter nodded her head, trying to remember herself and her emotions. "Yes, of course you do," She responded meekly, her eyes floating upward to find her mistress now sunken down on one of the armchairs, hands folded neatly in her lap.
She was so prim and proper. A well respected woman. She'd never come to fall as far as Baxter had once done. Which in turn meant, she never fully understand her plight. Take pity on her once deplorable circumstances, she might. But would it be enough to keep her on?
Biting on the inside of her cheek, Baxter waited. Everything felt unsteady in the dressing room. The uneven breaths coming from her employer, the static crackling of the fire as it licked the logs in the fireplace nearby, and the weakness that settled in behind Baxter's legs. She hoped she could stay upright, hoped the sentence wouldn't be reminiscent of before, and bring her down to her knees.
Disappointment etched across her mistress' expression. Even as she frowned up at Baxter, her brow arched questioningly, "What I don't understand is...why didn't you give the jewels back? You say you didn't have them by then, but who did?"
Baxter looked away, scenes of days gone by, playing before her eyes. The rough calloused pads of his fingertips brushing against her hands in the exchange. His dry, cracked lips, pressing into hers, the taste of whiskey strong enough to make her dizzy.
She willed herself to erase the images. Urged herself to remain in the present.
Lady Grantham's tone stretched on, drawing Baxter's inner eye away from the darkened courtyard from another time, and another place. "More than that, why did you do it at all? You don't strike me as being greedy for money."
You will do this for me, Phyllis, a deep voice full of venom, echoing faintly at the back of her mind.
"You were working, you were earning," Her mistress argued, clearly desperate to find sufficient motive for a crime to be committed. "Did you do it to slight Mrs. Benton? Was she harsh?"
"No, Milady," She assured with a shake of her head. "She was a kind woman."
Tilting her head to the side, her mistress' frown intensified. "That only makes it more mysterious."
"I won't start concocting excuses for myself," Baxter insisted plainly. "There are no excuses."
"There may not be excuses, but there is missing information," Lady Grantham countered.
Feeling that familiar prickle behind her eyes again, Baxter looked down at the dress in her arms. She wouldn't elaborate on the matter. She couldn't. It was too painful to recall such intimate details. And she wouldn't lose her nerve in front of Her Ladyship again.
"You shock me, Baxter. Profoundly. I can't deny it."
Her eyes squeezed shut upon hearing the hurt in her mistress' tone. Baxter knew she'd lost out on all the trust built up between them over the last several months. The deep confidence between maid and mistress was a difficult thing to rebuild, at best.
Clearing her throat, she bobbed her head understandingly, "You have every reason Milady...so...am I to take it that I'm dismissed?" She lifted her gaze a fraction of an inch, seeing the confounded look reflected back at her.
"But your work is excellent," Her Ladyship sighed, "and I've never sacked a servant who never gave me cause for complaint." Lifting her brow, she inquired, "Have I your word that you will not commit this crime again?"
"I will never commit any crime again," Baxter assured, her voice quivering adamantly. "Not as long as I live."
Lady Grantham paused for a moment, her pale blue eyes fiercely studying her as if the slightest flicker or movement might give her cause to doubt Baxter's words. Then she inclined her head and decided plainly, "You may stay until I make a decision. I cannot tell you how long that will be. And I do not at all promise that I'll keep you on."
"No," Baxter agreed.
"Very well," She remarked stiffly before standing from her chair. "I think we should leave it there for now."
And with that, Baxter took her leave, grateful to still have a warm bed to return to, even if it was temporary.
Molesley awoke suddenly to the blaring of alarms and a frantic banging on his bedroom door. He sat up suddenly in bed, blinking around in the darkness. Cries of, "Everybody up, there's a fire upstairs!" could be heard through the corridor. And as soon as Molesley swung both legs out of bed and reached for his overcoat, hung over one of the nearby chairs, there was a long stream of light flooding into his bedroom as Mr. Carson appeared in the doorway.
"Mr. Molesley, grab a the blanket from your bed, and hurry on outside will you? And where is James?" He peered deeper into the darkened bedroom, prompting Molesley to whirl around and see that Jimmy's bed was still done up.
"I uh...I..." He stammered, disoriented by all that was happening, including that of his roommates unexplained absence.
"Never mind that now, never mind that, just get going! And-and take James' blanket with you as well! Will you?" Carson stuttered out wildly before disappearing out of sight.
Molesley gathered up the woolen blanket that covered both of the beds before sticking his head out in the corridor.
