He was glad of the air the next afternoon.

Anna needed sugar, and William had generously volunteered (although begged was more like it) to run to the shop for her. She was reluctant until he reminded her that he'd come this far with only one arm, and he'd been carrying their groceries from the village back to the cottage since he was a child. Anna eventually consented, and William took his good old time in running the errand. It was still fairly early in the day, not even near tea time, and he was certain his parents would be too busy with their duties to worry about where he was. And he ached for even just a few minutes to breathe. He was fond of the majority of the people downstairs, and he knew they meant well, but if he was asked one more time, "How are you?" or "Is there anything I can do for you?" he thought he would go mad.

He was just turning onto the drive (while trying to walk as slowly as possible in an effort to put off the onslaught of motherly concern he knew he'd get when he arrived) when he saw her.

She was a good distance ahead of him, also on the drive. She was walking, though she led a fully-saddled Sonny beside her by his lead. The horse pulled to the side of the path for a moment to nibble on some grass, and Maggie dropped the reins and stood a bit impatiently on the road. She must have caught sight of William out of the corner of her eye, because suddenly she turned and met his gaze.

He wondered how peculiar he looked, completely stopped in the middle of the drive staring at her and her horse as if they were a monument on display somewhere. After a while he started towards her, and she quickly averted her eyes and returned her attention to her horse. William reached her not long after, and she met his gaze again, this time with much more uncertainty.

He struggled with what to say for a moment, before finally nodding to the horse. "He come up lame?"

Maggie stuttered. "N-no, nothing like that. I just felt like walking back, that's all."

Another nod, this time in understanding. They both stood there awkwardly for a bit, and William pined for a way to break the silence.

"How was the ride getting back?" Maggie asked.

He scrambled for words, surprised that she'd spoken first. "About as good as a third-class train ride from London normally is."

She didn't laugh like he'd meant her too, instead keeping her eyes on his hand for a moment, before realizing she was staring and turning back to Sonny. William shifted uncomfortably, and not for the first time did he consider wrapping his hand up along with the rest of his arm. The stares, though unintentionally rude, were starting to get on his nerves.

Again, he struggled for what to say. "Um...I'm sorry I was so awful, last time."

Maggie shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"It doesn't. I'm sorry too so let's just...forget the whole thing, all right?"

"...And the rest of it?"

She fell silent, letting her eyes lower towards the ground. "Maybe we should...leave all that alone, too."

It took him a moment to understand, and he had to swallow a bit roughly before speaking. "Is that what you want?"

"Margaret!" came the dooming cry as Maggie opened her mouth to speak. She immediately lifted her eyes to Heaven as the thudding of hooves drew near, and Nicholas rode up on horseback.

"Who is he?" William whispered while the boy was still far enough away that they wouldn't be heard.

"A nightmare come to life."

"...I meant what do I call him?"

"Anything you want."

Nicholas reined his black mare to a stop in front of them, chuckling a bit. "I see we've had the same idea," he said, nodding to her horse.

Maggie smiled a bit too falsely and nodded.

Nicholas looked expectedly at William, then back to Maggie. She bit back a sigh.

"William, this is Nicholas. Nicholas, William. His family lives on our estate."

Nicholas nodded respectfully in William's direction, then motioned to the parcel of sugar still in his hand. "Bit of a sweet tooth, eh?"

William stared steadily at him but kept silent. Nicholas turned back to Maggie a bit awkwardly. "I was just coming over to see your grandmother. She's invited Mama and I to dinner, and I wanted to give her our answer."

"I can tell her for you," Maggie offered, hoping he would turn around.

Nicholas must have understood the implications, but he didn't let on. He tipped his riding hat at her. "Well, I'll see you tonight then." He nodded a bit awkwardly to William, then turned his horse and began to head back down the drive.

"Who was that?" William finally asked when he was out of earshot.

Maggie sighed. She grabbed Sonny's reins and tugged his head up, then began to lead him up the drive towards the house. William followed. "Do you remember the dreadful boy that used to visit when we were younger? George nearly killed him while playing cricket once."

"Yeah."

She gave him a look.

"That's him?"

"It is."

"What does he want?"

She sighed again. "He's being flung at me by Granny Violet and Granny Cora. They think he's a perfect match."

"What does he inherit?"

"...Nothing. He's the youngest of three boys."

