To Those We Belong, summary:
January 1933
An unexpected visitor shows up at night heartbroken, messed up and in need of help.
Thomas receives several letters which force him to confront the past and make a decision.
Richard deals with the fact that his upbringing and family were very different to that of Thomas's, which causes conflict between the couple.
Chris is faced with a person from his past he thought he'd never see again, who brings a new arrival. The peace he's had since moving to Downton is endangered.
David finds himself in the middle of troubles Chris faces.
And Downton's visitor is determined to prove to himself, and someone else that they are worthy of love.
Family can be complicated, friends must come together.
...
January 1933, somewhere in Yorkshire
The lone driver sped through winding narrow country lanes, surrounded by impenetrable darkness of a late winter evening. Night in cities was never actually dark, but out in the middle of nowhere not a single light broke up the gloom. It was the kind of darkness one could only experience in the countryside. The car's headlights picked up the spitting rain that stung at the driver's face, each drop stabbing their skin like hundreds of cold tiny needles. If the temperature were only a degree or so lower, it would turn to snow. It would have been sensible to put the roof up on the convertible before they left a few hours before, but the driver's thoughts were muddled, and their actions rash. No logical thought was put into anything that led to where they were now.
The driver's vision blurred as another tear drop fell from their eyes. They wiped it away with an angry swipe of the hand. The car swerved as one hand was removed from the wheel. Tiredness ached behind their eyes, head fuzzy and as blurred as their vision. The afternoon and early evening had been busy, socialising had been hard work, but it was the pints of beer at a country pub earlier on that clouded the driver's mind. How many had it been? Two? Three? The driver shook his head. The car swerved again, only just making the turn in the road in time. The landlord had suggested they'd leave so it couldn't have been more than four. The glass may have been a half pint, who knows? The landlord had been polite, telling the driver they'd better leave before they said something that would land them in trouble. Shame. Being kicked out of a bar was not something they'd experienced before.
The driver laughed stupidly as more tears fell. The grip on the wheel tightened. A face, his face, came into his mind's eye. A face full of disappointment, of hurt. The driver shook their head, rubbed at their eyes until the face was no longer visible.
Guilt.
It was obvious why that one person was all they saw. The driver had no idea why they did it. After all those years of being sensible, well sensible enough not to get caught up in it all. The popularity, the parties, the men, except for one of course. They'd balanced self respect and a lavish lifestyle for ages, why mess it up now and over something that, when they thought about it, was so materialistic, so trivial. One deal too far, and the driver had lost the person most precious to them in all the world.
Maybe they'd been lucky until now?
No, they were just stupid. Stupid and selfish. They'd had been generous, but was that all even real, all those charitable projects? What was the real motive?
Love. They needed love. They had it, and now they've thrown it away.
Idiot.
The driver's hands had been numb for sometime, but now the chill had started to spread through the rest of their body. It couldn't be far now. The car sped up under pressure on the accelerator. It flitted through road after road, turning corners at the last moment, racing each one as though daring it to put a stop to its driver's mayhem. The car was not made for smaller British roads. Each corner came faster, swerving left and right. The driver pushed their luck harder and harder, as though losing now wouldn't matter.
The car didn't slow when it crossed a four way junction. Somewhere to their left a car horn blasted angrily. They never even saw it. Trees, naked of their summer foliage, twisted and angular branches flicked past either side. They were not far away. Downton's roads were familiar even after only a few visits. Why Downton? Why run away there? It was a sanctuary to so many who had nowhere else and the driver had been liked there, least they had been the last time.
The warmth from the drinks earlier had left the driver's throat long ago, replaced by drying cold. The small silver flask inside their jacket pocket called out in temptation. One sip and it would all be okay again.
One hand off the wheel to reach for it was all it took.
Lucky? Not so lucky now.
The hedge and grass verge came at the car faster than anticipated as though it actually moved towards the car, meeting it halfway. The shadow of a tree trunk came faster still. The driver wrenched the wheel as far right as it would go, wheels skidded, mud kicked up, splattering the long bonnet, tires splashing in the surface water. They closed their eyes and waited. Perhaps it was better this way?
The car stopped, trapped at an angle, engine still running. He opened his eyes, one by one. He moved, arms first then legs. All still working. The back wheel spun uselessly in the air, not far above the mud, but not close enough to gain a single ounce of traction.
He pushed the door open and stumbled out, almost slipping but saving himself at the last second. One hand gripping to the car's runner board, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the flask. After his legs became steady enough, he twisted the cap off and drank the liquid down in one. It didn't last long enough though.
With an irritated groan, he tossed the empty flask into the footwell as he searched on the passenger seat for the bottle he'd nicked from the serving table on his way out of his house several hours before. He pulled out the cork and drank a heavy fill, throwing his head back the rain still hitting his face over and over. His head swam, and just as he feared he'd stumble and fall into the ditch his hand met with the trunk of the tree he'd almost collided with moments before.
Lucky? Perhaps.
Bottle half empty in his hand, he trudged forward towards the car again, polished shoes now brown and oozing mud inside. Reaching onto the backseat he found the suitcase. How he packed it he had no idea? Why? He pulled it out and stood motionless, heavy breaths misting against the January night air in front of him, dissipating like cigarette smoke. He shrugged to himself. Not a clue.
He walked further away from the trapped car, his shoes thankfully meeting with tarmac. He looked each way. Downton?
He turned right. "Fifty, fifty chance I suppose. Can only be right or wrong," he mumbled as he started to venture down the road. An afterthought stopped him. The case met the middle of the rod with a thud as he half-walked half-stumbled back to the car, leaving it behind. He reached in and pressed a button, turning off the lights. He turned the ignition key, silencing the engine.
Returning to the road, the man picked up his case and pocketed the car key. "Wouldn't do if someone took off with that o-one. I, I-I'm, rather fond of it,' he slurred as he trudged off in the direction he hoped Downton Abbey would be.
Note: I debated about whether I should upload the prologue and chapter one at once, but after realising that would mean a wait for you all of about four weeks at least, if I'm being realistic, I decided to run with it and post it anyway. It probably didn't make much sense on its own, but should by the end of chapter one. If anything, I hope it leaves you guessing.