Mrs. Hughes' prediction of Jimmy's dismissal came to light when he was nowhere to be found at breakfast the next morning. The wheel of the rumor mill started turning downstairs, and once the staff found themselves at a safe distance from Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes in mid-afternoon, they all started speculating the cause for the footman's recent departure.
"I heard his Lordship caught him smoking in the ladies corridor," One of the hall boys, named Geoff, boasted.
"They wouldn't let one of us go for that," Ana argued from the other side of the table, shooting a prominent frown in disbelief at the young lad's statement. "He must've done something indecent."
"I agree," He heard Ms. Baxter's opinion from his right side, her gaze sweeping up and down the table. "Lord and Lady Grantham are fairer than that."
Mr. Molesley nodded, "There had to have been a good reason for letting him go as soon as they did."
"Was he not in his room last night, Mr. Molesley?" Mr. Bates wondered, sitting up straighter in his chair.
"Not when I woke up, no," He admitted, shrugging. "Although where he was or why…"
"He had to have been upstairs," Ms. Baxter interjected, procuring his attention with the confidence ringing through her words as she rationalized. "For His Lordship to request his immediate dismissal..." She trailed off, taking another bite of her biscuit. Chewing thoughtfully, she swallowed and remarked, "...he must have caught him in the act. Whatever it was."
"But what was he doing up there?" Geoff wondered in hushed tones, hovering near Molesley's side of the table. "You don't think…he started the fire?" His voice lifted a bit with the excitement that an arsonist once lived among them.
This gained a lot of disbelieving chuckles among the group, and Molesley was about to call the young lad daft for even considering this as probable whenever a cool intonation shot from the doorway.
"Don't be stupid," Thomas Barrow barked, his sudden appearance causing those in company to turn and face him with varying degrees of displeasure. "The fire started in Lady Edith's room. And what need would Jimmy have to be in there?" He crooned, shooting daggers in Geoff's direction.
As the question sunk in, he balanced a cigarette in between his lips, struck a match and lit it up. Blowing smoke into the room, he drawled on knowingly, "Besides…Jimmy wasn't one to have criminal tendencies. Not like some of you lot."
"Some?" Ana echoed in disbelief, turning round in her chair as if she hadn't heard Thomas correctly.
"What?" He retorted, "Did ye think your husband was the only convict the Crawley's employed?" He grinned deviously, displaying two rows of teeth while shifting his gaze to each of them.
It felt like he was silently calling each of their integrities into question, although Molesley doubted the majority of them had black marks on their record. But then he noticed Thomas eyes pausing on his side of the table, and Molesley turned his gaze a fraction to the left, noticing the glare was intended to reach Ms. Baxter. She lowered her face down to the table in response, studying the patterns made by the grain in the wood.
"Ex-convict," Ana corrected evenly, her hands curling into fists. "And he would have been innocent both times if…"
Thomas eyes flittered back to Ana's, silently challenging her to finish her statement.
But Mr. Bates placed a hand over of hers, and she stopped talking. "Don't listen to him," He directed the statement more so at his wife, squeezing her hand reassuringly before glaring back at Thomas. "He's just sore that his best mate's been let go."
"That's right," Thomas confirmed tendrils of smoke billowing out of the corner of his crooked smirk. "A good lad and hard worker is let go for a mistake of judgment, while they let murderers and thieves take advantage of everyone," He snapped.
"The only one who's taking advantage of people here is you," Mr. Molesley retorted hotly, his ears burning.
"Is that so?" He chuckled, finding Joe's anger more amusing than intimidating. Shifting his stance, he sauntered deeper into the room, hovering directly behind Ana, peering intently at a downcast Ms. Baxter. He wondered out of amusement, "Do you agree with him, Ms. Baxter?"
Clearing her throat, she tilted her face back up at him, "As a matter of fact, I do."
"As do the rest of us," Mr. Bates joined in, shooting Thomas another contemptuous look.
He didn't say another word, just merely glared back at each of them. Thomas may be a bully, but he wasn't thick headed. He knew he was outnumbered, and didn't find defeat cowardly if the deck was stacked against him as it was now. Without another word, he flicked the butt of his cigarette in their general direction before swiftly turning on his heel and exiting the room.
"What a right git, he is," Molesley grumbled, brushing off the front of his jacket as though he'd been hit with any cigarette ash. Leaning back in his seat, he went on, tossing his hand in the air, "Thinks he has the authority to come in here and just...insult everyone as he pleases."
He focused on Ms. Baxter in particular, who wouldn't look up to meet anyone's eye around the table, hands now folded neatly in her lap.
