Like music, forks and knives scraping plates accompany the servants as they eat breakfast. The tea is hot and the chatter is plentiful with the house running at as full of a capacity as possible. There are forty servants in the hall, the kitchen maids eating with Mrs Patmore in the kitchen. It is seven in the morning and while most have been awake for only an hour, Mr Carson has been up for a little more than three.

"Mr Carson, I've been meaning to speak to you about the hiring of a new lady's maid." Mrs Wolfe stirs her tea, tapping her teaspoon along the edge of the cup and setting down on the saucer. "Lady Grantham would like to improve upon the quality of the service the ladies are being given upstairs."

The butler was awoken earlier than usual by the sound of his youngest crying. She was prone to nightmares, or had been when she was still a baby, but there was a storm during the night and it was likely the thunder had scared her. At least, as she got older her screams had shifted to soft sobs, not outrightly as startling. He was about to go to her, already pushing the bedsheet away from him, when he felt his wife's grip tighten around his arm.

"Stay, Charles. She'll settle herself soon enough."

"She's upset, Elsie."

His wife pulled him back to bed, voice muffled with sleep, "Wait a moment, Charlie."

He stares at her in the darkness of their room, with only the moon outside to provide a bit of light. He can see her hair, loose and fallen out of her braid, surrounding her head. She nuzzles in closer, arm moving over his chest, one leg tangling between his own.

Sure enough, he could hear the opening of a creaking door and the light tap of steps being made across the hallway, followed by the sound of Alison speaking to her sister. "There, there lass. It was only a dream, gone in the blink of an eye." The crying turned into hiccups, the sound getting louder as he presumed that Alison had picked her up and was taking her to her own room. "Or was it the wee, thunder?" A click of her tongue, "That's gone too. Only room for sleep now."

He should really get to oiling those doors, he thinks.

Mr Carson settled back into bed, no longer as rigid, hoping to get a few more winks before he had to leave, "She sounds quite like her mother."

"Aye. A fiery little lass, she is."

He gave a chesty laugh, a chuckle almost, kissed her hair, "I was going to say a kind and gentle soul."

Mrs Wolfe clears her throat, "Mr Carson? Perhaps later we might discuss it over tea as I am to post the advertisement by tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid Mrs Wolfe that we have a large wine delivery coming in today that will keep me occupied. I'm certain you can manage the hiring of a new employee well enough seeing as the female staff is not under my jurisdiction." Why was he suddenly expected to undersee this aspect of service too, he wonders. The bell for the back door rings and he stands, calling for William and some of the hallboys to follow after him.

Miss O'Brien hides a smirk as the housekeeper quickly leaves her seat.

"Something funny, Miss O'Brien?" Mr Barrow asks, pushing his chair towards the table.

"Merely a thought, Mr Barrow."

"I should think so. You'll have a lot of time for those if that advertisement is to find your replacement."

"Her ladyship would never fire me," O'Brien dismissed, finishing her porridge. "I've been with her far too long."

"Your quality has been lacking, Miss O'Brien. Perhaps you've been distracted lately. Anything of note that we should know about? A fancy man, lurking in the shadows?"

"Not likely," She scoffs, "Besides, there's loyalty to think of. Look at Lord Grantham, hiring Mr Bates. You wouldn't know of such a term, of course."

Mr Bates continues his conversation with Anna, an ear out for anything important the others were saying but attention focused on her. He speaks under his breath, "I do wonder how Mrs Wolfe and Mr Carson have managed all these years."

Anna covers her mouth, chewing quickly before she speaks, "What do you mean?"

"It's clear they do not get along well. I'd gamble to even say that there's some resentment on Mrs Wolfe's part." He lowers his voice even further, "Has she never taken to Mrs Carson?"

"Well, you see, there was an incident-" Anna begins, only to be interrupted by the bell in Lady Grantham's room ringing and coincidentally, Miss O'Brien as well.

"You're very perceptive Mr Bates but I don't think speculation does any good. As you well know," She remarks sharply before she makes her way towards the kitchen.

Mr Bates turns to Anna once more, "You were saying?"

"I really shouldn't say. It was an embarrassing event." Anna isn't entirely certain why she thought of that particular time when there were so many others to choose from, that might be more likely to be the cause of the rift between the two heads of the household. This one might quench Mr Bates' curiosity, she anticipates, at least for a while before he would see through it and ask for more.