"How is that a good match, then?"

"Because it m..." Maggie huffed. "Nevermind."

"What?'

"Nothing." She quickened her pace.

William had no trouble keeping up with her. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. Just that...all of them think it's a good idea, that's all."

"Do you?"

"No."

"Do you care for him?"

She stopped, a bit taken aback and insulted by the question. "You know I don't."

"I'm not sure what I know. A few minutes ago you said you wanted to forget about everything, but you wouldn't tell me why. Is he why?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what's the reason?"

"It's..." Maggie stumbled, fumbling blindly for words even as her mind shouted the exact opposite of what she was saying. "Because it would be awkward, all right? It was different while you were away, but now you're here it'd be like walking on eggshells all the time. We could never manage it."

"You're not willing to try?"

She paused. "No."

William scoffed, though his tone was uncertain. "So, you can just...decide how you feel about a person? Just like that?"

"Of course I can't."

"Then why are you trying to do it?"

"Because it wouldn't work."

"How do you know?"

"Because it wouldn't! My parents live here and so do yours and there are far too many people around. We could never get a moment alone, and someone would see us or hear us or find out and you and your parents would be finished and it would all be my fault. You're my friend, before anything else. I've messed up a lot lately, and I'll not ruin that too."

William was silent for a moment. "We're not ruining anything."

They were approaching the stables now, and Maggie tugged Sonny's lead a bit more forcefully than necessary, though her tone wasn't at all harsh. "We might." She pulled the double wooden doors open and led the horse inside. William followed quietly.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked eventually, once she'd untacked Sonny and he was shut securely in his stall. He twirled a piece of hay in between the fingers of his good hand.

Maggie continued facing the horse, resting her hands on the stall door. "What do you want?"

William came closer, a bit frustrated. "What do you want?"

"...I don't know."

"Well I do." He was directly beside her now, and she peered up at him. They remained still for a moment, before William leaned in towards her.

She pulled away.

He straightened, and his face darkened before he threw the hay down and headed for the door, "All right, then."

"William," Maggie pleaded. She slid the stall lock securely into place before turning and hurrying out of the stables. "William, wait."

William was already a good distance down the path towards the house, and Maggie had to run to catch up to him.

"William, please."

"Why?!" he cried, spinning to face her and stopping in the middle of the path.

"You don't understand-"

"No, I don't! So please, enlighten me!"

Maggie wrung her hands. "I don't know what you want me to say. It wouldn't work. We're young and we don't know anything and there's a war on. I don't think this needs to be our first concern."

"There's not a war for me," William fought bitterly. "Not anymore. And crikey, Margaret, I'm not asking you to marry me! I care for you, that's all I'm trying to say!"

"And I care for you!"

"The same way that I do?"

"Yes!" she blurted out, before she could stop herself.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Things have changed."

"Not for me, they haven't."

Maggie hesitated now. "Well, for me they have."

"How?"

"Because...you wouldn't understand."

William's voice softened. "Then help me understand..."

How could she? She'd meant to explain it the last time she'd seen him, but...

"Margaret?"

Mary's voice thoroughly caught them off guard, and they each instantly stepped further apart as they turned. She was a reasonable distance away, closer to the house but still near enough she didn't quite have to shout.

"Would you come inside please?" she asked a bit curtly.

"Yes, Mama," Maggie muttered, immediately heading towards the house.

"William," Mary called, shielding her eyes against the sun. "You'd better come inside, as well. His lordship wants everyone in the Great Hall in half an hour."

William hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, m'lady," he answered, turning and going for his own entrance.

Mary fell into pace beside her daughter when she reached her. "What were you discussing?"

Maggie's heart proceeded to plummet to her stomach. "Nothing," she said a bit too quickly.

"It looked as if you were arguing."

"Um...He had some groceries for Anna. I just, asked him if he needed help. He just thought I meant it in a rude way, I suppose."

Mary smiled, although the look on her face said she didn't quite buy the story. "I'm sure he didn't."

They reached the house, pushing through the doors and handing their coats off to Barrow and Andrew as they entered the entry hall.

"How is he?" Mary pressed.

"Fine, I suppose. Why are we meeting?"

Mary sighed, a bit annoyed at the deflection. "Something about air raid precautions. Your grandfather spoke with Mr. Kendrick in York earlier today, so I suppose it's about that."

