Richard stood at the window, looking down from his office at the street below. The people were going about their lives, worrying about the small meaningless problems and nothing else. Not that they thought their problems were meaningless. To them they were the largest and most important issues in all of existence. Nothing before and nothing to come would be able to match what they faced in their minds and thus their attention was focused only on that.

That wasn't to say that in their own tiny part of existence their problems didn't matter. Richard wasn't blind to the fact that for some people they truly did have things they needed to worry about. Men who worried they would be out of a job. Children who feared about their grades and what it meant for their futures. There were wives that feared their husbands would never come home, dying in Europe for a war they didn't truly understand and parents that prayed their boys would return to them safely. Richard had reported enough death totals to know that things weren't going as the government wanted people to believe. Oh, he felt that they would still win, for what army in existence could hope to stand up against the might of the British Empire? But the cost to keep the machine running would be the blood of an entire generation of young men. For others it wasn't death that bothered them but life… and how it would change. The injured. The maimed. The broken.

'So many will be feeling this war and its effects for decades to come,' he thought to himself. 'And if this does not show the world the folly of such fights then there is no hope for humanity to ever achieve peace.' For as cynical as he was even Richard Carlise had no desire for another Great War to come in his lifetime.

But for every parent that prayed their child would survive this madness the Germans had created and for every child that wished to see their father return home and remain, there were plenty of others that simply remained so utterly self-centered that they only knew their lives and troubles and not what was truly going on in the world. Worrying about what meal they would eat or if their clothing was of the latest style or envying their neighbor for having something they didn't actually want but now desperately needed. Such was the way with the little people. Richard understood… he came from their stock. But unlike them he'd risen up, beyond such things.

'They can barely see beyond the tip of their nose. They have no idea that so much of this world is controlled… what they think is their own thoughts and discoveries are really crafted by others…' He smirked. 'Exactly as I want.'

There had been many different avenues that Ricahrd could have gone down when it came to plotting out the path of his life. He was intelligent and cunning and determined like all great men were. He could have been a captain of industry or been an actor on stage who got applause every night or become a general who helped win the Great War or gotten into politics so he might guide the nation through law. But he had come to see early on that it was the newspaperman who was the true master of the world. For it was them that shaped the minds of the populous and thus pushed the world in this direction or that. You could make the greatest invention but if no one knew your device existed how could it ever hope to succeed? One could put on a performance that made the crowd sob with grief and roll with laughter but the right negative review would kill your career dead. Generals could bellow till they were blue in the face that a battle must be fought but if the public had been fed the right tales by the newspaper then all the support would shrivel up and die. Kings and Prime Ministers believed that it was their word that shaped the destiny of a nation but in reality it was he who did that. He chose what the report and what to brush to the side. And thus politicians rose and fell upon his whim. He was the moon and the world was the ocean whose tides rose upon his whim.

It was a heady liquor, the sweet taste of information. And he so enjoyed savoring it so.

'But therein lies the problem,' he thought as he walked over to his wet bar and poured himself a drink, not carrying in the slightest at the earliness of the hour. 'Information isn't wine. Age doesn't make it better… the opposite. It is fruit. Sweet, tempting… sinful.' He smirked at that. After all, hadn't God proclaimed the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge forbidden? 'One must know when to sample it, when it is most ripe so that the flavors bounce on the tongue and tickle the mind. Too early and you miss out on so much. But wait too long and it spoils, becoming rotten.' The same was true with his paper. He knew that many people believed that he instantly ran to print the moment a story broke out but that wasn't the case with most of his stories. There were some… the great tragedies and upheavals that much be reported on the moment they came into being. But for many others half of his job was to understand when the world was ready to hear a tale.

Richard sipped his drink. That was why he was getting so frustrated. That damned fool Gregson was beating him far too often. He plucked the tree clean of fruit and left Richard to scrounge on the ground for what he could find or run stories far too soon in hopes of beating his rival even though that also meant that his stories lacked the punch just a few days more could bring. Or he ended up playing catch up and his stories were little more than fodder that treed over familiar ground.

