Chapter 12 – Finding the Sun

Elsie Hughes returned to the Abbey that evening worn out. Anna had finally fallen asleep with the aid of a strong sedative. The poor dear was in a terrible state. She had kept asking when John was coming back. Her mind wouldn't let her accept her husband was behind the crimes that had been committed and especially the murder of Matthew Crawley. Anna couldn't bring herself to believe he was responsible for Vera's death. Anna was rationalizing how desperate John must have been to take such a desperate measure as to lie his way out of prison. Despite everything she knew to the contrary Anna's love for him wouldn't let her believe he was a bad person.

Mrs. Hughes hung her hat and coat in her closet and went to the kitchen to check how dinner was getting on. She was greeted with the standard chaos of a family meal with the footmen going back and forth with laden trays and Mrs. Patmore and Alfred turning out perfectly timed dishes one after the other. She turned to head back to her sitting room to fix herself a cup of tea. After this afternoon she deserved it. She was surprised when she ran into Mr. Carson coming down the stairs in his livery.

"Mr. Carson, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Just lending a helping hand in time of need, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "Mr. Mosely has been contacted. He will take over as valet in a few days."

"Won't you come and join me in my sitting room?"

"I'd be delighted," Mr. Carson said. He sat down with a sigh. Despite being here under less than happy circumstances Mrs. Hughes was a sight for sore eyes. She was the one person who he missed having daily contact with.

"How much has the staff been told?" Mrs. Hughes asked while she put the kettle on to boil.

"Very little. They are waiting until morning to tell everyone exactly what is going on," Mr. Carson said.

"I've been with Anna. The poor dear is distraught. She's in hospital for a day or two to recover from the shock. It seems there is new evidence that Mr. Bates did in fact do away with his first wife."

"Good gracious, is there no low the man wouldn't stoop to in order to feather his own nest," Mr. Carson commented. "We all had such faith in him."

"It's a nasty business and one I'd rather not discuss," Mrs. Hughes replied. "How will you manage the teashop if you're here for a few days?"

"Jenny, the girl I have working for me can manage for a few days on her own. Her sister comes in now and then. It will take care of itself."

"How do you like being your own boss?"

"I never thought I would say this Mrs. Hughes, but I'm just a visitor here nowadays. I'm quite enjoying my new life and new found freedom," Mr. Carson replied. "I'll be missing my soft bed and chair by the fire these next few nights."

"We'll have to take this opportunity to do some catching up. I've been thinking about retirement myself. Anna was training to be my replacement but now that will be put on hold for sometime," Mrs. Hughes said.

"I hope you're not planning on going too far afield when you do decide to retire," Mr. Carson said. "I would miss your visits terribly."

"I won't be going too far, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said with a small tired smile.

"You never know what positions may open up for you when you finally decide to make the move," Mr. Carson said with a mysterious smile before he took a sip of his tea.

-0-

His escape had been easier than he thought it was going to be. He had driven until it started to get dark and the car was almost out of petrol. His leg was fine to drive. Over the years he had let people think his disability was worse than it was. He did have trouble with too many stairs or balancing a tray but most of the time he could manage quite well as long as he didn't stand for too long. In prison he had been without a cane and managed just fine. When his leg got too tired to manage the gas pedal, he wedged his walking stick against it. It was a bit dicey but it wasn't like he was going to drive the entire way to Dover.

He pulled into a busy parking area at a train station part way to his destination and purchased a ticket to London. There weren't any police about. He had traveled southwest. It didn't matter how long it took to get out of the country it just mattered that he did. He removed his case from the boot of the car and waited for the train to pull in. He had thought he would have to ditch the car in the country but it was equally well concealed in the busy lot and it would take some time for the local constabulary to realize the car was abandoned.

He carefully chose an empty compartment. The train wasn't busy today. By the time he reached London he had changed his clothes. He carefully repacked the clothes he had been wearing. There was no sense in leaving any trace that he had been there. People thought disposing of clothing was a way to avoid capture. Prison had been full of the fools that thought that way. This wasn't the stuff of cheap novels and motion pictures. He had learned through his mistakes. Cold and calculating was the way to go. He would allow his beard to grow. In a week or so no one would recognize him.