The majority of the family were already scattered about the hall. A large table stretched across the space between the two pillars in front of the stairs, and Robert and Barrow stood beside it, organizing several clumps of items. Maggie trailed off to sit with Sybbie while Mary approached her father. She looked a bit disgustedly at a rather nasty looking metal can of something.

"Dare I ask what this is?" she said, grimacing a bit as she picked up the can.

"It's blackout paint," her father answered with a sigh. He then rattled off an order to Barrow, and the man disappeared behind the green baize door.

"What's it for?"

Robert gave her a look.

She chuckled. "Well, I understand what it's for, but why do we need it?"

"To paint the windows."

She reeled. "You're not going to paint the windows with this?!"

"Not these up here, but the ones downstairs, yes."

Mary set the can down a bit unceremoniously. "I was going to say then you might as well sell the shutters, because what good are they for."

Robert chuckled.

His daughter sighed. "So, I'm assuming this means we're going to start holding drills? Lucky us."

"I'm afraid so. Mr. Kendrick says we'll start in the new year. Not everyone in the village has all the supplies yet, but once they do, they'll be doing checks, and if we're not up to snuff then we'll be fined."

"You're joking."

"I'm not. That's why we've got all this now. We may still need more, but we'll see."

"More of what? Surely there aren't this many windows downstairs."

"More blackout curtains," Robert answered. "They'll have to be put over every window in the house. Well, up here anyway. And when there's a drill, they've all got to be closed. Ah, here we are." He moved around the other side of the table as Andrew and a hall boy shuffled awkwardly through the servants' door, a large wooden crate between them. They lifted it and set it down a bit more roughly than intended, and the table wobbled dangerously under the weight but remained upright nonetheless.

Robert smiled a bit sadly at Mary. "Bl-"

"What in gracious is that?" Cora asked, rapidly descending the staircase and coming to stop beside her husband.

"They're the blackout supplies from York," Robert explained as he watched Barrow and Andrew carefully pry the lid off of the crate. They set it safely aside out of the way as Robert reached inside and removed a part of a curtain. The material was a stark black and at least a quarter of an inch thick. "They must go over all the windows and when there's a drill, they must all be drawn closed."

"Oh, Robert they look perfectly dreadful. How can we entertain anyone with these hanging all about the house?"

"The entirety of the country has these hanging all about their houses, my dear. I daresay we'll be forgiven as well."

Cora sighed audibly, then headed around the table to join the others by the fire. Mary smiled at her father.

"Perhaps we can get some work done on them. On the sides that face us, anyway."

"I don't think Mr. Kendrick will approve."

"Too bad. He doesn't have to look at them all day."

"I would assume he has them as well."

"Perhaps his home is just as dreary and he doesn't notice a contrast."

"...Ahem. Mr. Kendrick, m'lord," came Barrow's voice from behind them.

Robert shot his daughter a glare before turning with a smile to greet the man. Kendrick was just coming up behind Barrow, his hat under his arm.

"Kendrick, it's good of you to come," Robert said, extending his hand.

"It's no trouble at all," the man answered, accepting the hand with a firm shake. "If the staff could come up now, I'm on a bit of a tight schedule. Or I could go downstairs, if you'd prefer."

"Nonsense, of course they'll come up. Barrow?"

Barrow exited with a slight but swift bow and made for the servants' door. Kendrick immediately began to inspect the supplies, and Mary turned with a sigh to her father.

"You might have warned me he was right behind me," she crowed, although there was an element of amusement in her tone.

"I didn't see him."

"Why is he here at all?"

"He offered to come and explain the procedures to the staff, and since I thought he could do a better job than I, I invited him," Robert explained.

"Well, watch out. He seems more like a drill sergeant than an Air Raid Warden."

"I suppose he needs to be strict in his line of work."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure telling others how to decorate as though he were some interior designer can be very difficult."

Robert chuckled, then quickly contained himself as the servants began to come up the stairs. They filed in and stayed to the back unsurely, and Mr. Kendrick waved them forward. "Come on, now. We don't bite and we haven't got all day, and there's a lot to go over."

Mary sighed audibly, and although Robert gave her a lightly disapproving look, he strongly felt the urge to do the same.

"That'll never come off," Mrs. Hughes muttered to herself as one of the hallboys swiped the black paint over a window with a brush.