'I was supposed to have this handled,' he thought bitterly. 'Weeks ago… months! Branson was supposed to be my spy within Gregson's operation. And what happens? He is sent off to the countryside to write articles on soldiers lying in hospital beds. He isn't in the newsroom, he doesn't even visit London! What good is he as a spy if he can't even do the job!?' He gripped the glass tighter, teeth clenched in frustration. 'I can't even threaten him because he's done nothing wrong!' Richard did not delude himself… he knew he was vile in many senses of the world. The rich and elite with their titles and grand manor homes would look upon his acts and scowl and cringe. They would see him as little more than a brigand in a nicer suit. And he himself could admit that he did underhanded things in order to get ahead in life. His fortune and standing in the world had been built not upon golden bricks but clay made of the most foul mud. Yet… for all that… Richard did have his honor. Even if it wasn't what others thought it to be. 'I will use men as I wish but I don't destroy them needlessly. One does not chop down the tree simply because one apple is bruised.'

It would be a waste of an asset to make good on his threats against Branson at this moment. Information… it was a fruit. And it could only be eaten… or thrown… once. Wasting it like this, over something that Branson had no control over, would cost him an asset. Richard had spent months preparing for to force Branson into his service. That was how it was with all his contacts and sources: months of work to get them into the right place. For some it was desperation. Others need. A few it was finding a weakness to exploit. But in the end it was a lot of work… that needed to pay off.

"Sir?" his secretary said, poking her head into his office. "Miss Swire's here."

"Show her in," Richard said with a smile, setting his glass down. 'Speaking of pay off…' he thought to himself as the young woman entered, looking timid and nervous as always. Lavinia Swire had been another project that had taken him a lot of time and effort to cultivate. He hadn't targeted her at first… it had been the government he sought to put into his sights. But a man couldn't merely set out to destroy an institution such as that. Those who attempted to do such things were Guy Fawkes… they were Don Quixote riding on a donkey towards a windmill. No… to topple a government was like trying to bring down a brick wall; everyone thought it impossible. That is… until one found the loose brick, the crack in the mortar, the weakness in the foundation. The right hit and everything came crashing down.

For the British Government it had been Mr. Swire. He had been the one that he knew would be stupid enough to leave evidence. He hadn't know of what, of course. People had this belief that he was a genius that came to them because he'd already figured everything out and just needed that final piece to make the story. And Richard had no problem with people believing that. It fact he wanted them to. It made life so much easier when people feared him as the master of all knowledge. But in reality when he went to someone to apply pressure… he had no idea what he might get. Oh there were some times when he had an idea, but with most? Most it was a gamble, a shot in the dark. But Richard had become rather good at making his shot count.

With Mr. Swire he'd seen that he was the weakness in the scheme. And his weakness was his niece, Lavinia. He cared for her… and she was guidable child. He'd spun his story about her father owing him and she'd naturally assumed that it was about money. A lot of money. Like all rich children she had no understanding of wealth and he had quickly come to use that to get her under his thumb. She had gotten him the information and by pulling on that brick he had brought the wall tumbling down.

'And like any fruit… if you do things right the seeds will grow into new trees… and new fruit will blossom.'

"Ah, dear Lavinia. Please have a seat."

He waited to see if she would grow angry with him, curse him for being so familiar and kind when they both knew they would never be friends. But she merely nodded and took her seat, drawing her arms tight towards her body, eyes looking down at the surface of his desk. Good… she realized the position she was in. It became so bothersome when people suddenly thought they could alter deals with him.

"I was beginning to grow worried when I didn't receive word from you… I thought you might have lost your nerve. Or your touch."

"I had to be careful," Lavinia stated. "You know that."

"Was it being careful? Or stalling?"

She looked up and there was a brief moment when the fires that had existed in her before flickered up… before becoming embers once more. "Being careful. I didn't want to risk being caught… and neither would you."

"It would be a bother to lose such a cunning little minx like you."

"Especially if I sold you out," Lavinia reminded him, the fires flaring to life once more.

'Time to snuff those out,' Richard thought. "I would advise against that, my dear. After all… you've seen what I'm willing to do to get ahead. And you know what happens to those that cross me."

"You hurt them," she said. Lavinia had never been harmed by him but during her time getting the papers she had mentioned, purely in passing without a thought, of a rather bothersome neighbor who couldn't leave well enough alone. He constantly was bugging her, asking her to go to this place or that, to stop what she was doing to spend time with him. Had no concept of the word 'no'. Lavinia had complained to him about the gentlemen, how he was making it hard for her to meet with him… so Richard had decided to do the decent thing and assist. He'd stepped in and helped… as any good and noble man would.

He'd paid off some men to break the lad's legs.

