I hope this update finds you well & I do sincerely appreciate your patience! I do plan on finishing this fic so that I can also focus on Her Shadows of Yesterday, a companion piece that I already teased with the first chapter. Anyway, for those of you who are still interested in this story, I hope you enjoy! Let me know your thoughts if you have the time! :)
Part of her was grateful for the trip Lady Grantham had planned for London. There was a relief in knowing she'd be free from the quiet, judgmental shot her way by Mr. Molesley. She knew she had no right to blame him for looking at her in such a manner. She had deceived him into believing she was all good. That Thomas' bullying was wholly unjust when in fact, it really wasn't.
She had made him look foolish, and she was certain he hated her for it. Hated that he stood up for her whenever he had no idea what she had done, or what she was capable of. And she thought she could take it, him hating her for all the heartache she undoubtedly caused him. But it was growing more difficult with each passing day.
That and knowing her future at Downton still hung in the balance. It was nearly maddening just how uncertain everything about her future was. She felt her throat constrict and her mind spin at the prospect of being cast onto the streets without proper severance.
Still, if her friendship with Mr. Molesley had taught her anything, it was better to confront your fears than to cower from them. So, she inhaled deeply as Lady Grantham deposited the last of her jewels in the velvet lined box, and spoke up before she could offer her usual dismissal of 'Goodnight Baxter.'
"Milady," She caught the surprise in her mistress' gaze. Luckily, Lady Grantham didn't appear easily offended by her speaking out of turn, so she pressed on determinedly, "I hope you don't mind. But I would like to know whether I'm staying or going."
"You're right;" There was a flicker of recognition that crossed her tone, almost as though she had forgotten Baxter's confession from a few nights earlier. But the flash of hope that filled Baxter's heart at this thought soon went out with her Ladyship's continuance of, "I have made you wait an unreasonable time."
Turning on her heel, she sank into the chair in front of her dressing table. Her silence was deafening, the task of uncapping the lid on her bottle of lotion and pouring a generous amount onto her hand taking twice as long as usual.
"I just feel I need to plan..." Baxter informed her with a meek half smile, "…if you've come to a decision."
"I have...I think I have." She nodded, rubbing the lotion into her delicately soft hands.
Baxter rolled back her shoulders, her chin jutted forward as she anticipated the low blow of receiving her dismissal. Lady Grantham had been good to her thus far; she would handle this with as much grace as she could muster. But what her Ladyship said next was almost worse than any sort of dismissal she could have handed her.
"Tomorrow, after we've settled in London, I want you to tell me the missing element to your story. If you do, I'll give you a decision."
Her heart sank, and her stomach knotted uncomfortably. She felt her stony expression falter, an objection working its way to the tip of her tongue. But she bit down on it, forced herself to swallow it back. Nodding her head, Baxter bent her face forward and muttered a hurried, "Very good, Milady. Goodnight."
As she turned out of the room, Baxter's mind began to whirl. How on earth could she ever tell a respectable young woman the entirety of her story without offending her? She tried to rack her brain for possible reasons and explanations she could give, each sounding more cryptic than the rest.
She supposed it didn't matter. Lady Grantham was already privy to her lapse in integrity. What could learning about her lapse in virtue possibly hurt? As far as she believed, she was gone tomorrow no matter what she said.
Part of him felt guilty that Miss. Baxter was leaving, and he hadn't thought to reach out to her before them. But he couldn't do much about it now as he loaded the trunks onto the back of the car.
The truth was he didn't know how to accept what she had told him as truth. She insisted it was the truth, but still it seemed hard to believe that she, such a seemingly honorable person, could do such a dishonorable thing. Something wasn't quite right about it all.
And judging by her hesitation the other night, he wasn't entirely wrong in thinking she wasn't alone in committing the crime. Still, she had no desire to tell him, and he wouldn't press the matter. If she wanted him to know, she could tell him. She knew that much. Didn't she?
His thoughts were soon interrupted whenever he heard the quick crunch, crunch, crunch of gravel beneath a fast paced gait he'd come to know very well over the last several months.
"I'd hope I catch you before we go."
