Imogen stopped the small cart again and scrambled around it in a desperate attempt to keep the sheets that were piled up on it from falling down onto the ground. That was just what she would need, to have to go back and do the wash all over against because she'd let the freshly dried linens fall down onto the dusty path.
She just managed to get around to the stack and steady it and she let out a sigh of relief before looking at the dry path she was traveling down. Any other day it would have looked well cared for. Perfect for a stroll or the like. But today, with her precious cargo, every pebble seemed like boulders and each small depression a great yawning void that threatened her and her load.
Resting her arms on the stack of clothing she let out a sigh of frustration and general malaise. She didn't know why she seemed to always get into these messes.
'No, that's not true,' Imogen she thought to herself, blowing a few strands of hair that had become undone out of her eyes, only for the offending bits to land right back where they'd started. 'Just admit it, everyone is right about you. Can't do anything right.'
Imogen knew she wasn't a smart girl. Known that for a long time. She got distracted and confused so easily. But was that really her fault when the world was so big and there was so much to remember!? Even at home there had been so much to remember, of what she should and shouldn't do, what tasks needed to be done… sometimes it had felt like her head was stuffed with facts and details and dates and times and people were just trying to shove more in! And it was even worse now with her working for the Bates family. She longed for those simple days where her mother had to tell her not to eat a certain berry because it would make her tummy shrivel and quake (and if that was the case why would the good Lord make the berries look so pretty?) and what she must do each day and how to do it if she got it wrong. Now she had to remember how to get to certain places in the village… which was the largest place in the world, she just knew it. And times! She had to remember to be at this place or that! And then there was the proper way to clean things and to fold things… and interacting with people. Be friendly. But not too friendly. But she didn't even understand what 'too friendly' was though she knew that what some of the lads thought was friendly and fun were strange and scary to her-
Of course… she could admit that many of the things Mrs. Bates demanded she know and remember were important. If she were late getting the milk it might spoil and that wasn't good at all because that would mean the baby wouldn't have anything to drink! Noah was so very cute and she wouldn't want to hurt him or make him cry. So remember the milk. She had to remember the milk. If she was late-
Imogen stepped away from the cart only for the sheets to begin wobbling again and her eyes went wide as she rushed over and steadied them again. That's when she remembered she hadn't gone out for the milk, she'd merely been thinking about getting the milk. No, she was doing the laundry and it kept nearly falling out of the cart…
She sniffed and sucked back on the tears that threatened to fall. No… she was a big girl. A lady nearly grown. There were girls in the village only a year older than her who were already getting married! She wouldn't break down in the middle of the forest sobbing!
"Are you alright?" a woman said, startling Imogen out of her thoughts. She leapt back from the cart only to see the folded sheets begin to topple but the new arrival hurried over and stopped them seconds before they would have fallen onto the path. "My, we are having trouble, aren't we?"
"I'm having trouble," Imogen said sadly. "What trouble are you having?"
"Nothing I just… never mind." The woman smiled and patted the sheets she was currently holding up. "I'm Masie."
She was a round little woman with a fleshy face and short dark hair but she seemed nice enough. It was hard to tell sometimes as she'd been told that a smile could mean many things. She didn't see why it had to… why couldn't a smile just be a smile? Why make it so confusing?
"Imogen," the girl said with a slight smile, remembering what Mrs. Bates had told her about being nice to guests at the hotel. Granted, they weren't AT the hotel but that didn't mean Masie wasn't a guest or could be a guest or might have been a guest at some point so it was wise for Imogen to be nice to her. That only made sense. Unless it didn't. "Are you a guest?" she blurted out before adding, "At the hotel? A guest at the hotel? I work at the hotel."
"No, I didn't even know there was a hotel here," Masie said.
"Well, not in the forest," Imogen said with a giggle. "That would be silly. Who would run it? The birds?" She paused, suddenly imaging blue birds wearing little suits, inviting squirrels to stay in their nests for a while. Bringing up luggage filled with acorns and making sure there were tiny little mints on the pillows… who made the suits? The bees? They had stingers and those were like needles. She remembered getting stung once when she'd tried to pet a bumblebee and it had hurt like she imagined a needle would hurt.
"Where is the hotel then?" Masie said, breaking Imogen out of her thoughts and making the girl blush that she'd got caught up daydreaming against.
"Oh, down in the village. The Grantham Arms. One of the best hotels there is!"
"Well, if it's all the way down in the village what are you doing out here all alone?"
