It was not like him to abandon his post in the room to serve the family, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Lady Edith would be alright on her own for a bit, and Mister Crawley rarely ever asked for anything when he came down for breakfast — not even for some more coffee beyond that one cup he had when he joined them downstairs. The butler figured he would be forgiven for making an exception this once.

His impressive eyebrows knit together in discontentment, Charles Carson rushed down the steep staircase and barged into the servants' hall in a huff. Slightly out of breath, partly from his brisk walk and partly from agitation, his eyes scanned the scarcely lit room. Apart from Mrs Hughes and Anna, no one was sitting at the long table as expected, but neither of the women was whom he was looking for.

Carson's already irate mood only darkened when he let his gaze wander further down the long room and caught sight of his target. He saw the way he was lounging there in the armchair in front of the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other, the newspaper opened wide in front of him; the audacity of him! He was finally given a chance to do what he had sought after for years, and this is how he planned on thanking his Lordship for his generosity? The butler could not believe it.

"Thomas, what on earth are you still doing down here? His Lordship should have been dressed and in the dining room for breakfast by now!" he exclaimed.

Quite nonchalantly, Barrow craned his neck around the backrest to look at the grim butler standing in the entryway with his eyebrows knit together in contempt. Sounding almost bored, the younger man replied with feigned ingénue: "The bell hasn't rung yet and he did not give me a time he wanted to be woken at today, Mr Carson. I'm assuming he's having a lie-in; didn't seem too well to me last night. So for now, I'm waiting here until that bell rings out."

Right then, the tinny sound of one of the bells on the board ringing filled the otherwise quiet room. Lazily, Thomas turned around even more to check and see if it was the bell from his Lordship's dressing room that requested someone to come up. However, it seemed as though he was in luck, so he rustled the newspaper in his hands and returned his attention to what was printed there in black ink.

Carson turned to look as well, only waiting to jump at the opportunity to berate Thomas for his insolence; but much to his dismay it was Lady Mary's bell that chimed. Anna, who had been quite intrigued by the entire exchange, swiftly laid her needle and thread down on the tabletop, got up and scurried out of the room to fetch the breakfast tray Mrs Patmore had already prepared to take upstairs with her.

In a gruff huff, the older man turned back around and hurried back up the steep and worn-in stairs to serve breakfast to Lady Edith, who would be down in the breakfast room by now. He had seen her walking along the gallery above about to come down, just before he passed the green baize doors to come downstairs. It struck him as beyond odd that Lady Edith should be down to breakfast before his Lordship; that never happened. But if he had not been too well the evening before, then maybe he was just having a lie in today, as Thomas had said. Begrudgingly, he decided to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt for once.

"Ah, Carson! Just the man I have been looking for," Matthew exclaimed, crossing the hall with a few long, confident strides, an envelope clutched in his left hand. Mary was walking right behind her husband, about to follow him into the library when he spied the butler and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm wondering, has His Lordship gone out for the day? I've been meaning to talk to him but can't seem to find him anywhere. He was not at luncheon, either."

The butler raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. "Not that I am aware of, Mr Crawley. But I only just returned from my walk to the village. I will ask Thomas or Mrs Hughes if they know anything."

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew smiled. Directed at Mary behind him, he added, "That seems quite odd, doesn't it? Robert never goes out without telling someone."

Mary nodded slowly. Just when the butler had turned to go, she turned to Matthew with a concerned look. Her mind was spinning as she tried to think of all the places he could be that they hadn't checked yet — it was a very short list in the end. "Edith told me he was not at breakfast today, either. You go ahead, I will join you in a bit."

And with that, she skeltered up the grand staircase, following along the dimly lit, narrow corridor leading to her father's dressing room. Once there, her hand reluctantly rapped on the white lacquered wooden door.

No response.

She knocked again, this time trying more force in case her father had simply not heard the first attempt. But again, she heard nothing from the inside, not even a tiny blip. More reluctant again, she twisted the doorknob and opened first the outer and then the inner door just slightly. It wouldn't do to simply barge in when he had not replied to her knocks before.