He was perched a bit haphazardly, one leg on the window sill and one leg barely on a chair. He was too short to reach the window otherwise, and all the other men were either serving dinner or performing other duties, so Mrs. Hughes had cornered him. He looked down at her uncertainly after her remark, as if asking to continue.

"Oh, keep going lad. We've got to do it."

The boy obeyed, and he resumed smearing the dark substance over the already grimey glass. Mrs. Hughes grimaced and headed out of the servants' hall to her own sitting room.

"How are we supposed to see?" Baxter asked Anna from their positions at the table. "I mean, we've got the lights, but to leave them on all day? That'll be terribly expensive, don't you think?"

Anna didn't look up from her mending. Her tea, as well as everyone else's, sat mostly abandoned on the table. "I suppose so, but it can't be helped, however bad it is." She sighed, setting down her work. "What I really can't look forward to is helping hang all those curtains tomorrow."

"Was he serious when he said every room?"

"I think so. And from the number of curtains they've got..."

"But what about the shutters?"

"Light can still get through. He says it has to be the curtains."

"I think they look awful," Daisy said, entering the room to collect the remains of the tea. She eyed the window. "But not as bad as that."

The hallboy turned around (as much as he could in his position) a bit defensively. "'Ey, I'm tryin' my best, 'ere."

Baxter chuckled. "She meant the paint, not your artistic skill, Max."

Anna smiled and returned to her own work, then added, "I doubt Picasso could make that look good."

Baxter laughed again, and Max did as well. With a bit of a lighter sigh, he gripped the brush again and lathered the paint across the window.

"Margaret?"

Maggie's eyes flickered up from her drink quickly, trying to recall whatever it was that Nicholas had just said. The two were locked away in a corner of the drawing room, and she thought she had been paying attention to their conversation. Clearly, she hadn't.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Nicholas chuckled. "Would you come to us for luncheon on Friday?" he repeated. "If you're allowed."

She hesitated, trying not to grimace. The headache was back, pulsing at the back of her head near her neck, and she resisted the urge to massage it painfully. It had waned but not subsided before dinner, and the meal hadn't seemed to help as she'd hoped it would. "Um...I doubt Mama will let me out by then, but maybe. Where are you?"

"We're just east of the village. About a mile down the road."

"I'll ask," she promised, nodding slightly.

Nicholas started talking again, but the pounding intensified and Maggie set down her drink and attempted to interrupt him as politely as possible.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "but if you don't mind I think I'm going to go up. I've got an awful headache."

"Oh," Nicholas said, a bit taken aback. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's all right. Goodnight." She had already moved away from him by the time he answered. She headed for the door, catching her mother's eye on the way and indicating her plan. Mary nodded with a smile, and Maggie returned the gesture before exiting the room and starting up the staircase. She'd barely gotten inside her room before a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Anna entered the room with a smile. "I was just finishing up in your mother's room and I saw you come up. I thought I'd save us both the trouble."

"I think I'll be fine once you've got the dress," Maggie answered, lifting her hair so Anna could undo the long line of buttons down her back.

"This is a bit early for you," Anna commented, undoing the buttons with ease and waiting as Margaret slipped the dress off.

Maggie shook her head as she handed her the garment and then her shoes. "I'm tired. I rode a lot today."

"Are you sure that's all you need?" Anna asked, taking the things in her hands.

She nodded. "Thank you. Goodnight, Anna."

"Goodnight, miss." Anna closed the door softly behind her as she left.

Maggie sighed, pulling a nightgown out of her dresser drawer and slipping it over her head. She took the pins out of her hair and tossed them haphazardly onto her vanity, groaning internally when the headache still didn't budge. She regretted not asking Anna to bring her a powder or something of the kind, and considered ringing for a moment before deciding against it. No doubt her mother would be up soon and Anna would be occupied. No sense making the poor woman trek up and down the stairs more than necessary.

Mary had always chuckled a bit whenever her mother said she had a sixth sense. It was hard to dispute however, as every time anything had been wrong with her or her sisters in their youth, their mother always seemed to come rushing into the room at just the right moment, before anyone had even attempted to inform her of the situation. Cora had told her once when she was still very young that she would understand once she became a mother. Mary scoffed at the notion. And of course, when she did become a mother, she would never let on that Cora had, in fact, hit the nail right on the head.

