One
It was still dark, the birds not even welcoming dawn with their morning chorus, when Daisy woke up in order to start her chores. Stifling a yawn and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the scullery maid dressed in the cool, shadowy bedroom her thoughts focused on the numerous tasks ahead of her.
Daisy left her room on silent feet, padding down the corridor in her soft-soled shoes and down the stairs towards the kitchens. Before she woke the other servents, she needed to start the fire in the kitchen and put hot water on for tea and washing.
Daisy always found it eerie to see the kitchen empty and silent in the early mornings, instead of the crowded, loud, sometimes smelly and always messy places they were during the daytime. Mrs. Patmore, the head cook, would be bustling around, barking orders to the kitchen maids and assistant cooks, her keen eyes watching for any mistake, her nimble fingers ready to poke and prod a roast vegetable or steamed pudding to test for doneness, her voice rising above the chatter of the younger girls, the crackle of the fire and the clanging of pots and pans.
Daisy knelt by the stove and opened the door, took a poker and pushed the bits of charred wood and charcoal that remained from the night before. Leaving the door ajar, she went to the pile of firewood in the corner of the room and returned with an armful. Arranging the logs in the stove, Daisy stood, brushing bits of bark and dirt from her apron, took the box of matches from above the stove and stuck one. She paused for a moment, watching the small orange flame dance with her breath, before lowering it to the dry kindling. Once the wood had caught fire, she tossed the matchstick in with the rest of the kindling, closed the door to the stove and picked up the copper teakettle from the counter. Filling the kettle with icy water from the large sink, Daisy carried it carefully back to the stove and set it atop one of its cast-iron burners.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Daisy exited the kitchen and returned to the floor where the servants' bedrooms were. Walking down the familiar corridor, Daisy rapped sharply on each door she passed, waking the others so they might get started on their daily chores.
Without stopping to see if anyone was actually awake- Daisy knew from experience they were all getting dressed and ready for the day behind closed doors- she headed back down the staircase to start lighting the fires in the manse's other rooms.
DA
Daisy ran into the servants' dining room, just off the kitchen, just in time for breakfast. The others were already seated and eating, conversing idly with one another.
As Daisy sat down, she caught sight of Thomas Barrow smirking at her.
"What?" she asked, patting her bonnet to make sure no hair had escaped, her cheeks turning pink.
"You have some soot on your cheek," Mrs. Patmore told her.
Daisy looked down at the tabletop and wiped at her face, embarrassed.
Mrs. Patmore turned her attention back Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper.
"You know I would, but I have a busy day ahead of me and I can't spare the time."
Mrs. Hughes nodded, her gaze lighting upon the other servants.
"Daisy," she spoke suddenly.
The young girl looked up, a piece of toast in her hand. Was she in trouble? What did Mrs. Hughes want with her?
"Yes, ma'am?" she asked, putting the toast on her plate.
"When you're finished here," Mrs. Hughes said, "I need you to go deliver breakfast to the north tower."
Daisy stared at her, "Th-The north tower?"
"Yes," the housekeeper said, "Neither Mrs. Patmore nor myself can do it today."
"But- But-" Daisy stammered, the colour draining from her face.
"Not disobeying a direct order, are you Daisy?" Charles Carson, head butler asked.
"N-No sir," Daisy replied quickly. She peered down at her breakfast, her appetite suddenly gone.
"She's just scared of the monster, Mr. Carson," Thomas piped up, smiling at Daisy cruelly.
"Thomas," Carson said in a warning tone but the footman ignored him.
"He's black fur all over his body, and horns and fangs for teeth and sharp claws-"
"That will be enough of that!" Carson barked, "Mr. Barrow you are excused."
Still smirking, he gave Daisy a wink as he left the dining room, O'Brien, ladies maid to Lady Grantham, following him.
"Don't listen to Thomas," Mrs. Hughes told Daisy, "He's talking nonsense."