"I wouldn't get too hot under the collar, Mr. Molesley," Mr. Bates replied conversationally. "Thomas only says half the things he does to get a rise out of people."
Ana nodded, "Yeah…although what was he saying about murderers and thieves? As if to suggest there was more than one of…"
It was with this statement that Ms. Baxter's head shot up and she remarked swiftly, "It probably meant nothing. Like Mr. Bates said, he only says things to get rise out of people."
There was a definite quiver in her voice that didn't quite offer a convincing argument. Molesley also noticed her leg bouncing beneath the table, her foot pressing down on an invisible pedal. When she glanced over at him, her gaze was guarded, and she quickly looked back to Ana who was offering a counter to her statement.
"But aside from Mr. Bates and I…what sort of rise would he get out of either one of ye?"
"Who knows?" She shrugged flatly, before standing so quickly the chair rocked back precariously.
Molesley caught the back of the chair, setting it right again. His eyes widened at her flighty demeanor, and his suspicions that Thomas' earlier words meant something to her were confirmed. Although in what sense he couldn't be sure.
"Excuse me; I have work to do…" She muttered hurriedly, wiping her hands on the front of her skirt before departing.
Ana shot a curious glance about the room, settling her attention on Mr. Bates, "Do you suppose Thomas meant to get a rise out of Ms. Baxter with his statement?"
"I doubt it. She doesn't seem the criminal type." He responded, casting a questioning look in Molesley's direction. "You know her best. What do you say, Mr. Molesley?"
Blanching at the idea as rather ridiculous, Molesley couldn't help but snort. "Ms. Baxter's no more a criminal than I am…that I can be sure of."
Ana and Bates chuckled lightly, nodding in agreement.
He pushed back his chair in a less violent fashion than Ms. Baxter had, and excused him as well. He knew the family would be expecting their luncheon shortly. He entered the kitchen, watching Daisy and the other maids bustling about the long table to get all the fixings together.
"Is the pudding ready to go up?" He wondered lightly, noticing Mrs. Patmore standing motionlessly by her desk pushed against the far wall.
Her expression appeared blank, suggesting that her mind was on other matters than what her employees in the kitchen were working on.
"Mrs. Patmore?" He probed again, successfully rousing her this time. He arched a brow, "The pudding?"
"Sorry," She jumped and shook her head, "I was miles away." Standing she pivoted on the spot, and handed him the tray. "Now there's a sauce to go with that," She informed him before Molesley could turn towards the stairs. "Should I put it on one tray, or will Mr. Barrow lend a hand?"
"All on one tray," Molesley decided evenly, "I can't bother to fight it out with him."
Mrs. Patmore cackled sharply, shaking her head while she placed the silver boat full of creamy sauce on the tray, "Jimmy, where are ye when we need ye?"
Molesley nodded and grumbled something similar in agreement before gracefully exiting the kitchen to head upstairs. Things would certainly be different with Jimmy gone. Now, he supposed he could finally consider himself first footman. But nothing was official yet. He'd have a talk with Mr. Carson later about the change in rank.
And then, he realized, later was actually, right now.
En route to the dining room, he passed Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes on the narrow staircase, and he paused.
"Oh, Mr. Carson!" He called out, and the butler turned away from the in depth conversation with Mrs. Hughes, the pair of them pausing just below the steps.
"What is it now?" Carson sighed dramatically, still clearly flustered by something.
Probably the changes in staff getting to him again, Molesley thought momentarily.
Clearing his throat, Molesley explained as calmly as he could, for he didn't want to appear too excited about the possibility of a promotion. "Now that Jimmy...uhm...James, has gone. Do I take it that I am now first footman?"
"Since you are the only footman, you are first, second, third, and last." He remarked indifferently, flipping his hand as a sign of dismissal he added, "Make what you will of it."
Mrs. Hughes offered a more genial response to Molesley's eagerness. "Mr. Molesley, we're nearly at the end of those distinctions. There'll come a time when a household is lucky to boast any footman."
He smiled, grateful for the encouragement she offered.
Mr. Carson was quick to break the buoyant feeling inside of his chest with his directive of, "Now, get that up to the dining room."
Molesley disappeared instantaneously, not giving Carson a chance to ponder it too deeply.
The rest of the day unfolded rather quickly. The moment he returned downstairs following luncheon, Mr. Carson gave him a laundry list of all the responsibilities that entailed the position of first footman. He scarcely had a moment to think of anything else, especially the encounter with Thomas that afternoon.