He glanced up from tying the stack of trucks, and caught her eye for a split second. "Oh yes," Was all his brain could conjure up at present before looking back down at his work.
The crunch, crunch, crunch stopped soon after. And all he heard next was a jagged exhalation, followed by Miss. Baxter's shaky intonation of, "She's given me an ultimatum."
His hands stopped, and he looked up to see her side profile. She stared forward, a box carefully cradled between her unsteady hands.
"What did she say?" Molesley probed curiously, his interest perked.
"That…I'm to tell her the rest of my story, or leave," She explained evenly, taking in another deep breath.
He looped another strap across the front of the trunk, asking while he secured it, "And if you do tell her, does that mean you can stay?"
Slowly shaking her head, Miss. Baxter admitted lowly, "She wouldn't commit herself."
"So what will you do?" He wondered, suppressing the urge to tell her what he thought she should do.
"I don't know," She frowned, lowering her eyes. "There is a story, and maybe she has a right to hear it. But once it's told I want it back in the ground, and buried."
His heart lifted with relief. Perhaps she wasn't intent on entirely shutting him out. Perhaps she'd come back to him, back to Downton, he swiftly corrected.
"Then make that your condition," He told her, looking up from his work again.
"What?" Her face turned towards him, and he saw her brow creasing out of fear and uncertainty.
He stifled his desire to place a comforting hand on her, for it wouldn't be deemed appropriate. Instead, he spoke in the most reassuring tone he could muster, "She's made conditions, so can you. The worst that can happen is that she refuses and ye go. Which will happen anyway if you say nothing."
He could see her considering his words, the pained expression on her face lifting a bit, becoming a bit softer. It was the first time in nearly a week they had looked upon one another. Really and truly saw each other beyond just a curiosity glance as they passed in the corridor.
And Molesley felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a hopeful smile. He wished they had more time together, that there were more things he could say to lift her spirits. After all of this, he still cared; he still wanted to understand her.
But Lady Grantham's footsteps were approaching, forcing him to jump to attention and moved to the other side of the carriage.
Soon after, they were off, and Mr. Molesley couldn't help but stand at his post for a few seconds after the car disappeared over the final hill, promising himself if Miss. Baxter came back, he'd try to make more of an effort in understanding her past.
"I'm glad ye were able to steal some time away," Bill Molesley admitted with a broad smile as he began ladling the stew out into their individual bowls.
"Me too," Joe flashed a grateful smile, lifting his hand to signal that his father was giving him too much stew. "How are the plants fairing so fair?"
"Well enough," Bill replied with a shrug. "The wildflowers have popped up again, much to my insistence that they not."
Joe chuckled at this lightly, and then an idea that laid dormant for quite some time suddenly sprung to the forefront of his mind again. Whenever his father settled down beside him, Joe cleared his throat, "You know, I can think of a thing you might be able to do with 'em."
"Oh?" His father's snow white brows darted upward, clearly intrigued by his son's proposition.
"Remember how uhm…how Mum used to…make up the arch out front?" He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the thing that was concealed behind walls that made up two rooms.
His brow drooped and the excitement faded a bit from Bill's expression. "Aye," He inclined his head towards the bowl of stew, spooning up a bit of broth, "I remember."
"Well perhaps ye could…fix it up a bit," Molesley suggested hopefully, lifting his shoulders. "It looks bit…weathered, Dad."
Blowing on the mouthful of food, Bill slowly slurped it, chewing on the bits of potato inside the broth.
Molesley waited with his breath held in, watching his dad's nearly unreadable expression. He started to wonder if he'd even heard him as nothing but the sound of soup slurping filled the air.
Then after a while, Bill glanced up towards his sweating water glass and took a long drink from it. Smacking his lips and letting out a breath he turned to his son, and commented with a bit of a smirk, "I thought you were going to suggest I get them together for ye, for Miss. Baxter."
It was Molesley's turn to stare down into his stew dish and probe at a piece of meat with his spoon. He scooped it up into his mouth, and chewed, keeping his attention anywhere but on his father's steady gaze.
"Or is that done with?" Bill wondered cautiously.