The rest of the male staff marched towards the women's corridor, in a hurried yet somewhat organized fashion. He jumped in line between two members of the outdoor staff, listening to their sleepy grumblings about the inconvenience. He made no comment, but tried to crane his neck over the heads bobbing along in front of him.
As they drew further down the corridor, the lights flickered, prompting gasps and shrieks pierce through the air.
"Steady on! Steady on now!" Mr. Carson's voice carried above the general murmurs, trying to maintain some semblance of peace in the face of the controlled chaos.
The staff shuffled on dutifully and Molesley found himself reaching the top of the stairs, just as the lights flickered before burning out completely. This incited the ladies cries of terror and surprise, and Molesley felt someone bump into him from behind during his descent. He caught the railing, pulling himself upright before he could gracelessly tumble into the person on the step beneath him, barely taking the time to accept an apology from the accidental offender. Not that in mattered in the larger scheme of things.
It was impossible to tell who was who. And Molesley wondered how they'd manage to take an account of everyone, if the fire were to spread from beyond the chambers upstairs.
After what felt like a very long time of being trapped in some sort of cave where imminent dangers hung, Molesley exhaled once he felt the cool breeze of the night air on his cheeks, the gravel crunching beneath his slipper clad feet. He was safe. But what about everyone else?
Jimmy's absence was both puzzling and unsettling given the predicament upstairs. And with thoughts of his unexplained disappearance, Molesley couldn't help but look around to ensure everyone else was among those gathering on the lawn. Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and the rest of the kitchen staff were huddled in tightly knit packs. The hall boys and outside staff all appeared to be accounted for. The younger maids were holding tightly to each other, shivering against the early morning cold. Molesley considered bringing them one of the blankets Mr. Carson had instructed him to take whenever, he noticed a few others taking care of the task.
It was then he realized that Madge and Ms. Baxter were not among those clusters of staff he found himself immersed in. Carefully maneuvering through the groups men and women, he came across Mrs. Hughes, arms folded around herself as she shivered in nothing more than her housecoat. Molesley took a few steps in her direction, and offered her a blanket.
"Oh, thank you Mr. Molesley!" Her mouth split into a grateful smile, and she wrapped the woolen blanket over both of her shoulders. "Perhaps, see that His Lordship or Her Ladyship are comfortable enough?" She jerked her head to where the family was gathering a few yards away from the rest of them.
He nodded, and moved towards the family, who had gathered around Lady Edith, seated in a chair on the lawn. Noticing His Lordship's appearance to be rather disheveled, Molesley set the blanket around his shoulders, receiving a "Thank you Molesley," and an appreciative nod in his direction.
Just as he was about to bow away and return to his place among the staff, he caught Ms. Baxter's eye from across the circle of gathered family members. She smiled at him, patting Lady Grantham on the shoulder to ensure she too, was warm enough with the blanket draped over her shoulder's as well before departing with her head low.
Shooting her a sideways glance, Molesley noticed their paths soon met somewhere in between both the loosely clustered groups that distinguished house from staff. He paused, looking up to find her pleasant expression glowing behind the low light of the lamp that she held in one hand. He was happy to learn she was still here.
Her arms folded in front of her, concealing the ruffles that gathered at the breast of her nightgown. He tried not to let his gaze wander indecently in her direction, instead focusing on the wry grin and inverted brow that graced her visage. "Certainly an eventful way to end the day, no?" She mused, cocking her head to one side.
"I'll say," He resounded in agreement. His eyes swept over her quickly when he asked out of concern, "Are you alright?"
She flipped a diffident hand, "Oh yeah. You?"
He bobbed his head in response before wondering, "How was her Ladyship when you went back up?"
"About the same as earlier," She replied evenly, shrugging it off. There was a pause whenever she narrowed her eyes in thought and added, "Although, I daresay she gave Mr. Barrow a stern talking to."
His ears perked up at this and he asked, "What makes you say that?"
She glanced around, gauging their distance from anyone who might be lingering close by. When her focus found him again she disclosed, "He seemed rather nasty just before I made my way upstairs. And well…I can't think of another reason as to why he'd act as such."
He could think of about half a dozen reasons from knowing Thomas as long as he had. Although, Ms. Baxter's hypothesis seemed the most likely scenario out of everything his mind concocted.
"Well you know what they say," He reasoned, "you reap what you sow. And he's tried to plant something nasty about ye, only for something good to grow out of it."
