DOWNTON ABBEY 1926 NOTE: 2 chapters posted today - don't miss Chapter 7.

EPISODE 9 Chapter 8

Tuesday Morning October 26

Tom and Carson

Tom was coming up from the school when he spotted a familiar figure – and a familiar dog – on the path before him.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson."

The former butler of Downton Abbey had clearly just come from the post office. He had the morning papers under his arm. He looked over at the greeting.

"Mr. Branson," he said, with a nod.

Shep wagged his tail and strolled over to Tom, who obligingly scratched the dog's ears.

"May I join you?" Tom asked. They were going in the same direction.

"Of course."

They walked on.

They had an odd relationship, Tom thought to himself. He'd respected Mr. Carson from the moment he met the man, and not simply because he was the face of authority downstairs. Indeed, Tom liked him despite that, for he was not one to admire authority for its own sake. And he'd come to like the butler, too, and thought that Mr. Carson had liked him, though they disagreed about so much. He recalled wryly their conversations about the Russian revolution. Even Tom's plot to throw slop over General Strutt hadn't really shifted Mr. Carson's opinion.

Marrying Sybil had changed things between them. Mr. Carson did not believe in mixing classes. And if he was not exactly resentful of addressing Tom as sir, he certainly didn't like it. But he seemed to have gotten over that, for the most part. Tom thought Mrs. Carson might have been a factor there.

"I've not seen you in the morning before," Mr. Carson said, breaking into Tom's thoughts. "Though I am a little late fetching the papers today. Mrs. Wigan was ill. Her subordinate was not especially efficient."

Tom smiled to himself at the disapproving frown that flashed across Mr. Carson's features as he imparted this information. "We must just miss each other," Tom said. "I walk my daughter to school every day." That, Tom thought, was likely to open a can of worms, for Mr. Carson was as disdainful of a Crawley going to the local school as Robert was.

"That's quite a hike for a small girl," Mr. Carson said evenly.

"Oh, she's up for it," Tom said breezily. "And all the children at the school have to make their way from a distance, some across the fields."

"Miss Sybbie, if I may be so bold as to say so, is not other children."

This statement did not surprise Tom in the least, nor did he take offense by it. "I believe we can agree that my daughter is not like the others, Mr. Carson. But I hope that will be a matter of character and achievement, not birth. And," he added, with a smile to show that he took this conversation in good humour, "there are times in one's life when it is desirable to just fit in."

Mr. Carson answered this with a deep throat sound, whether of disapproval or resignation, Tom could not tell.

"How have you fared, you and Miss Sybbie, in the wake of the fire?"

Tom shrugged. "The terror of the moment has faded. And we'll be having no more of that." He paused. "His Lordship has told you of the Home Secretary's decision?" Tom knew, as did everyone else, that Robert walked with his old butler every Monday morning and that they reviewed the matters that concerned them as they walked the estate and exercised their dogs.

"He has."

"Right. Well." Tom cast about for something else to say. "I understand you're managing Lady Merton's party this Friday. And that Mr. Grey will be in attendance. I wish you luck, Mr. Carson. We both know Larry Grey's impact on a party."

Mr. Carson, Tom could see, was giving his response to this some thought. "I believe Lady Merton deserves better," he said with deliberation. It was a tactful thing to say.

Tom nodded. "We're in agreement there."

They came to the point where they would go their separate ways.

"Well, good day, Mr. Carson." Tom turned to go.

"Mr. Branson."

Tom turned to find the man standing quite still, frowning a bit, but almost hesitant in his demeanor.

"Mr. Branson, I wonder if I might be so bold as to ask a favour of you."

The formality of Mr. Carson's request struck Tom less than his apparent indecision. "Of course. How may I help?" Tom spoke with all sincerity. Apart from the fact that by disposition Tom was inclined to be helpful where he could, he was pleased to do anything he could for Mr. Carson. He'd had occasion to ask a favour of that man himself and was happy to return the kindness.

Still Mr. Carson hesitated. Tom waited patiently. Finally, the man made up his mind.

"It's about Mrs. Carson," he said.

Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason

Mrs. Patmore hadn't set eyes on Mr. Mason in weeks and weeks and she could not imagine what could have gotten him into such a state as she saw him now. He had almost stumbled into the kitchen and was looking around wildly.

"Is Daisy here?"

"No. She's gone off to the village to give Mr. Bakewell an earful from me over the quality of his sugar. Sit down. You can wait for her here."

"It's not her I've come to see. It's you."

Mrs. Patmore's throat went dry. She was not entirely sure this was where and when she wanted to have a private conversation with Mr. Mason. About anything.

"Is it?" She didn't quite know where to look.

He was staring at her. "She's not told you, then."

"Daisy? No. I've had no grand revelations out of her this morning." She could see he was deeply troubled. "Sit down," she said again. "I'll make a cup of tea. The kettle's already boiling."

She poured and then sat down across from him. "What is it?"

He had calmed somewhat. "Only she's tossed that application in the waste basket."