Joe swallowed and let out a long sigh. Shrugging he shook his head at his father, "Oh I dunno. I don't think there was much to it to begin with."
"Nonsense!" Bill insisted with a flip of his hand, stealing Joe's attention from the contents of his bowl. "I saw the two of ye. Ye way ye looked at one another…"
"She's just a friend…" Joe insisted plainly.
"Oh, right," Bill practically scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Just like yer Mother was just a friend when we were kids."
There was an emphasis placed upon his father's teasing words that made him slightly uncomfortable. He didn't want to talk about Miss. Baxter. Not now, not like this.
So he grumbled into his dish in a deflated tone, "Not everyone is like you and Mum."
"I'm only saying," Bill held up his hands somewhat defensively before explaining lightly, "She seemed nice, and the two of ye looked smart together. And she was kind enough to listen to me prattle on and on about…"
"Just because she was kind enough to listen to ye doesn't mean a thing!" Joe snapped, tossing his spoon back down irritably.
His father arched an incredulous brow and blinked back at him slowly. Shaking off the sharp retort, he asked a bit haughtily, "What's turned your milk sour? The last I saw of the two of ye, ye looked…well, happy. What happened?"
Joe felt his father's genuine concern in his words, and he immediately felt guilty for losing his temper. Clearly, the business with Miss. Baxter had affected him far more than he cared to admit.
With a shake of his head, he informed his dad plainly, "It's really not my place to say."
"No?" Confusion latched onto this single word, prompting Joe to exhale and look back up.
"No." He replied firmly before picking up his spoon again and lifting it to his mouth. "Now will ye consider what I said about the arch out front?"
Bill paused, and Joe wondered if he was going to receive a reprimand of not. He relaxed though when his father opted for a calmer tone and merely stated, "If ye want me to, I'll think about it."
"Good," Molesley nodded, wiping his bread across the rim of the bowl.
They fell into an uneasy silence, only the scraping of their spoons, and chewing noises could be heard.
After a moment though, Bill couldn't help but chime in curiously, "Suppose there's no chance in ye ever bringing her back here for supper then?"
"Dad!" Joe warned, his jaw clenching tightly, and spoon clanking against the edge of his bowl again.
"Well I was just asking!" Bill rejoined unexpectedly, causing his son to nearly jump out of his seat. "Ye don't need to bite off me head! Forgive me for wanting to see that my only son is happy!" He waved his hands about before letting out an argh! sound, and turning to stand.
Molesley let out another heavy sigh, bowing his head forehead. Rarely, did Dad ever yell at him. But there were moments when he couldn't get his point across with the stubborn streak that Joe insisted on displaying.
As the sound of water trickling from the nearby sink filled the room, he felt a bitter pill of guilt lay at the bottom of his stomach. His Dad had gone to the trouble of cooking this hearty meal for him, and all he did was ask questions about him, and this was how Joe repaid him.
Lifting his eyes, he offered his Dad a meek look from his seat, "Dad."
There was no stirring from the old man's hunched shoulders while he worked to clean off his plate.
Pushing back in his chair, Joe stood and moved to stand by his Dad's working form. "Dad, I'm sorry," He apologized with a downcast look, focusing on the gnarled fingers that sought to scrub the dishes free of residual food. "I didn't mean…I'm sorry."
After a brief moment in time, Bill turned off the facet and then reached for one of the hand towels. "Ahhh…it's alright," He shrugged while he dried off his hands. "I shouldn't have pried. It's your business."
"Well it's more Miss. Baxter's business than mine, really." Joe corrected.
"Oh?" Bill cast a sideways glance full of curiosity up at him. "Is that so?"
He nodded and then ran his fingers along the white ceramic of the sink as he explained, "She told me something. Something she'd done in her past. Something…shameful." His eyes darted up to find his father's questioning gaze staring back.
"I see," He thought for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Well, we've all done things we can't be proud of. It's what makes us human," He remarked rather neutrally on the subject, moving back towards the table and taking a restorative drink from his glass.
"I don't disagree with that," Joe followed him back to his seat. They both sat down again, although Joe wasn't feeling particularly hungry at present.