It had served three purposes. First and foremost it got a meddler out of his way. He so did hate those that meddled. But it also made sure that Lavinia did what needed to be done… and understood that his threats weren't idle. He was not a man that raved and ranted only to slink away when pressed. When he promised to destroy someone… he did.

"But," Richard told her as he settled down at his desk, pressing his finger tips together, "only those that cross me. Those that show me respect, who work with me… I will protect them."

That was true as well. He knew that his reputation made people think that he would betray anyone and everyone the moment it benefited him. And for the most part he would do that… but not to those that still served a purpose. A source that had dried up and now was nothing more than someone looking to get something for nothing? He would happily sell them out in a moment. But a source that was willing to work with him, help me? He would be their champion. There were homeless urchins that went to bed every day with full bellies because of the coin he paid them, workers who didn't need to fear about providing for their children because of his kindness, and criminals that would have been sent to the bottom of the Thames by now if it weren't for Richard ensuring that their employers understood that he would be… very unhappy if anything happened to them.

"Now then," he continued, "what exactly have you brought me?"

"And what makes you think I found anything?" Lavinia pressed.

"Because you are a smart girl, my dear. A very smart girl. And smart girls understand that men like me don't have time to waste on pleasant conversations that go no where." He held out his hand. "Well?"

Lavinia looked at him for several moments more before opening her clutch and pulling out a folded letter. Rather than hand it directly to him though she quietly placed it on the desk and slid it over just enough that he could reach it but only if he leaned across the desk to do so.

'Let her have her little power plays. If it brings her a bit of joy and keeps her from rebelling any more…' Still, as he reached to take the letter, he made a mental note that if she pressed him any more that he would need to begin pressing back. It wouldn't do to let her get away with whatever she wanted to do. There was innocent rebellion and then there was causing problems and he would not stand by and let the latter take root.

Holding up the letter Richard made no move to rush in opening it. A game he sometimes played, making sure to inspect some new source of information he was given to see if the provider would begin to squirm with worry and fear. Lavinia though merely sat there and watched and thus Richard busied himself with actually looking over the letter, taking it in.

'Good paper. Smooth finish. No feathering on the address.' He held it up, rubbing the envelope. 'Actually traveled. Not faked.' One learned quickly in his line of work to make sure that a letter actually had been sent through the post and not merely made to appear like it had. But the envelope had the proper markings and there was a bit of wear from being handled by multiple people. Upon the front of the envelope was the address Lady Mary Crawley was staying at during her time in London, written in a strong male hand; Mr. Branson's handwriting if he was correct. Opening the flap he pulled the letter held within out, seeing that it was of the same quality as the envelope, most likely part of a matching stationary set. "Did you find it like this?"

"No," Lavinia stated. "Lady Mary had tossed both into the trash. I retrieved them while she went to get a scarf she'd forgotten."

"So she'll never notice it gone. Good." Richard tapped the letter on his desk, still refusing to open it. "And when did you get this?"

"Yesterday. I waited till today-"

"It doesn't matter. The point is I have it now." Mentally he added, 'And this kills two birds with one stone. Material I can use against Lady Mary Crawley as well as information on Mr. Branson… information perhaps he should be sharing with me?' He opened the letter, which had been clearly folded at least twice and handled several times, only to stare at the contents. "What in the-"

"I know," Lavinia admitted. "I thought it peculiar too. That's why I waited, as I tried to tell you. I didn't know if it would be something you'd be interested in…"

"Oh, I am VERY interested!" Richard said as he set the letter down on the desk and smoothed it out so he could better read it.

'15-23 19-47 143-5 98-29 32-105'

And that was just the first line. It continued on like that through the entire page. Carefully written out script in the same solid hand as the envelope, a set of two different numbers. Sometimes the lines were only a few sets of numbers long, other times they covered the whole page and then jumped down to the next line to continue on with the sequence. He leaned back in his chair, hand holding the letter tightly while the other idly drummed against his desk.

"It's a code, isn't it?" Lavinia asked.

"Of course it's a code!" Richard snapped before taking a breath and calming himself. "I mean," he said in a far more controlled voice, "of course it is a code. A cipher, to be precise."

"I couldn't make heads or tails of it."