"What?"

"She's found out that Lady Edith … the Marchioness of … of…."

"Hexham."

"Hexham. That she's a patron of the school. On the board or something. And right away, she's off again about what an awful person Lady Edith is and says she won't have anything to do with the place." He ran his hands through his thick, iron grey curls. "I tell you, Mrs. Patmore, I don't know what to do with her. I couldn't reach her. She left this morning without speaking to me." She's that fixed on it."

It was hard news, indeed, but Daisy's behaviour was not such a shock to Mrs. Patmore. She knew well the erratic course of Daisy's life.

"It's like she can't sort out what's important and what isn't," Mr. Mason said, despairing.

Mrs. Patmore nodded. She agreed. Daisy had had too few opportunities in life to make her own decisions and she had developed none of the necessary skills. Thinking this, Mrs. Patmore felt a slight twinge, as she had done as much as anyone else to relieve Daisy of any such responsibilities.

"I don't know what to do," Mr. Mason said hopelessly. His eyes fixed on Mrs. Patmore. Clearly, he was expecting some kind of an answer.

"I say we leave her to it," she said quietly.

Mr. Mason's mouth hung agape. "But it's her future in the balance, Mrs. Patmore."

"Yes," she said wearily. "But it is her future."

Tuesday Afternoon

Robert, Lewis, and Thomas

Robert was having a quiet afternoon, something in which he was taking quite deliberate pleasure. Somehow, and for no reason he could account for, life had gotten much busier after the war. That the pace of things had picked up during the war was understandable. But they had never settled down again. He had managed the Downton estate for eighteen years before the war came and his life had been calm and leisurely-paced. Now that seemed impossible and yet he did not know what was different.

Well, there was no use dwelling on it, he supposed. It was merely a fact that he had estate business to attend to this afternoon and he had a blissfully quiet moment when everyone else was out in which to attend to it.

It was too good to be true.

He had hardly been at it an hour, seated at his desk in the library, with Tia'a by his side, sprawled in her basket, when a footman appeared to disrupt his solitude. It was Lewis.

Though he had chosen to let Barrow manage this young man, Robert had kept an eye on him nevertheless. Since the incident which Barrow had reported, Lewis had given no grief to the family or in further measure to the butler. But Robert had bowed to Barrow's wisdom in the matter more as a formal acknowledgment of the butler's privilege, rather than out of confidence that the decision was a correct one.

In this moment, Robert expected that someone had shown up and wanted to see him, though he had not heard the bell chime, and that would explain the appearance of the footman.

"Yes? What is it?"

"A word, if I may, my lord."

This was a surprise and a little out of order, the junior staff being understood to have little to say of interest to the family and required by custom to say it through the intermediary of the butler. Oh, there had been a few exceptions over the years – Anna, a house maid, coming in with the latest pronouncements on Bates's circumstances; Molesley making a representation on behalf of someone. But those were exceptions and by long-standing members of staff. Lewis had no call for such presumption. Carson would never have tolerated such a breach and Robert intended to inform Barrow of it.

"Is it not something you might address to Barrow?" Robert asked, not bothering to conceal the flicker of irritation he felt at being interrupted and at this violation of the chain of command.

Lewis was not in the least put off. "It's about Mr. Barrow, my lord."

Well, that put a different cast on the matter, though Robert did not necessarily think it wise to pursue it. Still, he leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the footman for the first time.

Lewis was impeccably attired, as always, as though he re-creased his seams every time he left the room.

"Go on."

The footman came across formally correct, but Robert sensed that an air of exaggerated self-importance edged out the necessary quotient of deference. "It has come to my attention, my lord, that Mr. Barrow has engaged in behaviour of an unnatural kind in such a way as to bring dishonour to Downton Abbey." He imparted this revelation in the most solemn of tones, looking Robert directly in the eye as he said it.

How intriguing, Robert thought. He did not reply immediately, but took a moment to study the footman. Lewis was, of course, the new man at Downton and was clearly not aware that the fundamental fact he was imparting – on Barrow's nature – was old hat. The new element here was the allegation that Barrow might be acting on his nature and, apparently, been seen doing so. Robert did not expect any man to swear to celibacy – that Roman Catholic priests did so was only further evidence, in Robert's eyes, of their unnaturalness. He did not hold Barrow, or any man like him, to such a standard, but required only, as he would in any other case, a level of discretion that would leave Downton unsullied. Perhaps there was some substance here, but he needed to have all the facts to pass judgment.

"Has he," he said carefully, watching Lewis closely. The footman was very pleased with himself. "In what way?"

A request for explicit evidence might have put off some, but not Lewis. "He has a perverse relationship with the man who is assisting Mr. Carson, my lord. Mr. Rider. They meet in secluded places on the estate, often late at night, and engage in physical contact that is inappropriate between men."

"Well." Robert considered for a moment. "This is serious indeed."

Lewis stood taller. He might possibly have puffed his chest out.

