A/N: Thank you everyone for your kind words and encouragement. Today it's someone's turn I have never even tried to write before and I don't know if I did a good job at all. So don't hesitate to let me know.
Nothing comes to him easily, he thinks, but there are worse things. What's important in life is to be kind and to remember other's kindnesses. Mr Bates lending him the money in his time of strife. Mrs Hughes requesting Mr Carson would take him on as footman. Of course it's a step back. Of course it's not what he's trained for. But he is grateful. He doesn't go hungry and he doesn't get so dirty with grime he cannot get clean again.
And there's Phyllis. With her soft eyes and her remarkable skills and a gentle soul as he's never encountered. He's not felt the need to protect anyone before and he has never been made to feel like it matters before. They get on well. Very well.
Their conversations are easy, their silences comfortable. They drink tea and play boardgames and help Daisy with her course work. He hasn't much education, but he tries. Perhaps he is learning too.
He worries for his job. He's heard Lord Grantham speak of dragging Downton into the twentieth century. Everybody knows what that means:
They will all be standing outside on the gravel, their extra month's wages in an envelope in one hand, a suitcase in the other and then what will they do?
The workforce these days is flooded with skilled young men and all he can do is wait at table and announce guests. He can dig ditches, but it doesn't pay enough to pay much more than the rent. It's not enough. Not enough to build upon.
He turns over in his narrow bed and pulls his blankets tighter. He prays they'll be spared. He prays for a miracle. When he finally falls asleep it's so deep into the night, the silence is all-encompassing. He dreams of a cottage and new woollen socks and of Phyllis by a low table pouring tea and slicing cake.
The knock on his door comes too early and he wakes disillusioned.
Still a footman.
Still only himself.