"I imagine you couldn't," Richard said. "It's a book cipher. The first number refers to a page, the second to a letter or word on said page. Hmmm." He looked over the letter carefully and saw that no one page was ever repeated, meaning that even figuring out what number was E (the most commonly used letter in the English language) he still wouldn't be able to crack the code. "The trick is figuring out what book is the key. Both parties must have it…" He trailed off, smiling slightly at her. "Well, I won't bore you with the details. Thank you."

"That's all?"

"That's all." He stood up and moved towards the window. It was a power play, a show of her standing in his eyes. Just was his waiting until she had reached the door before finally saying, "Do not think that means our business is done. Merely that I expect you to go out and deliver more information for me."

Lavinia shut the door and Richard waited a minute more before letting out a 'hmmm' and then setting the letter on his desk before walking over to a small cabinet, opening a drawer and pulling out a Bible. Richard wasn't a God-fearing man but he did attend service; mostly because it was expected of him but he still attended each Sunday and he kept a Bible close by… though not for the reason most did.

It wasn't the Angels that Richard sought as he sat back at his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper of far less quality than the letter before opening the Bible. 'Page 15,' he thought to himself as he began to write out words…

~A~O~O~O~F~

"All I wanted to do after that meeting was come back and see you," Lavinia said, scraping her fork lightly against the crust of her blueberry pie, the slice sitting nice and warm on her plate.

"And I am glad you were wise enough not to do so," Mary said, serving herself a slice of pie before settling herself at the counter in the Lothrop family's kitchen. "Carlise is a vile creature and I wouldn't be surprised if he is having you followed. And how would you explain coming to see me right after you betrayed me so?" The raven-haired woman let out a small titter of laughter at that.

Lavinia didn't share her amusement. "I thought as much as well," she admitted, picking at the pastry before finally taking a small bit on her fork and sampling it. Of course it was delicious; for someone that had grown up being waited on hand and foot her friend had proven herself one of the most skilled pastry chefs in all of England.

"What?" Mary said and Lavinia realized she was smiling despite the seriousness of their situation.

"Just thinking… I wonder how many daughters and sons of high society have secret talents like you but never learn of them because of duty? What Baron's son is a master at training hounds or Duke's daughter would be the best sailor to ever take to the seas?"

Mary smirked at that. "Anna once suggested that I should be a detective and her my plucky assistant. Though I wouldn't mind being a captain of a tall ship. The wind on my face and the sun behind me as I came upon some vessel loaded with treasure…"

"That would make you a pirate, not a sailor."

"And I do believe I would make for the most talented of pirates. I would have an entire crew of talented women and we would surprise all the men by looting their chests and sinking their ships. You would be my First Mate, of course."

"But of course," Lavinia said and the two shared a laugh, the tension Lavinia had been feeling thinking about the fact that Carlise was having her followed easing away. At least here she knew she was safe.

Mary took another bite of pie before speaking. "If we were then we could do away with these games and just make Carlise walk the plank."

"I don't think you'd do that," Lavinia countered. "You enjoy far too much this game we are playing."

"That is true," Mary admitted. "But I also know that you don't enjoy it." She sighed and shaved another piece off her pie. "You know that if I could end all of this right now, I would. You know that right?"

Lavinia nodded quickly, hating the desperation that was coloring her friend's words. "Of course. But we both know that we have to play this game."

"Because of Carlise," Mary said, responding at once to the guilt that Lavinia didn't voice but still felt all the same. "That vile man is the reason we are having to do all of this. And that is part of the reason why I am so looking forward to making him suffer. He has put you in such a terrible position and as such I am going to deliver unto him pain a hundred times greater than he has caused you."

"I never asked-" Lavinia reminded her.

"And you never will have to," Mary said, talking right over her. Lavinia sighed, knowing that her friend would never take 'no' for an answer if she asked her to stop this vendetta she had. That was the best and worst thing about Mary Crawley: when she decided on something nothing could get her to change her mind. "Now, tell me about the meeting."

"It went about as well as we assumed. He saw me right away, made some vague threats about what he would do if I tried to get out from his grasp, and then I presented him with the letter."

Mary smiled at that, finishing off the last of her pie and leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand, not caring in the slightest that she was going against proper etiquette by pressing her elbows on the table. "And he fell for it, didn't he?"

"Yes," Lavinia told her, a hint of exasperation filling her tone. "But you knew that he would."

"Well, I wasn't completely sure."

"You were utterly sure," Lavinia challenged.