Robert noted this. He's polishing his application for butler even as he stands there, Robert thought, and conceded that Lewis might not be half bad in the job. Technically. Abruptly he got to his feet and strode across the room to the fireplace, where he tugged on the bell. "We must have Mr. Barrow up here." With his back to the footman, he could not gauge Lewis's reaction to this statement.

Barrow appeared promptly. He, too, seemed surprised to see Lewis there, but his attention focused on Robert. "My lord?"

Robert returned to his desk and beckoned Barrow to join him and the footman there. "Please repeat to Barrow what you have just told me, Lewis."

Barrow came over more bewildered still and stared at the footman.

Lewis did not hesitate. He looked Barrow in the eye though he spoke to Robert and repeated word for word what he had already said. It had the air of a prepared speech.

The butler of Downton Abbey had had a lifetime's practice in the concealment of his nature, though he had not been so very successful in that object in the end. But he was well schooled in the affection of dispassion even in trying moments. It was a necessary skill for a good servant. Still, it was clear that Barrow was jarred by these remarks. Whatever others at Downton knew, they did not speak of it. So Barrow's eyes flashed, his jaw tightened, and his colour began to rise

Robert, more schooled still in the exercise of dispassion even in the most alarming of circumstances, waited until the footman had finished and then turned to Barrow. "Do you have anything to say, Barrow?" His tone was neutral.

Barrow was, momentarily, lost for words, an unusual event. Then he spluttered, "My lord, Lewis is completely mistaken in this characterization of my relationship with Mr. Rider. We are friends. Nothing more."

"And these … unnatural acts .. of which he speaks?" Robert might have been inquiring about the state of the dinner service.

"His eyes have deceived him," Barrow stated heatedly, but firmly. He said no more. Robert appreciated this. To gush would have spoken again him.

He did not know that he believed Barrow. The man had lied before. But Robert listened closely to what the butler had said. It was to Barrow's credit that his lie – if a lie it was – only exculpated his friend. Barrow did not deny the allegations regarding his own nature, not even for Lewis's benefit.

"You can, both of you, imagine what a very serious situation this is," Robert said soberly. "And as much as I recoil from interfering downstairs, I feel that in this matter I have no choice." He took his time, staring at each man in turn for an unsettling several seconds. Then he turned abruptly to the senior servant.

"Barrow, I would like you to communicate to your second footman the inappropriateness of his behaviour both in making such an allegation and in speaking to me on this matter at all."

Lewis's mouth fell open, but Robert ignored him and carried on.

"Please make it clear that the assumption of repugnance on my part to the private interests or inclinations of my butler, or anyone else on my staff, is something I find in itself objectionable. Convey, too, my indignation at the arrogance of any member of staff who would seek either to hurt or to gain by the disclosure of such information about another member of staff in the manner displayed here this afternoon.

"It is my understanding that Lewis has performed well in the specific duties of a footman. This will be helpful in his finding employment elsewhere. You may give him a character that reflects this, if you so choose. Please also convey…," as he added this, Robert did shift his gaze to the footman, "…that this conversation will be the last time this matter is spoken of by any of us or there shall be consequences affecting future employment prospects."

He let a few seconds tick by in the stunned silence that enveloped them all and then rounded on Barrow once more. "Do you have all that, Barrow?" he asked lightly.

"Um, yes. Yes, my lord." Barrow was still in shock. Well, both of the servants were.

"Good." With this, Robert sat down at his desk again and put his back to them both. It was a notice of dismissal and behind him he heard the two men making their way toward the door.

"A moment, Barrow."

The library door closed and when Robert looked up again, only Barrow stood there. He was clearly agitated, as well he might be, and now did burst forth in the speech he had earlier contained.

"What I said is true, my lord. Mr. Rider and I … we're friends. For reasons … I can't explain. Only I want you to know that I take the honour of Downton Abbey very seriously and…."

"Steady on, Barrow." Robert already knew far more than he wanted to about Barrow's private life. He wasn't certain he believed the man's denials, but in this instance the truth of the details didn't really matter. "Discretion, absolute discretion is all that can reasonably be asked of any man." He paused. "I had my doubts about that footman, Barrow."

"You did, my lord. I ought to have listened."

Robert shrugged. "You gave him the benefit of the doubt. If it was a mistake, it was a mistake of generosity." He paused. "Send him on his way and we'll say no more about it."

"Yes. Thank you, my lord."

Robert heard the relief in Barrow's voice and felt a twinge of sadness over it. What a life it was to be like that.

Barrow had not reached the door when Robert thought of something else.

"This Rider fellow, Barrow."

Once more the butler froze. "My lord?"

"Does … Carson … know, Barrow?" To answer this question, Barrow would have to confirm one way or the other Rider's nature. Thus far he had avoided doing so. Robert wondered which way the butler would go. Though he had not meant it as such, it was a test of the trust between the butler and his lord.

"No," Barrow said at last. "He does not."

"Then let us keep it that way, Barrow. For both their sakes."

Barrow's shoulders relaxed. "Agreed, my lord."