"Hello? Papa?" she asked quietly through the small opening, poking her head in ever so slightly when she still heard nothing in reply.

Again, there was no response, so she opened the door fully and stepped in, only to find the room to be empty. The bed was made, albeit rather crookedly, and she knew instantly that this had not been done by a maid. There was a book on the nightstand next to the lamp and his slippers stood underneath the armchair, ready for him to put them on in the evening after getting changed into his nightclothes. It looked all so perfectly ordinary, apart from the bedding. As if it were just any normal day and he had gone out to go about his daily business on the estate.

Matthew and she had looked everywhere around the abbey all morning long when Murray's letter arrived. Everywhere apart from the dressing room, that was. To Mary, checking here had been her last resort. Feeling disheartened by the revelation of yet another empty room, she looked around once more, acknowledging that this idea had turned out to be just another dead end.

Where could he be? And what could she do?

Looking around, she realised the only thing left for her to do to find him was something she had hoped she would not have to do. Not after the last time she asked her something concerning him.

Quietly and more than a little scared of the reaction awaiting her, she closed the two doors behind her again and walked the few steps back down the corridor she had come from. Only after breathing deeply to steel herself did she knock on her mother's bedroom door.

"Come in," she heard faintly in reply and did as asked.

The young brunette's eyes scanned the room, almost expecting her father to sit in one of the armchairs or standing close to one of the windows, looking out across the lawn. It would have been a familiar sight, and she would have been beyond happy to see it. But he wasn't there. There was not even a single trace of him anywhere. It was as if he had never set foot into this room.

"Mary, what is it?"

She hummed and hawed while walking in, reluctant to just straight out ask her Mama what was weighing so heavily on her mind.

"I'm just wondering…"

"Yes?" her mother pressed on, unimpressed by it all. At least she was intrigued enough to put her needlework down into her lap and look at her daughter, that was a start.

"Do you know where Papa is? Matthew and I have been looking everywhere for him all morning but can't find him anywhere."

Refusing to meet her eye, Cora replied clipped: "No, I do not. How would I? Have you asked Carson?"

"Yes, but he does not know, either."

"Then maybe try your grandmother. There is a good chance he went out to see her and forgot to tell anyone," said Cora. She tried her best to keep all the bitterness from seeping through. It would be the only logical thing for him to do — go to his mother and ask for her advice yet again. No matter how much damage following that would do. Cora herself could have very well lived without Violet's interference; it had only caused her more heartbreak. She had been right to doubt going there would do them any good the day before. What was Violet even trying to accomplish by asking them to come, sneaking in Doctor Clarkson as well?

Mary knew from her mother's tone that this conversation was over then, so she went back downstairs to meet Matthew in the library as discussed.

She entered the library again to find her husband sitting at the desk in front of the window, although he did, out of habit, stand up when he heard the door open to greet whoever entered. When he saw it was Mary who joined him, he relaxed slightly and waited for her to reach him, his arm stretched out for her, beckoning her in.

"Carson just came to report that nobody downstairs knows anything about Robert's whereabouts. Mrs Hughes hadn't seen him all day and Thomas assumed he was still in bed. Must have not been feeling well last night or something," he said sounding distracted, a worried expression creasing his brow.

"Well, if Papa had a lie-in today and did not ring for Thomas, then he must have dressed himself and gone out without telling anyone. I was just upstairs to check his dressing room, but it was deserted. Mama said we should ask Granny, maybe he went to visit her."

"Alright, I will ask for the car to be brought around. We will go this instant. Something feels off," he remarked in a hurry, already halfway across the library.

She did not like to admit it, but her husband was right. Something felt very off about this all. It was not like her father to disappear like that, even if he just went on a walk down into the village to clear his head. If that were the case, he would have returned by now, either way.

The short drive with Matthew down to her grandmother's house was spent in silence. She looked out the window, straining to maybe catch a glimpse of him on the way with no success, as was he.

She had tried her best not to give into this queasy feeling she had had in the pits of her stomach ever since he had missed luncheon, at least not until they had talked to her Granny. There had been no well-founded reason to worry before. Not yet. But now?