It hadn't been immediate. When George was born, Mary was still too stricken with grief for the first few months to be able to feel anything but a heart-clenching sorrow for herself and forlorn pity for her son. As he grew however, and she became a bit more active in his rearing, she found herself acting just as her mother had when she was a child. She would develop an odd, foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach, and low and behold, later that day George would take ill, or injure himself or something along those lines. She would panic if she wasn't entirely sure of his whereabouts, and when she was certain she wouldn't be seen, she checked on him frequently in the nursery.

The odd sensations kept going strong after she gave birth to Margaret. George had been nearly a month early but healthy, thank God. Maggie had been late, Mary was older, and the birth had been difficult. She'd bled more than she should have afterwards, and while Clarkson had, thank God, quickly stopped the bleeding, the event left her weak and ill and Henry had been beside himself by the end of it. They were told it was advisable they didn't try to have anymore children, and while Mary had been understandably upset by the news, Henry was unperturbed, citing he'd rather have one child with her alive than more without her.

The fact that George and Maggie would be her only two seemed to magnify the feelings she had. George was responsible but often got into less than stellar situations, and Maggie was sickly through most of her early years, and Mary was so protective she often got odd feelings days in advance of anything that went wrong. Things changed as they both grew older. She tried not to smother George too much, (after all he was a man now), but he was just like his father; so soft-hearted and understanding. She was remarried now, no longer in the state of depression he'd heard she'd been in after his father died. But he saw the pain in her eyes on every single one of his birthdays. He knew that though she wouldn't say it, she panicked and worried over every little thing he did, and he tried to make things a bit easier for her. He usually let her fuss unless it truly got on his nerves. She and Maggie butted heads a bit more often, especially lately. Maggie was the youngest; there was nearly a five year difference between her and George, and almost six with Sybbie, and Mary knew she felt dreadfully young and out of place at times. She'd stopped wanting her mother's help long ago, and Mary both understood and resented it. They were so similar yet so different, and Maggie wasn't easy to talk to like George typically was. She didn't seem to want or need her mother.

The growing of her children didn't stop Mary's concerns, though. It never would, she was sure. She tried to squelch it at times, so she didn't cause a scene. But it was always present. And like Cora, it was always right.

She woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a door closing, and she quickly sat up, listening carefully to the stillness of the house. Though she heard nothing concerning, she tossed the covers aside and stood, grabbing her dressing gown and slipping it over her shoulders as she headed out the door.

The gallery was quiet, but Mary could see a dim light from the main hall below the staircase. A sense of urgency fell upon her, and she hurried around the corner and descended the stairs quietly. It couldn't have been past six in the morning, and the hall was dark, so the single light was clear and visible. She couldn't help the uneasiness she suddenly felt. It was as though all serious things happened at night. The telegram so long ago about Matthew and William, the fire, Papa's ulcer, Sybil... What had happened that someone was up this early? A telegram? Perhaps it was news of Henry... A dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind before she stopped on the final landing of the staircase.

"Georgie?"

George turned from his position by the coat closet, startled until he realized it was his mother. He closed the closet door and shrugged his coat on, coming towards the stairs. "I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, not at all. I was just up. Are you in Thirsk today?" It was a bit of a stupid question, considering he was decked out in the full LDV uniform.

He nodded. "I'll be back for tea, I think."

"Please be safe."

He reached up to kiss her cheek. "Always." He smiled, then headed for the door.

Mary watched him leave, and remained on the stairs for a few moments before sighing. She climbed back to the first floor, then stopped at the top. The feeling hadn't subsided, and she fought to squelch her fear. Thirsk was so remote; it was almost comical to think the LDV wanted wardens posted there. The town was about as likely to be bombed as the arctic. Assuring herself that this time it might have just been her inner mother hen emerging, she headed for her room, then stopped.

Margaret's door was only three down from her own, the first room at the start of the second left of the gallery. Mary could see light coming from underneath, which wasn't too unusual. Her daughter often rode in the morning, even in the cold. Mary couldn't quite understand what was so enjoyable about riding at a time of day when one could still see one's breath, but nevertheless, she didn't object, if it kept Maggie occupied and out of trouble.

She began to open her bedroom door, then stopped, changing direction and heading down the hall. All things considered, six o'clock was still a bit early, even for her daughter.

