What nobody in the household staff would ever find out was the little secret Emma carried with her. Year after year, since that dreadful day when she learned of the death of her favourite servant William, she returned quietly to his grave. It was a private ritual, a kind of silent farewell that she observed in her own unique way. So, five years later, now older but with the same sad gleam in her eyes, she sat on the green grass in front of the simple cross that bore his name. The wind rustled gently through the blades of grass as Emma, sitting with her legs crossed and lightly tugging at the hem of her dress with her fingers, spoke softly to herself.

"I haven't told you yet, but last year I won the reading competition at school," she said proudly, her voice clear and steady. "But that probably doesn't surprise you. You always said I was good at reading." She smiled faintly, her words echoing softly in the peaceful stillness. Fresh flowers lay on the grave—a colourful bouquet she had picked herself. Next to them, she noticed another, carefully tied bouquet. Mister Mason had probably already been here to visit his son.

Emma looked at the flowers, sighed quietly, and turned her gaze back to the grave cross. "Do you remember The Jungle Book?" she asked, as if William were really there, as if his voice could be carried on the wind. Of course, she would receive no answer, but Emma was certain that if William could hear her, he would smile and nod—just as he always did when she told him her stories.

"It was your book," she murmured, pulling a well-worn, leather-bound copy of *The Jungle Book* from her bag. The book was old, its pages slightly yellowed, but it bore the marks of many hands that had read and loved it. She opened it carefully, the pages crackling softly under her delicate fingers. On the last page, which she had only truly noticed after all these years, there was an inscription—a simple, loving dedication from Mr and Mrs Mason to their son.

"It took me five years to turn to the last page of the book," she said with a wistful smile. "To discover that it was once your book, a birthday gift to you." Her fingers gently traced the ink that had endured through so many years, as if she could renew her connection to William through this touch. She took a deep breath and turned to the first page. Her eyes lingered on the familiar words.

In a soft voice, she began to read, "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Mowgli..."

Flashback 1916

It was a cold March morning when Emma celebrated her fourth birthday. The atmosphere at Downton Abbey was festive, but also tinged with a quiet melancholy. The household staff had gathered in the grand dining room to sing a birthday song for the little girl.

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear Emma," everyone sang, and Mr Carson solemnly added "Grace." Emma, her eyes wide and shining, gazed at the apple and vanilla pudding cake, on which four small candles were burning.

"Remember, you have to make a wish before you blow out the candles," Mrs Hughes reminded her with a warm smile. William, standing beside Emma, winked at her and added, "And don't tell anyone your wish, or it won't come true."

Emma chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. So many wishes swirled through her mind: a little puppy, a dollhouse, a new doll, lovely clothes for her dolls—and, of course, her Daddy. She took a deep breath, then nodded eagerly. With a determined expression, she leaned forward and blew out all four candles in one go.

After the applause had faded, Emma began unwrapping her presents. The servants had made a real effort. Anna, Mrs Hughes, and Mr Carson had given her new clothes for the upcoming spring. William handed her a small, lovingly bound book. On the first page, he had left a message:

My dear Emmi,

I wish you all the love and happiness in the world on your fourth birthday! May the new year bring you health, joy, and many wonderful adventures.

Your William

Emma smiled at the book and gently ran her fingers over the pages before setting it aside. Mrs Hughes then stepped forward and handed her another gift. "And this is from your father, Thomas," she said softly.

Immediately, whispers began to stir in the room. "Do you think he really remembered?" Daisy asked Mrs Patmore. "Last time, he didn't send anything."

"He's at war" Mrs Patmore replied with a soft sigh. "I doubt he can just pop into a toy shop."

But Mrs Hughes, who had heard the whispers, reassured them. "Thomas asked me to pick out a gift for Emma," she said, nodding towards the carefully wrapped parcel in Emma's hands, which the young girl tore open eagerly. It was a small doll.

Later that day, after breakfast had ended and the servants had returned to their work, Emma spent her time by the window overlooking the back courtyard. It was a frosty March day, and outside, an icy wind swept across the grounds. Emma sat by the window, breathing little clouds onto the cold pane and tracing patterns in the mist with her fingers.

