The presence of the ghostly visitors became more pronounced ever since the journal made its way into the house. Servants spoke in hushed tones about catching glimpses of their reflections not mirroring their actions, but instead, standing motionless, staring back at them with hollow eyes.
"Do you have a moment, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes said, one hand on the door knob, leaning ever so slightly into his sitting room. "Why yes, of course." He replied.
"What is it this time." Carson said, anticipating something unpleasant, but not anything like what Mrs. Hughes was going to unveil.
"The staff's morale...is a bit low. And I worry-"
"I know, I know, it's been a lot with the nerves of a war upon us again and the majority of the family back under our roof, it's a lot to manage, and perhaps I have been overwo-"
Mrs. Hughes then cut Carson off, "well, sure, that is part of it, but..."
She sits down.
"I'm afraid it's more...obscure than that." Carson raised his thick, bushy eyebrow. "I'm sure you've heard the whispers," Mrs. Hughes went on.
"Well of course, it's a servants hall, it's full of whispers, as long as there's been great houses for them to be a part of." Carson responded.
"Mr. Carson. That is not it. I...I am struggling to find the correct wording, but...haven't you felt something different in the air? Heavier?..Sinister even?"
Even the ever-stoic butler, known for his impassive demeanor, betrayed a flicker of emotion now and then. As he sat rigid in his chair, his hands moved restlessly, sliding from his thighs to his crisp, white vest, which he clutched and tugged sharply. He then twisted his neck with a tense, deliberate motion and sighed deeply.
"I've worked at Downton, man and boy, given my life to it," Carson started.
"I'd like to think I know all of its secrets, and I can't believe I am saying this, but I have been feeling a chill as of late, walking through the halls, and Lady Mary this morning at breakfast mentioned that she heard something last night, something most unsettling. Something that I had heard murmured about in the servants halls nearly a century ago...and as much as my character and beliefs tell me not to believe, I can't help but think it is not a coincidence."
The two sat in silence.
"Have you noticed how Arthur, the new hall boy doesn't look at any of the mirrors?" Daisy said curiously as she wiped dry the pots and pans at the end of the night in the downstairs kitchen. "What ever do you mean, Daisy? Maybe he's just busy with his work and doesn't have time to look at himself all day in the mirror like a vain king, speaking of, is that pot dry?!" Mrs. Patmore shouted irritatingly.
"Well after he took up the kedgeree and came back down for the next course, he was quietly whispering to someone...well because no one were there..."
"Daisy, you're making much ado about nothing, now finish wiping those pots dry before they get covered in mold!" Mrs. Patmore exclaimed as she started to untie her apron to hang up and get ready for bed.
Daisy finished her work half past one and laid up her apron for the day. As she passed the servants staircase to head upstairs, she froze. Hovering at the foot of the stairs was a woman, her neck bent at an impossible angle, face sorrowful and distorted by grief. Daisy retreated, stumbled, and fell onto the ground. The woman didn't move, just stayed hovered above the step. Daisy was transfixed, she shut her eyes as hard as she could waiting for it to go away.
"He sees your William," a hoarse whisper said. After a few seconds, Daisy unclenched her eyes and the figure was gone.