Daisy nodded and took a bite of her toast. It had gone cold and soggy and she put it back down on her plate.
The servants all knew of the man who lived in the north tower of Downton Abbey, even though they were expressly forbidden from discussing him. Rumours were rife, especially among the newer staff or those who were young and impressionable. Daisy had never actually seen the sole occupant of that forgotten tower of the manse but she knew Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore had. As more senior members of staff, they were charged with brining him his meals and anything else he might need. They never spoke of him though; either to the other servants or to each other. They simply performed their appointed chore and kept mum about it.
Now Daisy, a lowly scullery maid, was being asked to bring this mysterious, frightening person his meal. It sounded so simple but Daisy was terrified.
"Everything will be fine," Mrs. Hughes tried to reassure her. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a single key.
"All you must do is unlock the door, set the tray on the table and leave, being sure to lock the door behind you," she instructed.
Daisy nodded; how easy Mrs. Hughes made it seem.
The scullery maid picked at her toast until she could wait no longer and she stood, heading into the kitchen to find Mrs. Patmore.
"The tray's over there," the head cook jerked her chin in the direction indicated, her hands busy kneading bread.
Daisy went to the counter beside the stove and looked down at the tray. The morning repast was rather meagre in her opinion, consisting of two slices of toasted bread, strawberry preserve in a small pot, a cup of tea and a metal jug of water and a glass.
"Don't stand their all day staring at it, girl," Mrs. Patmore scolded from over her shoulder, "Go deliver it."
"Yes ma'am," Daisy muttered and picked up the tray, avoiding the curious gazes of the other girls working in the kitchen as she left.
As Daisy walked towards the north tower, she allowed her thoughts to dwell upon the man who called that lonely wing of the abbey home.
Was he really a monster? Did he really look the way Thomas said he did? How would Thomas even know? He'd never seen him, Daisy was sure. Why was he locked up anyway? Did every first-class home have a monster in it? Why was he locked up anyway? Was he ugly? Dangerous? Maybe he was mad? But if that was so, why wasn't he in Bedlam? Who was this so-called monster? How had he come to be here?
Daisy knew Carson, Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes, maybe even some others knew the answers to her questions but since the subject was taboo, she would never dream of asking any of them for an answer.
Besides, she shouldn't care, it wasn't for her to know. All she was asked to do was deliver a breakfast tray and that was it. She'd preform this one task and be done with it.
DA
As Daisy walked closer to the north end of the building, she shivered. There were no fires lit in any of the rooms and the curtains remained drawn across the windows. The family rarely ventured into this portion of the abbey, leaving it lonely and cold.
The room in which the monster dwelt lay at the end of a long corridor. Daisy walked soundlessly, holding her breath as she approached. She paused outside the door and listened but she heard no sound from within. Balancing the tray on one hand, she pulled the key from her pocket and put it in the key hole.
Just go in, drop the tray off and leave, Daisy told herself, just as Mrs. Hughes said.
Letting out her breath in a long sigh, Daisy turned the key and the door swung open.
The room was dark and it took a moment for Daisy's eyes to adjust. As soon as they did, the scullery maid fixed her gaze on the floor, which was slabs of limestone, worn smooth by decades of feet. The room itself was not large at all, similar in size to Daisy's own bedroom in the servants' quarters. Deliberately keeping her eyes on the floor, Daisy stepped over the threshold of the room and crossed to the table and two chairs that sat in the centre of the room. On top of the table sat a candle in a pewter holder, casting a soft orange circle of light upon the table's surface. Keeping her gaze on the table, Daisy forced herself to move further into the room, imagining a slavering beast hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce. She dropped the tray atop the table so that the dishes rattled and turned on her heel, task completed. Daisy lifted her skirt so she could hurry from the room as quickly as she dared and locked the door behind her.
She moved down the corridor a ways before she stopped and wiped her sleeve across her brow, her forehead beaded with sweat.