"Very well, I knew he would accept it without a thought. That kind of man… he always assumes that he is smarter than everyone else. That he has seen every angle. He would never assume you were trying to deceive him." She waved her fork lazily in the air. "And the idea you would actually come to me and admit the truth? He couldn't see that happening because he would never do that himself. The man is just so… arrogant." She stood up and took her plate to the sink where the servants would see it washed before she took the pie over to another counter and began to wrap it in paper. "What did he do with it? I want all the details. I did put so much work into it I wish I could have seen him with it so I could admire my work."

Lavinia let out a sigh of annoyance but knew the smile on her lips made it clear that she wasn't truly mad at her friend for being so obsessed with their scheme. 'It's nice to have someone who cares,' she thought, wondering if this is what it would have been like if she had been given a sister before her mother's passing. 'No,' she thought just as quickly, 'not if Mary and her sisters are anything to go on!' While clearly caring for each other the stories Mary had told her about her life and Downton and all she and her sisters had done had made it clear that sometimes sisters weren't all sunshine and rainbows and ponies.

"He looked over the envelope, just as you expected. I also agree now with your suspicion that he has samples of Branson's handwriting. He took too long inspecting the address."

"At this point we need to assume he has samples of all our handwriting. I wouldn't put it past him to get hold of them."

"You think he's getting our letters?" Lavinia asked, not liking the thought of that one bit.

Mary though merely smirked. "I doubt Carlise has gotten a hold of the letters you and Henry are sharing." Lavinia blushed at the mention of her old childhood friend and how they'd been keeping in touch while he was in France. "Though I suppose it would be wise to not be too scandalizing in anything you send him. No descriptions of all the naughty things you-"

"Mary!" Lavinia exclaimed, looking about to make sure no one had heard her… in the deserted kitchen.

Her friend gave a gesture of pause. "More likely he gets a hold of our samples other ways. How many times have you signed your name in a guest book or jotted down a request at a store? Those would be far easier to get a hold of… according to Edith there is an entire market in the paper game for getting such things. Servants, merchants, clerks, all manner of workers… a bit of coin is all that is needed to get them to forget all about their promises of discretion."

"It is frightening to think that those we trust could turn on us so quickly."

"Is it?" Mary asked, arching an eyebrow. "I thought it more fearful how much we rely upon others without thinking they might do just that. But enough of that. The letter? I hope he was pleased with it… it was rather tiresome convincing Tom to write it out for me."

"Obviously he would have preferred actually knowing what you wrote but it appeared that he was more than happy to take it from me and learn its secrets. I get the sense that he liked knowing that I had no clue what I had given him."

"Men like Carlise like to hoard knowledge like most people hoard pounds," Mary stated.

Lavinia nodded. "He never pressed me on the letter once he saw the contents."

"Not that it would have done him any good," Mary reminded her. She had made it clear to Lavinia that she wouldn't reveal what the letter contained when she'd first hit upon sending the man on this wild and useless chase; after all, there was no way for Lavinia to reveal more than she should if she knew nothing. Her friend suddenly gave a little laugh. "I wonder how long he'll work on it before he commands you to give him an account of all the books in my room?"

"What did you use as the key?" Lavinia asked. Mary had been the one to set it all up, creating the coded message that was designed to help lead Carlise right where she wanted him to go. It wasn't enough for her friend to merely drive him off… that would mean that he'd take advantage of another innocent girl. No… Mary wanted to break him and with the others had crafted a plan to do just that. Lavinia didn't know much about it as it had been decided that the more she knew the greater the risk of her letting something slip by accident.

"The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent," Mary informed her. "A gift from my grandmother… my American grandmother. She said with me being so rebellious perhaps my colonial roots were finally taking hold and bearing fruit. A book that Carlise will never think to look in…" Mary tittered. "Not that it matters."

"Why is that?"

"Because if he decodes that message all he'll get is the recipe for that pie you just had."

With that Mary took Lavinia's plate away.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Mary is a devious bitch, ain't she?

As for our plotbunny let's go with another comedy of errors, shall we? A short and sweet one.

Season 1. Episode 2. Matthew arrives at Downton earlier than in the show but through a series of misunderstandings Carson comes to believe him to be the new chauffeur that they have hired and Matthew, not liking any of this, decides to… have some fun. Accpeting the job he finds Tom Branson arriving in town and makes a deal with him: Tom pretends to be Matthew Crawley while Matthew will pretend to be Tom.

And they decide to just fuck around with everyone.