Now that the evening descended upon them, his thoughts of work were dwindling, being replaced by his concern for Ms. Baxter. He hadn't seen her since luncheon, and her shaken appearance stirred something in him. Not to mention, evening coffee by the fireplace had recently become a near nightly occurrence between them.
He sat at the table still, stirring the milk in his coffee thoughtfully, shooting curious glances over his shoulder when someone strolled into the hall.
This last time it was Daisy who popped in. With an empty tray balanced on her arm, she took to picking up the empty dishes the staff left behind following dinner. Upon meeting Molesley's eye, she wondered eagerly, "Is it true that Lady Rose wants his Lordship to buy a wireless?"
"She wants him to," He confirmed before shrugging, "but whether or not he will is another matter."
"I like the idea of a wireless," She chattered on with a smile. "People talking and singing in London and all sorts."
He mused lightly, "What's so good about that when you can go to the music hall in York? I'd rather hear a live singer, me."
Hearing footsteps coming from downstairs, Molesley stood and casually popped his head out into the corridor. His heart sank a bit whenever he realized it was only Madge.
Thomas let out a heavy sigh, remarking in a rather annoyed tone, "If you're looking for Ms. Baxter, she's still upstairs."
Molesley stepped back into the hall, before lowering his head and settling back in his chair.
Daisy frowned, firing an incredulous reply, "Why do you have to make everything sound so nasty all the time?"
"I'm nasty about Ms. Baxter because she came back here to help and support me and she's broken her word," The newspaper he held in his hand crackled as he abruptly turned the page.
Daisy rolled her eyes at this before taking her leave, "I doubt that's how she'd put it."
Thomas leaned forward in his chair, the rustling of the paper prompting Molesley to find his eye again. Tilting his head to the side he jeered coolly, "Do you think with her past that'd she come near a house like this? She'd be lucky to get work at a public laundry."
Molesley felt his jaw clench as he remarked evenly, "I'm sure she's grateful."
Thomas snickered sarcastically at this, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair, "Then she has a funny way of showing it."
He wasn't about to discuss Ms. Baxter's past with Thomas. He had no doubt that Thomas would do whatever he could to spin the story in a way that benefited him. And he wouldn't listen to such slander, especially if Ms. Baxter didn't want him to know about it.
So Molesley drummed his fingers against the table, staring into his coffee, pretending as if he wasn't interested in what Thomas had to say on the matter.
This approach was soon deemed futile whenever Thomas started up again, taunting him, "You do know she's a thief?"
Molesley's head snapped up, and he tried to appear nonplussed by a revelation that clearly shocked him to the core.
Thomas must have taken notice for he smirked knowingly, "Stole her mistress' jewels."
He could punch Thomas Barrow for saying such a thing. He didn't trust the words, but the satisfied glint in his eye seemed rather convincing. Glaring back at him instead, Molesley remarked evenly, "There must be more to it than that." His hand curled into a fist, fingernails digging fresh imprints into his palm to steady himself.
"No," Thomas cast the paper aside now, sauntering towards Molesley's seated figure, "she sneaked up to the bedroom, snatched up the pieces...pearl necklaces...diamond bracelets...put them in her pockets." He taunted, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Cocking his head to the side, he added, "Then she tried to make it look as if someone had broken in."
Molesley felt hollow after hearing the crispness to Thomas' retelling of Ms. Baxter's historoy. There wasn't any faltering on his part, suggesting he was telling the truth. Drawing in a deep breath, all he could reply with was a tense, "Well she was obviously unsuccessful."
He went on lightly, as if they were having a pleasant conversation, "They gave her five years, but she only served three. Came out a few months before I brought her up here…" The next part came out in a gravelly tone, as he took a step forward, "…so don't say she doesn't owe me."
He looked away; unsure of who he was angrier with. Thomas for telling him Ms. Baxter's story? Ms. Baxter for misleading him? Or himself for trusting her so easily? His hands shook with silent rage, bottom lip quivering with deep felt disappointment.
If it weren't for Mr. Bates' sudden appearance, Molesley was sure he would have rounded on Mr. Barrow. "Has Mrs. Bates come down yet?" He wondered, looking between both men.
Thomas replied wryly, "Not yet. We were just discussing your friend, Ms. Baxter."
"Is she my friend particularly?" Mr. Bates cocked his head to the side, clearly taken aback.
Thomas baited, "She seems to think so."
Mr. Bates snorted, shaking his head slowly, "I know you mean to lead me into further inquiry, Thomas. But I couldn't care less what you think. On that subject or any other."