Imogen pouted at that. "Mrs. Bates told me to do the laundry." Masie looked at her and Imogen finally realized she needed to explain because she didn't actually know all that had happened. "Normally I am quite good at doing the laundry. But today Mrs. Bates suggested I do it outside since it was so warm out and that would give the sheets a fresh scent. I wish I could have just hung them in the basement but I didn't want to upset her so I took them out back. But when I got there someone had cut the line!"
"The line? Oh, the clothes line."
"Yes!" Imogen exclaimed, flailing her hands about. "Who cuts a clothes line? Didn't they know I was going to need to do laundry today? There it was, all lying on the ground and I couldn't hang the laundry but then I remembered that Mr. Phillips who lives out here has a clothes line and he's been out of town for the last two weeks visiting his son who is near Dover. I loaded up the cart because I knew he wouldn't mind and I hung them up before returning to the hotel to work on cleaning the dining area. And now they're all dry but now they keep wanting to fall out-"
Masie held up a ahnd, cutting off her rambling. "Why didn't you just make two trips?"
"Because what if someone stole the sheets?" Imogen said. It was very obvious and she didn't know why Masie didn't know that.
"But you just said you left them to dry and went back to the hotel."
Imogen blinked at that before squeezing her eyes shut. "I did. I did. Stupid, stupid…" she wanted to smack her head. "Oh, why do I do this? Why do I always make things so much harder for myself?!"
Masie reached over and patted her on the shoulder. "Now now, no need to get upset. Why don't I walk with the cart and keep a hand on the sheets until we get closer to the village? The road should be smooth by then and you won't lose them if you go close."
"Oh… oh would you do that for me?"
"I wouldn't offer if I wouldn't," Masie said and it took Imogen to figure out that the woman meant yes, yes she would help. Letting out a sigh of relief the two of them began to make their way back towards the village, going slowly but not as slow s Imogen might have gone otherwise.
"I haven't seen you around Downton before," Imogen said, furrowing her brow as she tried to place her helper's face. "Are you new?"
"Just passing through," Masie said. "I have business to attend to."
"Oh, do you have someone at the hospital?"
"A lot of people come because of that. It certainly seems busy up there, doesn't it?" Masie asked.
"Oh yes. It has made business quite hectic, it has." She bobbed her head up and down. "Mr. and Mrs. Bates manage though quite well."
"I imagine they do," the woman said politely, tensing a bit but continuing on. The sheets must have shifted. "Good little life they've built for themselves."
"Yes, it is," Imogen said brightly. "They are such good folks. Help out all of us!" She bobbed her head rapidly as she thought of the kindness of her employers. They were always going out of their way to help someone if they really needed it, welcoming them into the hotel for a kind ear or letting them borrow something if they were in desperate need. "Mrs. Bates is very kind. I go to her about many things."
"How… nice of her. How kind is John to you?"
"Well… kind," Imogen said, not quite sure what Masie was getting at.
"You spend time with him?" Masie askes.
"A bit… mostly I go to Mrs. Bates if I need something."
"But never John?"
"Not really. He is busy with other things. Very important man."
"But you respect him, don't you?" Masie pressed. "Admire him?"
"Everyone does." Imogen couldn't think of anyone that didn't like Mr. Bates. Even his lordship now came down to talk with him! His lordship!
Masie glanced over her shoulder, smiling coyly at her. "But perhaps even more than others?"
Imogen didn't like how Masie was talking. She didn't know what it was… what bothered her about what the woman was saying… but it made her want to scrub her skin with a stiff bristled brush. She felt bad thinking that, because she was helping her out, but still…
"Not… not really," Imogen said softly, looking down at the cart, not wanting to meet Masie's eyes. Now she really wished that she had just done two loads, so she might not have run into Masie and begun this conversation. It was making her feel awkward and squirmy and she didn't like it at all.
"Are you sure about that? You wouldn't be the first young girl to notice an older man's charm. And there are benefits to having a man such as that interested in you. He is very wealthy, from what I hear."
Imogen kept her mouth shut.
"And," Masie pressed, "he seems like the kind of man that would be interested in you. You're younger than Mrs. Bates… she just had a baby, after all, and that does things to a woman. Perhaps he has been watching you, growing fond of you, and you didn't even notice? He might be… receptive of you, if you just asked-"
"I can make it from here," Imogen said quickly, twisting the cart so she quickly went around Masie. "Thank... thank you for your help but… thank you." And with that she hurried off, not looking back. Imogen reached over and pressed her hand to the sheets to keep them from falling as she hurried back to the hotel, leaving Masie far, far behind her. She decided that she'd talk with Mr. and Mrs. Bates about the strange encounter, let them know everything the strange woman had said. It was probably nothing but the conversation just seemed so wrong…
Except when she got back to the Hotel Mr. Lang would ask her to help him clean up a spill a guest had made. And then Mrs. Lester informed Imogen that because she'd done so well a week ago helping prepare the chicken for the evening meal she'd show the girl how to prepare some beef they'd managed to get as payment from a local farmer. That had been quite a bit of fun and Mr. Bates had complimented her on how it had tasted! And Mrs. Bates had said the sheets had smelled great and Imogen had soaked up the compliments like a sponge, beaming as she went to bed.