He thought of his funds sitting securely in a bank. The only time he had stopped making cash transfers was during his incarceration for Vera's murder. Anna had come close to figuring out the truth, but a few well-placed lies and sweet kisses and she had easily been talked around. Disposing of Vera had been part passion and part exasperation with the woman's stupidity and greed. He and Vera hadn't seen eye to eye on anything after he had joined the army. She wanted the high life they had been leading but it had gotten too hot. The army was faceless and there were always opportunities if you kept your ears and eyes open.

He and John Balfour had hit it off right away. The two Johnnies, Balfour had called them. They had a good racket going. One or both of them would distract the driver's of a supply wagon while an accomplice took one or two cases of supplies. The other John had said a large theft would be looked into. A few cases falling off a cart here or there would never be missed. He had been right. Their black market connections had made them a pretty penny. John was smart he should have been an officer, not someone like Grantham who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was all uniforms and show. He didn't know the first thing about strategy. It was Grantham's inept planning that had gotten Balfour killed. He had been so busy saving Grantham's skin he hadn't been there to save his best friend and he had wound up with a bullet in his leg for his troubles.

Vera had seemed foolish when he returned to England. He had been drinking and not paying attention to what she was up to. She didn't understand the game of cat and mouse and taking only what would go unnoticed. She had gotten greedy and at the same time got a kick out of stealing. He had told her to leave the silver at the mess alone. It was counted on a regular basis. Any pilfering would be noticed right away. They had been fighting the day before the theft. She wanted more money and he had refused to give it to her. There was no sense drawing attention by spending beyond what would seem normal in his job. It was a game of waiting until they had enough to disappear into a new life where the money wouldn't be questioned. Vera couldn't wait. She'd stolen the silver from the mess and he'd been blamed.

He didn't know when he had stopped loving Vera or if he ever had. The early part of their marriage had been daring and fun. While he was in prison for theft she had demanded money. When he finally told her where the stash was she had spent every last penny on useless pursuits. She hadn't believed that was all there was and had demanded more and more. When he was released he had returned to find she had wasted every last cent of his hard earned cash on drinking and taking fancy vacations. He'd left her in disgust.

His in and out life at Downton had been interesting. He'd decided to rob Grantham when he tried to fire him for nothing other than taking a bullet and having a bad leg. Grantham had changed his mind at the last minute, but John's desire for revenge had been triggered. He'd set up the racket for pilfering hay and feed and steadily expanded it. Vera had showed up with her threats of blackmail. When she'd found out he was up to a new game, her demands for money had started all over again. She wasn't a master criminal. Her world was one of petty theft and blackmail. She couldn't think bigger. He'd wanted rid of her so he could set up house with Anna, Vera had wanted a bigger piece of the pie.

It had been too easy to fool people on the estate. When Matthew Crawley had gotten too close to discovering the thefts he'd tampered with his car. It had been meant more as a warning than anything else. When Matthew had died his revenge had been bittersweet. Matthew had been a nice man. The joy he had expected watching Grantham suffer the loss hadn't been as satisfying as he thought it would. It hadn't diminished the pain of loosing John Balfour one bit. When one of the chauffeurs had spotted him on the floor of the garage, he'd made the excuse that he'd fallen while retrieving something left in the car. Not a soul had questioned his story.

Here he was now, twenty-four hours after his flight from Downton about to enter the port of Calais.

"Welcome to France, Mr. Balfour," the customs official said. "Your destination please."

"I'm headed to the south coast for a touch of sun," he said. He altered his accent slightly to sound more cultured.

"Enjoy, your stay, Mr. Balfour," the official said as he stamped his passport.

"Thank you, I will."

The passport had been obtained under the name of his best friend now long dead. He'd had the document for years. All he had to do was go to the passport office every five years and have it renewed. He headed for the ticket window at the ferry dock to purchase a train ticket to Nice. A winter spent in warm weather amongst the wealthy whom he knew exactly how to rob without their ever realizing would be just the thing. He deserved a break after working for Grantham these last few years. Besides he wouldn't mind sitting back and reading a book on the beach. It would give him time to think and figure out how he could get Anna to join him. All he needed was time.