There definitely was something off, very off.

Upon first setting foot into the Dower House, Mary had been beyond relieved to see her father's hat on the hall stand down the hallway, his cane leaning on the wall right next to it. However, that feeling was very short-lived when her grandmother told them she had not seen him since the day before when he left his things there. She told them he had followed Cora on foot and forgot to take his hat and cane. Beyond that, her grandmother had not disclosed much, not even why he had chosen to do that, or rather been forced to. Instead, she had asked after Cora and how she was faring. Which was odd, yet again — to Mary that seemed to be the only thing all of this had in common.

Ever since then, Mary had felt uneasy. She couldn't shake the feeling Violet was keeping vital information from them, she only could not figure out why. It was all so confusing.

And where could he be? They had tried everywhere. Matthew had even driven around the tiny lanes of the village in hopes they would spy him wandering about or maybe sitting down on a bench somewhere.

Since their empty-handed return to Downton, hours had passed, and it was time to have dinner. They were all gathered downstairs, waiting in the drawing room for him to walk in so they could go through to the dining room. Minutes passed, then minutes turned into half an hour and still, he just would not come. Eventually — it was long after Carson had announced dinner was ready — Cora had declared they should go through. Right when she had passed by them, Mary thought she heard her mutter something bitterly about it not being fair to Mrs Patmore if they waited any longer.

When everyone was sitting around the table having dinner, nobody said a word about his absence. Instead, they each tried to diffuse this weird tension by engaging in meaningless chit-chat. It was so obvious they were all thinking it was peculiar. The topic of his absence hung heavily above the table, yet remained unspoken of; like a dark cloud looming overhead announcing a storm only waiting to break loose in the near future with nobody looking at the sky to notice.

The servants' hall at lunch the next day was eerily quiet, just like the rest of the house. By now, word had travelled and everyone knew that his Lordship had been absent the day before without saying anything and that he had not joined the family for breakfast that morning, either. Lady Mary had been down to talk to Carson a few minutes earlier, causing a slight ruckus when the hallboys simply stared at her before running off to tell the butler she'd wait for him in his office.

In the end, she had merely asked the trusty butler to send someone down to the village and ask the pub owners if they knew anything. Seeing as Carson felt a huge deal of pride in his longstanding position here at Downton Abbey and for having gained the family's trust like this he would take it upon himself to do as asked he had said sententiously. Thomas had managed luncheon for the family the day before, he would undoubtedly do the same that day, and gladly at that. This would give him enough time to go down to the village.

Startling most of the servants assembled around the long table, the butler put his cutlery away, stood up and instructed in his deep, booming voice: "If anyone sees or hears anything about his Lordship's whereabouts today, come see me immediately. If I am not yet back from the village, then kindly turn to Mrs Hughes."

Quickly and without waiting for a reply from the rest of the staff, he went to fetch his bowler hat and briskly walked down into the village. Strategically, he walked around and canvassed the pubs he knew his Lordship sometimes frequented to meet tenants, secretly asking the barmen if they had seen or maybe even served his Lordship that day or the day before. Much to his chagrin, they all declined. Tea time had passed already, but there was only one pub left of the few he knew his employer occasionally chose to go to.

When even Mister Wilson of Rose and Crown, one of Downtons oldest pubs, denied having seen anything, Carson could not help himself but feel quite crestfallen this trip had been for nought. Almost reluctantly putting his hat back on, he turned around to leave the rustic pub when the burly barman suddenly called him back, his wife now standing next to him.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to eavesdrop, Mr Carson, but I could not help but overhear that you were asking after Lord Grantham. I assume he is missing in some way?" the woman inquired quite sheepishly.

She was short, barely able to look over the counter, and standing next to the bear of a man she called her husband made her look even tinier. She was a kindly woman, though, Carson knew that much from Mrs Hughes and her reddened, round face gave much of the same impression. How the two women knew each other was beyond him, but it did not matter. His sole objective was to help Lady Mary in finding His Lordship.

His deep voice booming almost unpleasantly loudly in the still empty room, he replied: "Yes, indeed, Mrs Wilson. He hasn't been seen since the night before."