And as her eyes had fluttered close just before sleep had claimed her she'd thought briefly about… May? Maddie? She couldn't remember but…
…
…
…
~Mc~MC~MC~
Returning to Mr. Phillips house Masie looked about before quietly rapping her knuckles against the back door. She barely had done it once before it swung open and she was practically yanked inside.
"Do we need to go? I gathered our things."
"What little there are, Phyllis," Masie muttered in annoyance, any warmth or kindness she'd held while talking to Imogen fading away. Like dew under an intense sun. She looked around Mr. Phillips' house and once again fought the urge to sneer at how utterly plain it was. Dreary too. They kept the shutters closed at all times and were careful to only light candles in rooms where there were no windows, so there was no risk of anyone seeing the light. As a result it felt like they were in some circle of Hell that was forever consumed by shadows. Going out there to talk with the girl, Imogen, had hurt her eyes even with the clouds rolling in to cover up the sun. "And no, we're good here for a while more. The owner isn't due back for another two weeks."
"I don't like this," Phyllis complained as Masie removed the bonnet she'd put on. It was old fashioned, at least 20 years out of date, the same as all the other clothing Mr. Phillips kept in his house. One hoped it was merely his dead wife's but honestly with her low opinion of Downton he might just be a serial killer who kept trophies. A lazy one who hadn't gone for a kill in ages. "What if he comes back?"
"I'll deal with him then," Masie said coolly as she removed the shawl she'd wrapped around her shoulders to make herself look older. Phyllis shot her a look and she rolled her eyes. "Not like that! I'll just explain the situation… or a version of it. Something to calm him down." It was a lie. Both of them knew it. If Mr. Phillips returned early… well, she'd already selected the hammer she'd use to put a hole in his skull. Good heft and a decent reach. But Phyllis didn't like talking about what they might actually need to do and she had no problem keeping her partner in the dark, as it were, if it kept her from whining.
"Vera… this is too risky."
'Masie' scoffed at that, the last of her false identity falling away as she became Vera once again. "It isn't. You're just letting your nerves get the better of you. This is the perfect plan." She paused before finally rolling her eyes in frustration. "Fine, it's a decent plan and the best that we have at the moment but it's a plan nonetheless." She waved her hand toward the window; even with the shutters closed she knew exactly what lay beyond the small house they were squatting in. "Would you rather live out there like beasts? We have beds here. Food. Can actually heat water for a bath. Clean our clothes."
"They aren't ours though," Phyllis pressed her. "They don't belong to us."
"For someone who was heading to jail for a long time you have rather strict morals," Vera said with a dark scoff.
Phyllis glowered at that. "I told you-"
"Yes yes, a man. Men are always to blame." For anyone else that would have come off as an insult or sarcasm but Vera, for once, was being honest. Men truly wear the worst thing the Lord had ever created. "But we aren't hurting anyone. The owner, he's the one that left everything here. He's the one that only locked a single door. He should be thankful that we aren't going to rob him blind!" Left unsaid was the fact that Vera had already found his hidden stores of bank notes and coins and used them to buy food. Not from the village, which was an utter pain because it was so close and it would have been so easy to just head down there… but no, not with John living there. She wouldn't risk him knowing she was so very close. Vera instead would use Mr. Phillips bike to head to the surrounding farms and buy directly from them. Enough people in the area did that anyway that there was no true danger in that. She just always had to remember which farm she claimed to be coming from, a cousin of some bumbling dirt mucker here for a visit to escape the War and the dreariness of London. It took longer but honestly other than spying on John and plotting her revenge she had very little else to do. Mr. Phillips was a retired cobbler who had decided to make his home on the outskirts of Downton… he had very little in terms of books and what he did have didn't interest Vera at all, especially since it meant huddling around a candle in order to see the pages.
And sending Phyllis was out of the question. The woman wasn't built for lying.
'An honest criminal, who'd have thought such a thing existed.' Vera thought as she went over to the pitcher of water they'd drawn from the well a few hours ago. 'Still, she has her uses.' It had been Phyllis who had first heard about Mr. Phillips leaving the village for a few weeks, having gone down to trade in some of the coin Vera had managed to snag while escaping London to buy some bread. 'And she knows how to be quiet. Too many people get impatient, want to just get on with things… she knows how to wait.' Which was good because Vera wasn't ready to see John just yet. She needed to make sure things were perfect.