"Oh, come now. You know I won't tell."

There's a glint in his eye that captivates Anna, causing her to smirk briefly before she has a look around the room. It's only them two and some of the maids, Gwen and Daisy, who is clearing the table. "Well, you see it was around the time when the Carsons were going to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. Lady Grantham was very insistent that they were to have the night to themselves, arranging for myself and Madge to care for the children and even meeting them down here to send them off. Before they left that evening- Oh, I can't continue. Nevermind. It's not appropriate."

"Oh but I can continue. That evening was possibly the most dramatic one we'd had since one of the footmen tore his livery on a nail." Mrs Patmore, who had been unnoticed as she listened from by the door, interjects. "When the Carsons went to leave, Davina began to cry. She needed to nurse, you see and so, her ladyship told Mrs Carson it would be alright for her to use the housekeeper's sitting room since Mr Carson had already locked up his pantry for the night. Mrs Wolfe had no clue. When she discovered Mrs Carson, in 'that state of undress' as I recall her saying, well, she simply went off the deep end. She terrified the baby and by gods, the tonguelashing she gave Mr Carson was a sight to behold."

"That must have been terrible," Mr Bates remarked, sipping on his tea.

"That's not even the worst part, she did all this without realising that Lady Grantham was present!" Mrs Patmore explained, enjoying this bit of gossip more than she likely should, "I would have given all my mother's recipes and savings to have had someone paint that scene. The look on her face buttered many parsnips for days later."

"I don't understand why there'd be a grudge between Mr Carson and herself only because of a misunderstanding."

"The grudge comes later when Mr Carson mentioned the event to his lordship in passing when he was asked how the evening went." Anna says, "He has quite a soft spot for the children and called Mrs Wolfe up for a word, told her that she will need to learn to respect Mrs Carson and all the work she does. The latter rubbed her the wrong way."

"So she takes Mrs Carson for competition?"

"I suppose." Anna shrugged, "When Mrs Carson had first left, the dowager asked for her advice on the management of certain events through Mr Carson."

"And Lady Grantham still confers with her from time to time." Gwen adds, her face reddening as she rethinks her interruption.

Daisy picks up the final plate from the table, balancing a tower of them on her arm and says, "Mrs Wolfe thinks it's unsuitable to have her talk to us."

"Does she now? Well, I would think it rather unsuitable if your wages for the year, if not the decade, were to be spent on replacing those plates so get a move on, Daisy." Mrs Patmore huffs, stalking off to the kitchen and barking orders.

Daisy lags back, ducking her head conspiratorially before she speaks, "She said it gave us the wrong idea. Something about frolicking off in the night and impropriety between servants. She thinks Mr Carson should have been sacked at the time for his behaviour." There's a shout from Mrs Patmore and she hurries off, careful to not knock any of the plates out of balance.

"But Mrs Carson had already resigned when she got married, didn't she?" Gwen asks. She became a maid at Downton a few years after the wedding transpired and had picked up the details from rumours and gossip which Anna confirmed as truth or lies.

"Yes, she did. She'd left for Scotland and came back for the wedding, it was all very correct." Anna rushes to confirm, keen on nipping any misconception in the bud. Although, anything she knew came from good faith rather than being entirely sure.

She never had mustered enough confidence, the gall to ask Mrs Carson directly and Mr Carson would turn red as a beet should anyone make such an enquiry to him. Still there was one time, when Mrs Carson had been worn down after a Church bazaar that the Downton staff were also asked to help with, where she had made an omission about the nature of her departure. She'd told her about Mr Carson paying her ticket fare because there had been some trouble with her family's farm. An accident of some sort. And then, while she was there, other issues began to arise and she had wondered why she'd gone back to Scotland at all.

"Then why would Mrs Wolfe think it improper," Mr Bates questions, furrowing his brow. "If Mrs Carson wasn't here in the run up to the wedding?"

"Because," Anna swallows, looking down at her lap, "A man contested the marriage when the banns were read in Scotland."

"What?"

"There was nothing to it, obviously. Else they wouldn't have married but it certainly roused wagging tongues here as to why the wedding was happening so quickly and why it was postponed afterwards."