Instead, he wanted to explain the reason for his guardedness around Miss. Baxter as a topic of conversation. But he also had to be respectful of guarding her secret. So he went on as steadily as his mind would allow, "It's just…I'm having a hard time seeing past it. I know I should be able to. I want to. But she…she refuses to lead me to believe she had just cause for doing what she did. But I think…I think she did have just cause. I don't know why she won't tell me what it was…but she won't…and I know I can't force it out of her."
"No. You can't do that." Bill agreed firmly, before telling him, "All ye can do is listen to what she has to say, if she decides to tell ye more."
Nodding, Joe replied, "I know." He slowly stirred the contents in his bowl with a spoon, tasting a bit of the broth again.
"Is it really dreadful?" Bill probed hesitantly, concern clouding his normally clear blue eyes. When Joe merely lifted a questioning brow, his Dad clarified, "What she did?"
Joe moved his head from side to side, shrugging a bit before admitting, "Dreadful enough for Lady Grantham to consider dismissing her."
Bill contorted his mouth, clearly not wanting this to be the case. Lowering his gaze to the table he remarked sullenly, "And her Ladyship always seems to be a kind-hearted type."
"She is. If anyone was to take pity with Miss. Baxter's case, or see that she's trying to reform and rebuild her life, it would be Lady Grantham."
"At the risk of you chewing off me head again…" Bill started uneasily, catching his son's eye.
Molesley inclined his head and prompted, "Let's hear it, Dad."
"I think ye care for Miss. Baxter more than ye let on. You should tell her when she comes back from London. Maybe it'll make her feel comfortable enough to tell ye the whole story. Maybe then you'll understand where the two of you stand."
It wasn't a half bad idea, but there was a chance he had missed the opportunity.
His mouth twitched at this, and he uttered lowly, "If she comes back from London."
"What do you mean, if she comes back?"
Looking back up at his Dad, he explained their brief conversation prior to her departure yesterday afternoon. The ultimatum Lady Grantham had given her, and the meager advice he had given.
"All the more reason to tell her, son," Mr. Molesley encouraged with a smile.
Joe shook his head and countered lightly, "You know I can't. I could lose my job."
Suppose Miss. Baxter didn't return his affections. Suppose she found his admission unwanted and told someone, and it somehow reached Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson's ears. Then he'd be in a rough spot for sure. Not to mention the embarrassment it might cause her to learn of his affections and be unable to return them.
No, he couldn't tell her that he cared. Even though it went against every instinctual grain of his existence to do so.
"Well…you do whatever is best for you," Bill remarked neutrally, leaning forward to dip the heel of Joe's bread into his stew. He lifted his eyes up momentarily to look at his son, "But I just know what I saw that day at the bazaar between the two of ye, and that's a rare thing to have in this world."
He looked down, and bit off a piece of bread. With a mouth half full of food, he pointed the other half at Joe, offering his advice, "If I were you, I'd hold onto that for as long as I could." Swallowing his food, he shrugged and teased, "Besides, Lord knows your Mum would be crawling out of her grave to haunt me for the rest of my life if I didn't at least try to offer you some advice."
Molesley snorted at this and couldn't help but tease right back, "She's gonna crawl out of the ground regardless if you don't do something about that arch. It's a damn eye sore at this rate."
Bill chuckled sat back in his seat, "I know, son. I know." He looked over at him and added, "Like I said, I held onto that for as long as I could."
They finished the rest of their meal in amicable silence. Afterwards, they even indulged in a nip of decent ale on the front porch, staring up at the full moon and glistening stars, chatting about this and that. When it hit close to midnight, Molesley decided it was time to head back to the main house. He embraced and thanked his father for everything, and made a promise to come back as soon as he could.
While Molesley walked back to the big house, his belly felt full, and comforting warmth spread throughout his body as his mind circled back to their conversation over dinner.
It was a rare thing for him to find someone like Miss. Baxter. Someone who listened to everything he had to say, who found his interests intriguing enough to indulge in them. Someone who made him feel completely at ease, and gave him the confidence to fully be himself. A rare thing it was indeed.
Some might even call it a stroke of luck that they had even met at all. And Molesley was never one to consider himself lucky.