"I agree," Molesley piped up, his voice coming out less confident than he would have liked.
Thomas picked up his jacket tossing it over his shoulder. "No you don't," He sneered at Molesley's attempt to remain unaffected by his story. Lifting a brow he replied knowingly, "Because you listened to the story, didn't you?"
He left Molesley to consider his words as well as the validity of Ms. Baxter's story. Mr. Bates glanced down at him, squinting at him rather confused, "What was that all about?"
"Oh…nothing…nothing really…" He let out a shaky exhalation, taking a sip of his coffee, now lukewarm and bitter. Coughing, he forced the drink down, hearing the clock behind them chime eleven. "Is that…the time?" He asked rhetorically, pushing back his chair and bypassing Mr. Bates before murmuring, "I should be off." He left his half drained cup at the table, not in the mood to finish it with his usual companion.
When she woke that morning something felt different. She couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but there was an odd feeling of forgetfulness that surrounded her when she left her room just before six.
Mentally, she ran through the events of her morning. She washed her face, pinned up her hair, and secured all of her clothes in place. Nothing was wrong about her appearance or her early morning regiment.
As she hurried down the steps to breakfast, she thought back to yesterday's events surrounding Lady Grantham. Had she not completed all of her mistress' requests? Was there a task she decided to leave until this morning that she couldn't recall? Nothing sprung to her mind.
So she brushed the feeling aside, and entered the half-filled servant's hall. There was a general murmur of amusement and several wry comments being tossed about as an animated Mr. Molesley did his best to captivate anyone who would listen.
She smiled to herself at this though, pulling out her usual chair, and inclining her head around the table to those who met her eye.
And then, she felt that odd, out of place sensation seizing hold of her again. It made its presence known when the broad grin from Mr. Molesley's face faltered as their eyes locked for a split second. It was slight, and she thought perhaps she must've imagined it.
But there was no denying a turn in his mood whenever he finished his earlier talk, and she tried to engage his attentions.
"Did I miss anything good?" She probed, in a hushed tone, egging him on to retell his story to her.
He jumped a bit, casting her a side eyed look without turning to face her. "Oh," Shaking his head slowly, he muttered flatly, "no, not really. It was nothing."
"Seemed like you had everyone on their edge of their seats," Baxter encouraged wryly, hoping perhaps a compliment would stir him from his mood.
"Did it?" He retorted sharply, arching a discerning brow in her direction. Shrugging off her slight nod, Mr. Molesley took a bite of his toast. Chewing and then swallowing, he informed her lightly, "I hadn't noticed."
Her face pinched together at his cold, indifferent. It was something she'd yet to experience with him. And while it was a perfectly natural emotional response to some type of frustration, it felt oddly personal. As if her sudden appearance at the breakfast table was the root of his irritability.
Her mouth dipped into a prominent frown, and she racked her brain for a specific word or phrase or look or anything really, she might have offended him with. But she came up with nothing.
"Is…is everything alright?" She wondered cautiously.
"Of course," He replied evenly, turning towards her to flash a momentarily smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Excuse me, I've a lot to do before upstairs breakfast." The legs underneath his chair groaned in protest, but Mr. Molesley took his hurried exit without another word.
She felt a turning inside of her stomach. Not again, she thought anxiously, a lump formulating in the back of her throat. Please god; don't tell me I've done it again. Baxter wasn't sure she had any fighting power left in her if he turned out to be just like all the others.
She needed to know what she was dealing with. Before things spiraled out of control, before she told him too much, she needed to uncover his true nature. To know whether she could fully trust him, as he claimed she could, or if she'd be better off to avoid him altogether from this point forward.
She hoped her doubts that formulated from their terse exchange this morning were just that, doubts. That her second guessing and discomfort was merely due to the insecurities that lingered in the back of her mind from an unpleasant history with other men, and not a manifestation of her relationship with him, here at Downton. That his mercurial shift in behavior had nothing to do with her, but rather was the cause of something else entirely. That she could still count on him. That she wasn't entirely alone.
Her legs carried her to the boot room, thoughts whirring noisily in her head. When she caught sight of him hunched off a pair of shoes, her mouth ran dry.
He peeked up at her for split second, expression unreadable, and his hand still guiding the coarse brush along the brown leather.
Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, and she felt the indents in her skin whenever she released her fists intermittently.
Only the sounds of the bristles rubbing harshly against the shoes and the echo of her footsteps filled the palpable tension between them. The silence was suffocating, maddening even.