"Was Mrs Wolfe already here by that time?"

"I think so," Gwen says, "She came in 1900, the month when they married, didn't she?"

The conversation is veering down a dangerous path and Anna pushes her chair back and stands, "Yes, well. All this chatter isn't going to get any of the rooms clean so I'd best be going. Gwen, are you coming?"

Milk, butter and vegetables. She mentally crossed off the list of what she needed, what they were out of. It had been days since she'd managed to get away from their cottage, having more work than she anticipated to do. Charlie was going to have dinner with them tonight and it wouldn't do to prepare some sandwiches- though he wouldn't mind, not really, they were past the need to impress each other in the domestic realm- not when he likely got a hard time from Mrs Wolfe about abandoning the servant's dinner.

Alison had finished school for the day and joined her mother as she ran her errands, a tight hold on Davina's hand as they walked, a small basket in the other to carry light things in it.

"Alison, you must remind me to get stamps before we return back to the cottage." Elsie checks the road, tapping the shoulder of her eldest when it's clear for them to cross.

"I don't know why you waste the money," Alison mutters, pulling Davina away from the birds which have caught her attention, "It's been ages since we've heard from Nana."

It's bittersweet for Elsie to hear her daughter call her mother "Nana" when she probably doesn't remember what she looks like or what her voice sounds like, the lilt of her thick Scottish accent, like a hymn her children would never understand. They'd only met once, before Davina was born, when Alison was around seven years old. She'd enjoyed the river, trying to catch the frogs. They have a photo all together, Mr and Mrs Hughes, beaming as they sat on chairs with Alison between them and Becky and herself standing behind them. She had paid out of her own pocket for it to be taken, sentimentally wanting something to show Charles when she returned. Something to frame with pride amongst all the photos of people from his side of the family. Except she forgot to pack it with their things when they were leaving and each time she asked in a letter for her mother to send it to her, the matter was ignored. So Charles never saw the picture, Alison has nothing to remember her Scottish side by, and Elsie could kick herself for making the error each time she thought about it.

"It never hurts to write a letter," Elsie sighs. Alison is right. She's sent four letters- lengthy and full of enquiries, worry and details- in the past weeks which she's almost certain have been received by her family in Argyll. Her mother wasn't a woman of many words, or any at all, unless there was something eating away at her. Elsie supposes that if she's had no word, it's a good sign and the money must have been of help. Nevertheless, a thank you wouldn't have gone amiss.

"I'd say it does when the reason you write them leaves you having to stay up late mending other people's clothes by firelight."

"Enough of your cheek, lass." She tuts, "Whatever brings in some extra money, is a job worth doing."

"Da wouldn't appreciate it being done so covertly," Alison tilts her head, mimicking her father's voice and tone, "Illicit ongoings, he'd call it."

"I said enough."

They've stopped in front of the hospital where Elsie needs to drop off some linens. Ones she's washed, and repaired. Alison is giving her a knowing look, a slight raise of her brow to show that she's right.

The girl is no match for her mother's glare and swiftly, she veers towards one of the benches nearby, tugging her sister to follow suit, "How about we wait here for Ma? You can look at the pretty flowers, Davina. Look at them, all purple like the ones Da likes to pick for Ma."

Elsie hastens her step, eager to not leave the girls alone for too long. If Davina noticed, she would begin to cry and Alison, try as she might, would not be able to quiet her down enough to not bring themselves under scrutiny. As of late, Davina had been growing oddly more attached to her mother and father. Strangers began to cause her upset and Elsie was running out of excuses, reasons to give as to why. Last time, at least, it had been only Mr Beedham who, with three little ones of his own, knew better than to make any comment. Soon enough, Davina would be starting school and Elsie hopes that will fix things, make her daughter more sociable, less afraid.

Fussing with her basket as she is, making sure she did not forget anything at the cottage, Elsie does not notice two individuals stepping out of the door and nearly runs headfirst into them.

"Oh I do beg your pardon, Dr Clarkson and-" She falters, not recognising the woman who is smiling at her kindly as she puts on her gloves.

"Mrs Crawley," she reaches to shake her hand, "And you are?"