"What's she doing?" William asked, noticing little Emma sitting silently and intently by the window.

"She's waiting for Thomas," Anna replied softly, glancing over her shoulder. "In his last letter, he wrote that he hoped to get leave for her birthday so he could visit her."

William sighed heavily. "Looks like he didn't get leave."

Anna nodded silently, her eyes full of worry. "Or… he doesn't want to see the child."

"I don't believe that," William said firmly. "He may not show it, but he has a soft spot for her. Otherwise, he wouldn't have kept her."

Anna swallowed and looked back at Emma. The little, quiet figure by the window seemed lost in thought, her longing for her father unmistakable. The doll, the best gift of the day, was still clutched in her hands.

William couldn't bear to see Emma sitting so lost and sad at the window for much longer. Her fourth birthday was supposed to be a happy day, full of laughter and play. She was still so small, far too young to deal with this kind of disappointment.

With a determined smile, he approached the window, where Emma had just drawn a small heart in the fogged glass. "Hey, birthday girl," he called cheerfully, kneeling beside her, "you can't sit here all day!"

Emma looked at him with wide eyes, her lips curling into a small, sorrowful smile. "I'm waiting for Daddy," she murmured softly, her tiny fingers still resting on the windowpane.

"You know what?" William began, his voice gentle and comforting. "Thomas wouldn't want you to be so sad. He'd want you to laugh and have fun today. And you know what? I've got an idea!"

Emma half-turned towards him, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Idea?"

William smiled and stood up. "Come on, Emmi," he said, holding out his hand and gently pulling her away from the window. "Let's have a cosy afternoon. How about some hot chocolate?"

Emma's eyes suddenly lit up. "With lots of whipped cream?" she asked, her sadness slowly being replaced by the thought of something delicious.

"Of course! And then, once we're nice and cosy, I'll read to you from your new book," William promised.

Together, they went into the kitchen, where Daisy was busy washing the dishes. "Daisy," William called with a smile, "we could use your help! The birthday girl wants hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream."

Emma sat on the kitchen counter as William and Daisy bustled about the kitchen. She watched in fascination as William carefully stirred the chocolate into the hot milk, letting it melt slowly, filling the kitchen with its sweet aroma. Meanwhile, Daisy had whipped a bowl of cream, which she generously dolloped onto each cup.

"All done!" Daisy called, carrying the tray into the servants' hall, while William added a few more logs to the fire. Then he settled into one of the more comfortable chairs and patted his lap. "Come here, Emmi."

Emma climbed onto his lap, snuggled up close to William, and held her cup of hot chocolate carefully in her little hands. The cup was almost too big for her tiny fingers, but she sipped cautiously and sighed contentedly.

"Now," William said, taking the book he had given her earlier in the day and opening it to the first page. "Let's see what adventures await us." Emma nestled deeper into his arms, her eyes fixed on the pages of The Jungle Book, and listened intently as William began to read.

William read in a calm, warm voice, and Emma became completely absorbed in the words. The warmth of the fire, the sweet chocolate, and the familiar arms around her made the moment perfect.

After a while, as the story reached an exciting part, William glanced down at Emma and noticed that she had fallen asleep. Her head rested heavily on his chest, her little fingers still clutching the cup, which now sat safely on her lap.

William smiled gently, closed the book, and set it aside. He looked over at Anna, who returned his smile knowingly, as if she had expected this to happen. She quietly took Emma's cup and set it aside, while William carefully lifted the little girl into his arms and stood up.

"I'll take her to bed," William whispered softly.

End of Flashback

When Emma finished the first chapter, she set the book aside. "I'm going to the Grantham House for the very first time today," she told excitedly. Beside the colourful bouquet, the girl placed a brightly painted stone. "I told you about Lady Rose, didn't I? Well, her season in London has started, and that's why we're going there, for her ball." The church tower clock struck noon.

"Oh no! I'm running late! We were meant to leave half an hour ago!" the girl exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "I'll see you next year, same time, same day – I promise and I love you, William!"

"Are we all set?" Mr Branson's voice rang out.

"We are," confirmed Thomas. "Only Ivy's got a basket of kitchenware to carry, and it would be a bit too cramped for her and me, the basket, and Emma to sit together up front. It's just too tight with three people plus the driver."