She smiled broadly at his intended compliment. "Thanks to you," She concluded softly.
His mouth twitched at the implication behind her words and tone.
Casting her eyes anywhere but on him, she continued, "I don't rightly think I could have done anything so bold if ye hadn't…"
Her voice trailed off, and Molesley noticed her expression fall slightly. He followed her line of vision, and took in a curious exchange between Lady Grantham and Thomas Barrow. She was speaking to him in hushed tones, patting his arm as a send off of sorts. But it wasn't until Thomas pivoted on his heel that he saw a satisfied smirk gleaming in the semi darkness.
Molesley's glanced back to Baxter, watching her lower her face, brow creased with concern. "Ms. Baxter," He resolve to take her mind off of Thomas Barrow's supposed schemes, "did she indicate whether you'd be allowed to stay?"
She took in a breath, a tell that she was attempting to steady herself. Peeking upward, she informed him uneasily, "For now, I'm to stay. But she wouldn't commit herself definitely."
He understood her obvious anxiety that came along with this territory. Not all that long ago, he was in a similar situation himself. And she was the one to offer him a silver lining when he was blinded with nothing but the darker side to things. Now was his chance to return the favor.
"Well, at least, no matter what happens now, you don't have to be afraid anymore."
She flashed the briefest of smiles and agreed, "Not of Mr. Barrow, no."
Judging by her response and her discomforted look, it was obvious there were other things she was afraid of. But he wouldn't press her on what those things were. If she wished to tell him, he'd listen. But he would hate to make her feel more uncomfortable than she already did.
A cool breeze fluttered past them, and Baxter's arms tightened around her upper body as a noticeable shiver quaked through her slender frame. Molesley felt guilty for having a woolen coat to keep out the cold, while she had nothing more than her nightgown.
"Are you sure you're warm enough…I can give ye…?" He was about to shrug out of his coat whenever they were interrupted by a most unwelcome tone.
"Well…well…well if it isn't Ms. Goody-Toe-Shoes, and her trusty sidekick, Mr. Molesley." Thomas Barrow sidled up to them, his crooked grin looking eerie in the glow from Ms. Baxter's lantern.
Molesley watched her grip on it falter, and she took a step closer to him and away from Mr. Barrow.
He leaned closer and growled, "You can play the Holy Mother all you like, but you still nearly got me sacked."
Molesley felt that fire burning inside of him again, and compelled by some unidentifiable force that stoked his confidence, he placed himself between the two of them. Extending both arms on either side as if to shield her from Thomas, he squared his jaw and instructed boldly, "Leave her alone."
His defensiveness only appeared to incite Thomas' amusement as he taunted, "Oh come, Mr. Molesley. She's never told ye now, has she?"
Clearing his throat, Molesley asserted, "Ms. Baxter has had troubles in her past that you tried to use against her until her Ladyship put a stop to it. That is all I need to know."
"I knew she hadn't told ye," His eyes darted over his shoulder, undoubtedly flashing in Ms. Baxter's direction. "Just wait, Ms. Baxter, don't think I'll forget about this." He stalked off before another word could be exchanged.
Molesley lowered his arms, turning to see Ms. Baxter's downcast expression. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he offered encouragingly, "Just ignore him."
"He's right though," She lamented. "You don't know what I've done. And if ye did," She frowned, her brow contorting painfully, "I doubt you'd wish to speak with me ever again."
His hand peeled away from her shoulder, and he shook his head in disbelief, "I've already told you that's not true."
A pang erupted through his chest when he took in her dejected brown eyes, the remnants of a weak smile turning the corners of her mouth upward. Even in the light of her sadness, he found her countenance agreeable. Opening his mouth as if to provide any additional support against her argument, his words never reach her as Mrs. Hughes arrived on the scene.
"Come along you two," She ordered wearily, strategically stepping between them so to put more than an arm's length of distance among them. She shuffled along, a heavy exhalation transpiring between them, "We should all head back inside and get a few hours before we hafta be up again. Especially you, Mr. Molesley." She looked over her shoulder to regard him solemnly, "I'm not so sure Jimmy'll be here come morning."
As their feet fell into a steady rhythm a good few paces behind her, Molesley couldn't help but look over at Baxter questioningly.
She reciprocated the look and shook her head in unabashed amazement, "Is it always something here?"
"More so now than ever before," He replied, unable to stop himself from thinking that life at Downton had suddenly become more interesting ever since Ms. Baxter arrival.