Chapter 4 – Invisible Strings
Downton – December 30, 1925
A/N: Listen, guys. I am enjoying the sweet tension here, but I'll not torture everyone. I was going to wrap everything up here, but I think it needs another chapter to be "right". So, one more to go after this, and I PROMISE it'll be complete before the weekend is through.
~CeeCee
NB: Jane Eyre is one of my all-time faves. I've read it a dozen times, and I explored the idea of unseen threads which connect lovers in a previous Chelsie story. It felt appropriate here, as well.
Something was happening, changing.
All week, especially since he'd returned from his father's on Boxing Day, she'd sensed it, something in Joseph Molesley, in his posture, the way he carried himself. Something unsaid.
When he spoke to her, at breakfast in the servants' hall, in passing in the hallway, she could tell there was so much he wasn't saying. She loved seeing him here, and the way the sudden sight of him sent a jolt through her.
But there was something about him this week, especially. A focus, a calmness, a sureness. She knew, eventually, soon, he would tell her all of these unspoken things. It was terrifying and exhilarating. That she had finally buried the woman she had been with Peter Coyle still startled her. She must remember to thank Thomas Barrow when he arrived for Lady Edith's wedding tomorrow. Change wasn't easy, often painful, but possible.
She understood that now.
She hurried past the kitchens, heading upstairs before the family's midday meal. Lady Rose's lady's maid had requested her help with some fussy beading on a headpiece, and she was a little behind in assisting her own mistress. She ran into Mr. Molesley at the stairs midway point.
"Miss Baxter," he smiled at her.
"Afternoon, Mr. Molesley," she responded, grinning back. It was impossible not to. "If you're coming from the dining room, that means I best hurry to her ladyship's room."
"You've some time, still. I saw you working with Lady Rose's maid. That was very kind of you. Lady Grantham cannot fault you for that," he was one riser above her, gazing downward, tray in hand. The stared at each other briefly, until he cleared his throat, broke the spell.
"I know I mentioned it earlier, Miss Baxter, but my father invited us to a New Year's lunch, when all of this madness has settled. Might we walk into the village together that morning? Tomorrow night will be the last night I'll be staying at Downton, in any case," he spoke without a trace of discomfort, his voice smooth and clear. She stepped up to join him on the next riser.
You don't deserve this, Phyllis. You're nothing more than my leavings. A voice suddenly punctured her calm, a voice from the darkest corners of her mind, a voice that sounded exactly like Peter Coyle. She shook her head.
"Yes, I do," she said aloud.
"Pardon?" Joseph's forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"Sorry, Mr. Molesley, I meant that will do, just fine. Lovely, in fact," she reached out, squeezed his arm. Pictured walking with him, in the crisp air of a January morning, two days from now. Stopping and turning to him, reaching out, brushing her hand across his cheek, touching his much-loved face, at last.
This is something you cannot comprehend, Peter. You don't belong in my mind, or my heart, any more. There's not room for you, truly. Not in my life, and not in my head, either.
Joseph was still examining her face closely. There was a look in his eyes that, for a split second, made her wonder if this was it, if he was simply going to lean over, and kiss her, right here, between upstairs and down, in this grand house.
Then something metallic clattered from the kitchen below, followed by a string of colorful oaths by Mrs. Patmore. They both laughed, closer to sighs than actual expressions of mirth.
And each continued onward, in opposite directions.
oooOOOooo
Later than evening, she was bent over the gorgeous pearl-studded headpiece that Lady Edith would wear tomorrow when she became a bride, painstakingly ensuring not a single stone was missing, that the beautiful thing was utterly perfect.
At last, it was finally finished, and she set it gingerly on the worktable. Flexed her fingers gently, massaging them. She always took special care of her hands, which were her livelihood, and which added so much happiness to her life, with what they could create. Her machine, as much as she loved it, wasn't right for every task.
She opened her sewing and notions kit, carefully repacking her supplies, which were scattered across the table. It was late, and very few others were awake. Mr. Molesley had stopped in to say goodnight about thirty minutes ago, and she thought of him, somewhere in the men's quarters, sleeping soundly.
Thought of what it might feel like, to lay beside him, wrap her arm around his slumber-warmed middle. Smell the resting, masculine scent of him. And then…just sleep, with her cheek pressed against the rise and fall of his back.
She rubbed her hands over her face. It was time to rest, now that Lady Edith's headdress was completed. She looked tiredly down at her kit, ensuring everything was in its proper place. Looked at the tight coils of thread, which made her think of something…
The first time she'd read Jane Eyre, her eyes had been swollen from weeping. Too much of what the fictional governess had endured resonated deeply in her, both the desire to be whole, in and of herself, and the desire to be loved.
She had poured over the scene when Rochester tells Jane he is leaving. The young woman replies with the tale of a thread, connecting the two of them, high under her ribcage, near her heart. As a seamstress, she had always loved that image: the threads that connected two people, lovers. But she'd never experienced it, not really, until now.
She wasn't worried the thread would snap, as Jane had. No, she simply felt the powerful tug of it, in her chest, her heart. That while she wasn't actually there, holding onto him as he slept, her heart beat in the same rhythm as his sleeping breath.
She had been lonely, solitary, for so much of her life. Including when she had been in Peter Coyle's arms. And yet, without touching her, Joseph Molesley made her feel like she'd not be alone again, as long as he was around.