"You mean you'd rather sit in the back with me," Mr Branson observed. "And if I were his Lordship, would you ask me the same?"

"I doubt we'd be sharing the same carriage in that case, sir."

"We could tie the basket onto the back," Ivy suggested.

"That sounds like the best solution," Branson said, glancing around the courtyard. "Where's Emma?"

"She…" Thomas looked around for the first time, realising he hadn't seen his daughter for several hours. He began to wonder why it had been so quiet. "She said she was going to the village to visit some friends," he recalled.

"So, we're delayed?" Branson muttered, not entirely pleased, as he pulled on his leather gloves.

"There she is," Ivy pointed towards the gate.

"Sorry," Emma gasped, out of breath. She had run all the way home.

"Emma can keep me company," Branson decided, much to Thomas's disappointment, as he had hoped to sit in the back.

"Very well, then it's settled," said Thomas, slipping into his usual Barrow-butler demeanour and opening the car door for Branson, his daughter, and the dog.

As the car gently rolled along the country road, Tom Branson and Emma sat side by side in the back seat. The fields and meadows passed by, but Emma seemed lost in thought as she gazed out of the window. Branson glanced at her, noticing the uncharacteristic quiet of the child.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "So, Emma," he began, his voice warm and friendly, "I hear you were with your friends in the village."

Emma turned her gaze from the passing landscape and looked at him with wide eyes. She nodded hesitantly, "Yes, we talked a lot and continued reading a book."

Tom smiled gently. "That sounds like fun. Which book were you reading?"

"The Jungle Book," Emma said shortly.

By the time they reached the station, Emma had nearly forgotten how sad she'd been earlier. She was now too excited. It had been ages since she'd last been to London, and she could barely remember the last time. And she'd never visited the Grantham House before.

"Time to load the luggage," said Thomas, almost mechanically, as he and Ivy began loading the trunks and baskets onto the train. Emma stayed by the car with Tom, looking around uncertainly. Tom Branson had by then met his travelling companions: the Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley.

Once all the luggage was stowed, Thomas opened the door of the first-class carriage and let the Dowager and Mrs Crawley in.

"After you, Emma," Branson smiled, holding the door open. "Join us, please. Not that it would get too cramped for three people."

Thomas's expression said it all. His brows knitted slightly, and though he tried to hide it, his displeasure was clear. It was obvious something was bothering him, particularly that Emma was being given preferential treatment, and by Branson no less.

Emma stepped cautiously into the compartment, unsure of what to expect. As the door closed behind her, she heard the familiar, sharp voice of the Dowager Countess: "Was second class fully booked?"

Emma blushed and looked down, unsure of what to say. Branson, sitting next to her, gave her a warm, playful smile. "No," he said in his usual respectful tone, tinged with a hint of mischief, "I invited Miss Emma to join us."

The Dowager pursed her lips into a thin smile. "Ah, then I trust Miss Emma will prove to be a pleasant travelling companion."

"Of course she will," Mrs Crawley interjected with a kind smile. "A bit of fresh company will do us all good."

Emma looked gratefully at Mrs Crawley, who gave her an encouraging nod.

During the journey, Emma sat up straight, her hands neatly folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery. The tension between Branson and Thomas hadn't escaped her, though she didn't fully understand it. She was, however, glad to be sitting with Tom.

It was a strange moment, one where she felt caught between two worlds—the world of the servants, where Thomas and the others belonged, and the world of the nobility, ruled by the Dowager and the Crawleys.

"Emma," Mrs Crawley began gently, "are you excited about the trip?"

Emma looked up, surprised by the friendly question. She nodded and then smiled shyly. "Yes, very much. I've never been to Grantham House before."

"Well," said the Dowager Countess dryly, "there's a first time for everything. And you should get used to it—life is full of journeys, whether we like it or not." She nodded sagely, resting her hands on her cane, as the train gently jerked into motion. "But the most important thing is never to stop wondering where the journey might lead."

Emma couldn't help but ponder what the Dowager Countess meant by that. She stared out of the window as the countryside blurred past, and for a moment, the world seemed larger and more expansive than she had ever imagined before.