She looked around the kitchen once more, Phyllis having gone back to reading one of Mr. Phillips' few books when it became clear Vera wasn't in the mood to talk anymore. The home was rather depressing, especially with what Vera was used to. She hadn't been rich in any sense of the word, having been forced to be careful with John's savings and the money she herself made selling goods to the local merchants. She was no captain of industry or grand lady who could command a fortune from one of her shawls or a pie she baked but it had been enough to afford a small place of her own where she might be… well, not happy, because it was no longer truly possible for her to be happy. She'd been… not content either. Or comfortable.
'Treading water,' she thought to herself as she drank the room temperature water. It wasn't as cold as what she was used to in London but it did taste cleaner so she supposed that was something. 'I was treading water. Just keeping my head up. Not drowning but not swimming either.'
But Mr. Phillips place was a step down for her. No indoor plumbing. If they wanted a drink they had to sneak out to the pump out back. Same with using the bathroom… according to Phyllis it appeared that this house had once belonged to a farmer's family who'd moved away and allowed another to run the land. She'd pointed out where a barn had once been and the signs of field boundaries that were far more wilder now. Thus all he'd had was an outhouse, having never seen the need to have a water closet installed within his home. Vera hadn't had to use an outhouse in decades and the smell alone had made her gag. Still, at least it wasn't winter.
She shuddered at that. It had taken them far too long to get to Downton due to the weather and their need to be cautious.
"Are you okay?" Phyllis asked her.
"Fine. Just remembering our trip from London."
"Oh. Yes." Phyllis shut the book and let out a soft sigh. "That was rather uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable?" Vera demanded in frustration. "Hellish is another word for it! The proper word!" She still remembered how cold it had gotten, how they'd been forced at times to hide in barns, burrowing into hay mounds like rodents… and waking up with said rats getting ready to nibble on their fingers and toes. Of being so hungry they'd honestly considered eating leaves and grass. The terrifying moments when they'd seen an officer and thought for sure they'd been recognized.
"But we're safe now," Phyllis said.
"For now," Vera said darkly. She turned, looking at a spot on the wall. It wasn't anything important. Nothing of note or the like. Only she knew that if the wall was torn away, and all the other walls and the trees beyond it as well, she'd be able to gaze upon the Grantham Arms. It was miles away but still she'd see it in the distance. So close yet so far. Taunting her. Calling out to her to just hurry up and act. But she had to wait-
'Why though?' she thought to herself. 'Why do I need to wait? He's right there… ready and waiting. Like a fat goose on Christmas Eve, waddling about honking so everyone knows he's around. Making a grand show of flapping his feathers and wagging his tail feather. Why… why wait any more? Why not end it right now?'
She knew what she was going to do. Had thought it out. Had taken several days to look over the Grantham Arms, to figure out how to get in and get out. Everyone said he checked the locks and kept everything secure but Vera knew a way in. A back door that led into the kitchen. The fat fool that made food for John and his customers would leave it unlocked so she could sneak out and see the two men that were vying for her hand.
'So easy,' she thought to herself. 'Sneak in, nice and quiet in the middle of the night. Climb the stairs. Find the nursery…'
She'd planned it out. John had gotten himself a son. A cute, pudgy, squirming little thing that could only lie on his back and gurgle and wail, just like all babies. Nothing special. Except he was John's. And that was all that mattered. Get in and take him away, without a peep. No note, no clues. Nothing to let them know what had happened to the boy. It would eat at John… she knew it would. He would tear apart the world to find his boy… and had anyone else taken him he might have ended up finding little sweet Noah. But Vera… oh, Vera had always been so very good had being a step ahead of John.
'Take him to the Continent. It is chaos over there with the war but there are enough parts that are peaceful enough that the two of us can hide. Take him there and raise him myself. Teach him how the world truly is. Make him understand the folly of love. Know only hate. Hate for John Bates. His own father.' Of course she'd have to get rid of Phyllis… wouldn't do to leave someone who might talk. But that could wait until they were safely out of England, established in a new home. Vera could easily claim to be a refugee, a poor woman who'd lost her husband to the fighting and now needed the kindness of strangers. She grinned. 'And then, years from now, when John has seen another marriage destroyed, his business bankrupted by his search, and found himself once more drowning in a bottle… I'll send his son back to him to finally finish the job.'
It was almost… Biblical.
"Phyllis," Vera said at least, "pack our things. I think our stay here is about to end."
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Notes…
…
…
So the plot bunny is Vera slips on some ice and dies a horrific death and everyone is happy.