"I will say that I haven't seen much and at first I did not think anything of it. But yesterday morning, at the crack of dawn when I sent our boy out to deliver the newspapers, I saw a tall figure quickly walking down the road in the rain. Whoever it was, that was not a farmer and not someone from the village, either. He was walking far too upright for that and seemed too bothered by the drizzle, turned up the collar of his overcoat and all that. Had a hat on and carried a suitcase, that man. Looked important and as if he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Broad shoulders, long and dark overcoat. And then, when our lad came home dripping wet from delivering all the newspapers, he said to me that on his usual route, he saw someone who looked a bit like his Lordship walk around the village towards the station. We did not think anything of it, Lord Grantham wouldn't walk down to the village on his own at that time of day in the rain and carry a suitcase around, we figured, now would he?"

Curiously, Carson was listening to Mrs Wilson's account. The description of the man she had seen was not much to go by in itself, but at least it fit his employer enough to pique his interest. Nodding grimly, he asked: "And at what time was that yesterday?"

"It was very early, dawn was just breaking. As I said, I was sending out our lad to go around."

"You did not, by any chance, look at a clock when you sent him out?"

"No, I did not," she admitted woefully. "But wait, I think it must have been around 5. The train whistle for the first train in the morning went off not too much later, and that one usually leaves at around 5:30."

"Thank you very much, Mrs Wilson. That was most helpful," Carson said, bowing his head.

After saying his goodbyes, he quickly left the pub and walked back up to the abbey to impart his newfound knowledge.

"But what do we do now? That description the lady gave Carson is not much to go off. It might have been Papa, but it could also fit plenty of other men."

Mary was restlessly pacing the library, walking up and down on the carpet with her arms crossed in front of her chest as she seemed deep in thought, more talking to herself than Matthew.

He looked on in considerable concern, swirling around the whiskey in the tumbler he was holding in his left hand. He had tried to get Mary to sit down next to him on the settee for a while now, to no avail. She was too preoccupied by this whole business and he could not blame her for it. He, too, was more than mildly concerned for his missing father-in-law.

Softly, he replied: "Tell me again what Carson said. What did Mrs Wilson see exactly?"

"Oh," she sighed distractedly before recounting the key points of what Carson had relayed to her upon his return for a fourth time. "Just that she saw a tall man walk down the road in the rain, a suitcase in hand. It was not a lot to go by, Matthew."

"Yes, so I've gathered. She mentioned the train whistles going off for the early train, didn't she?"

Finally stopping her incessant, anxious laps around the library and releasing her arms to fall at her side, she nodded. "She did not look at a clock, but it must have been just after 5 in the morning, before the first train left the station."

"Well, let us quickly assume the man she saw was Robert. Where does that train go? Does it run north or does it go up to London? I can never quite remember."

Slowly, Mary walked over to the settees and sat down next to her husband at long last.

"That must be the train going to London, the one running north carries the mail and that does not get here until later in the morning when we breakfast. But where are you…"

"We should telephone your aunt. If it was him and he took that train, then he went to London and I bet he would go to her first." Nervously, he looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Is it too late to telephone her now?"

Mary shook her head no, saying: "Oh no, she'll still be awake, especially if he's there. I hope to god you are onto something here, Matthew. I've got such an odd feeling about this. What if something happened to him?"

Matthew saw nothing but fear in her wide brown eyes when he looked at her. Granted, he did not know everything about what had happened before Robert had disappeared, she could not get herself to tell him the whole story before, but he knew enough to recognise the genuine fear on her features and the sorrow at the events that had led them to this moment.

Quickly he reached for her hand resting in her lap and squeezed it gently.

"I just don't understand why Cora is not asking after him, Mary. I know things have not exactly been smooth sailing between them, but this is so unlike your parents," he whispered gently.

Sighing, Mary got up without letting go of his hand in hers. "Come, let us telephone Aunt Rosamund and then I will tell you everything I know. Just… not here, darling."

Puzzled, he got up and followed her out into the hall to try to shed some light onto this discombobulated mess that had become their daily life.