She had to do something about it. Even if it didn't make any difference. She needed to know.
"You've been very quiet all day," She observed lightly, trying to keep the tremor out of her words.
"Have I?" He countered dully, not looking up from his work.
Another pang spread throughout her chest, brow inverting as she commented softly, "I wish you'd tell me what it is." She looked at her shoes, fingers tracing lightly across the wood grains in the table.
"Very well," He decided, setting his work aside.
She stared back at him patiently, feeling a lump forming in her throat.
His hands ran up and down his thighs, applying adequate pressure as if he drew strength from the endeavor. Inhaling sharply he informed her evenly, "Last night, Mr. Barrow chose to give me an account of your history."
A wave of terror swept through her. Closing her eyes, mouth, and bowing her head, she replied through a grimacing expression, "He was bound to, sooner or later."
Now silently, she wished she had confessed her past to Mr. Molesley before Thomas had the chance. She wondered what his account entailed precisely.
"His version is a bleak one. Which will, not surprise you." Mr. Molesley continued rather diplomatically, which eased her anxiety considerably.
Perhaps he didn't disclose everything, she thought hopefully as there was still a genial edge to Molesley's words. Forcing herself to look at him again, Baxter probed cautiously, "What did he say?"
"Well for starters, he seemed to suggest that you were in some sort of...privileged position."
She nodded, confirming this. "I was a trusted senior ladies maid to a good woman. In a rich and respectable household."
Molesley inclined his head, tension in his face lifting considerably at her affirmation. Then it shifted slightly as he went on, his voice strained, hand gesturing wildly in disbelief at what he was saying, "But then he said that you just...took your employers jewels...snatched them right up and put them into your pocket."
She heard the questioning lilt, saw the desperation in his visage. She knew he wanted her to tell him that he was mistaken, that this was just another one of Mr. Barrow's gross exaggerations to incite a rise from him. It pained her to admit, but she knew she had to.
Keeping her voice void of the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface, she aimed to lay out the facts, and nothing more. She'd not sway his opinion with any sort of emotional appeal. That wouldn't be right. She'd taken advantage of him enough already, she'd not do any more of this if she could help it.
Swallowing, and bobbing her head, Baxter asserted, "I stole a pearl necklace with a ruby clasp, two diamond bracelets, and four rings."
His eyes widened, mouth dropping open. He couldn't conceal his shock, even if he wanted to. And she didn't blame him in the least bit.
Pursing her lips together in a saddened half smile, she tacked on another question to what else he'd heard about her from Thomas, "Did he also tell you that I tried to pretend it was a burglary?"
Molesley nodded wordlessly, clearly stunned by her admission. She supposed he expected a counterargument, or at the very least some reassurance from her that it wasn't true. But if she wished to uncover his true nature, she couldn't provide him with anything more than the truth.
"Well then..." She exhaled, "…I think you have all the relevant information." Turning to leave him to process it all, she paused whenever he interjected.
"Uhm...there must be something more," She faced him, watching him grasping for an explanation that would support these claims. For her behavior at Downton suggested quite the opposite, and he stammered, seeking a sort of justification for her crime, "There must have been a cause...a...a reason for you to do such a thing?"
"What sort of cause?" She challenged, splaying her palms out to the side.
"I…I don't know!" He cried out, his voice unsteady as he searched for something that could justify her behavior. His inner turmoil rushing out as he exclaimed, his voice crackling with raw emotion, "Someone that you cared for...needed money for emergency, and you were desperate to help!"
It would be so easy to claim this was why she'd done it. But it wouldn't be right.
"I was a common thief, Mr. Molesley," She admitted steadily. "A convicted criminal. A jailbird."
He shook his head, insisting in an almost painful manner, "I...I don't believe you!"
"Because you don't want to," She told him, her mouth tugging into a melancholic smile. He had to know this, just as she knew her next statement without any splinter of doubt, "I will only say that I am not that person now."
Lowering his gaze, it became apparent there wasn't anything left for them to say. So she left him with a heaviness weighing down her chest.
She bitterly regretted befriending him, seeing how much hurt she caused him in learning who she once was. And another pang of guilt spliced her innards as she came to realize her doubts to his character were unfounded. He was undoubtedly upright and good, and even now that he knew her secret, he wasn't casting stones.
Like Lady Grantham, he was shocked, but not unkind. And it made things a bit easier. She only hoped in time, he could trust her again.
So what do you think? Still going strong? Should I pick up the pace? (Yes, this is intended to be of epic proportions, if you couldn't tell already. I only hope I'm not boring you all.)