"Mrs Carson, ma'am." She politely extracts her hand, understanding why her husband found her to be a difficult woman. She was certainly forward, slightly too familiar than what they were used to. Though Elsie supposes that's how it would be done in the larger cities where classes were a bit more blurred. She'd told her husband as much when just a week ago he'd come home in a bluster after Mrs Crawley and her son had first dined at Downton.

"Ah, you must be Mr Carson's wife. Do you work at the hospital?"

"No," Dr Clarkson interrupts, "Mrs Carson lends us a helping hand when there is an overload of work. She is very kind to do so."

"Excellent. I'm sure we will be fast friends then, since I intend to do the same." Mrs Crawley takes the basket from her, handing it to Dr Clarkson who is wearing a look of a mixture of appalment and amusement. She leads Elsie back out of the hospital entrance, "Tell me, Mrs Carson, I'm keen to make myself useful while I am in the village. Is there anywhere else that could be in need of my assistance?"

Mrs Carson takes a moment to get her bearings back, torn between making up an excuse and leaving in a hurry or taking pity on the woman who so clearly needs a friend and humouring her. "The church is always in need of help, ma'am. I'd say that would be a good place to start your search."

"You would think so and yet, I think Cousin Violet has scared them off with tales of my eager and stubborn nature. I've never known a vicar to refuse help in such an apprehensive manner. " Isobel coughs, noting the nearly agape expression on her companion's face, "I do beg your pardon. I shouldn't speak like that, you hardly know who I am."

And that admission alone is what pushes Elsie to make a decision, "Be that as it may, I do know her ladyship well enough to understand what you mean. I would hesitate to speak about her that way in the presence of others from the village; however, they may not be as forgiving."

"Yes, that may be true. I believe I have given Mrs Wiggan something to talk about by buying my own stamps instead of sending my maid to do so."

Mrs Carson gives her a small, reserved smile, peering towards the bench where her daughters are miraculously still sat on. "I must get on, ma'am-"

"Isobel, please. Call me Isobel."

"Then I must let you call me Elsie," She says, feeling uncomfortable by the turn of the conversation's tone. "Good day," She hesitates before adding, "and good luck."

"Who was that woman you were speaking to, Ma?" Alison asks, eyes fixed on Mrs Crawley as she walks away. The woman had a delicate way of speaking, refined almost like Lady Grantham.

She'd never admit to her mother that she'd overheard the conversation but she was glad her mother made a friend, or was going to, if Mrs Crawley gets her way. Alison would rather like to be someone like her, she thinks. The woman, apart from her higher quality hat and intricate updo, seemed so much like them and yet, not at all at the same time.

"That's the new heir's mother, dearest. Your father had said she was a nurse before her husband died."

"Oh."

"Here, let me carry Davina. Poor girl so tired after all this walking, aren't you darling?" Elsie scoops Davina up in her arms, balancing her on her hip. She taps her on the nose before they continue to walk. "Why? Who did you think she was, Alison?"

"One of us, I suppose." She whispers, hearing how stupid she likely sounds.

"Ever one with a strong imagination," her mother laughs, "Though with the way she speaks, I do think she could be taken to be that way."

"Is it very difficult to become a nurse?"

"You do need to go to a special school for it," Elsie thinks for a moment, "But your father will be expecting you to continue on in service, like us. That is, until you find a husband, then you'll end up like me."

"I do think it unfair that you had to surrender your work, all because you happened to find Da nice looking."

Elsie bites back a laugh, "That's not quite what happened. We married and that's different. It was expected for me to give up work."

"I don't see how. You still could work, your hands weren't cut off when he put a ring on your finger."

"And then who would have taken care of you two munchkins, hm?" She settles Davina against her more comfortably. The girl is becoming drowsy and if Elsie's lucky, she will be asleep by the time they finish their errands and arrive at the cottage. "Can you imagine your father chained to the stove or cleaning after you both when you've made a mess?"

"No, I don't think so." She concedes, kicks a stone in their way, "He wouldn't know where to start but then again, none of us are born knowing these things, so I think he'd have to learn."

My, my. How modern. Elsie shakes her head and stops near the post office. "Don't let your father hear you say such things, he'll never recover from the shock." Her mother quips, handing Alison her purse. "Now go get me those stamps before the world hears of the new revolutionary living in Downton village."