"Margaret?" she called softly, knocking on the door. No answer came, and Mary pushed through and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Maggie?" she asked, a bit louder now. She surveyed the room, though her daughter was nowhere to be found. A dim light shone beneath the door of the attached bath, and Mary knocked. "Margaret?"

There was a pause before Maggie's voice drifted through the wooden door. "Mama?"

Mary felt the weight in her stomach clench a bit at her daughter's voice. It sounded drowsy and gravelly and not at all like it should have.

"Maggie? What's wrong, darling?"

She didn't answer, but Mary could hear her crying through the wood, and she didn't hesitate to push the door open and step inside.

Maggie was on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest, and her head in her lap. The faucet at the sink was on as hot as it could go, and steam clouded the small bathroom. Mary haphazardly stepped over her to get out of the way of the door.

"Margaret," she said urgently, immediately dropping to the floor beside her. "Maggie, what's the matter?" She put a hand on her back and grew increasingly worried when she felt how hard she was shaking.

Maggie wearily lifted her head to face her mother. She swallowed with noticeable difficulty. "It's my head," she eventually whispered, beginning to cry again. She returned her head to her lap and muttered something that Mary couldn't quite make out.

"What about your head?" Mary asked, standing and rifling through one of the cabinets below the sink before locating a hand towel. She switched the tap and proceeded to soak the rag thoroughly in cold water. "Does it hurt?"

Maggie nodded. "It won't stop...I thought it would go away overnight and it hasn't."

Mary returned to the floor and tilted her daughter's head forward, pressing the towel to her neck. Maggie shivered hard, and Mary cupped her chin in her hand in order to see her face better. She had to do a double take and press another hand to Maggie's forehead to ensure she was feeling what she was feeling. Maggie was practically on fire.

Suddenly that sense of dread was back full force, creeping up from her stomach and into her chest as she felt her pulse pound in her head. A fever that had just started (she assumed) that morning shouldn't feel that high, not by a long shot.

"When did your head start hurting?" she asked.

"A few days ago."

A few days? Why hadn't she told her?

Pushing the statement to the back of her mind for the moment, she put an arm around her daughter's back. "Come on, you need to be in bed." She tossed the rag aside and tried to pull Maggie to her feet. She rose shakily, and the feeling intensified when she realized just how unsteady Margaret was. She'd left the bathroom door open, thank God, and they made it to the bed quickly. She got Maggie down on the edge of it and helped her lay down, then made for the bell pull before stopping. She nearly cursed. No one was awake at this hour, she was sure. Maybe the kitchen maid, but not anyone else. Anna wouldn't likely arrive for quite some time yet.

She once again begrudged the fact that all serious things happened at the most inconvenient hours of the night.

With a huff, she promptly covered Maggie with the blankets and brushed her hair back."I'll be right back, darling. Stay here." She quietly exited the room and hurried for the servants' stairs. All the lights downstairs were on, but there wasn't a soul in the hall or the kitchen, although there was evidence the kitchen maid was already up and about. Mary's frustration began to build. She wasn't an incompetent mother, not in her own opinion anyway. But she had no idea where any of the powders or other medications were kept, nor would she know which to use. Coupled with the fact that her youngest was currently sobbing in pain upstairs, Mary was becoming increasingly exasperated as the moments ticked by.

She stepped out of the kitchen so that she could peer down both corridors, and she nearly cried out in relief when she saw a light underneath the door of the butler's pantry. Thank God someone was up.

She was at the door instantaneously, knocking and opening it before receiving a reply. Barrow was seated at his desk sorting through what appeared to be a mountain of paperwork, but he flew to his feet as she entered, clearly startled to see someone from upstairs at half past six in the morning.

"M'lady?"

Mary was clearly flustered, and Barrow immediately felt more than a bit uneasy.

"Barrow, I'm sorry to startle you." He began to speak but she cut him off. "Do you have something for headaches? I've know we've got a powder somewhere but I've never known where."

Barrow nodded. "Of course, m'lady," he answered. He led her back out to the kitchen and retrieved the first aid kit from the shelf above Mrs. Patmore's desk. He quickly rifled through several different packets before extending one to her. "Here you are. It dissolves in a glass of water and it should do the trick."

"Thank you," Mary said, taking the packet. She hesitated. "Do you know when Anna will be here?"

"Erm...not for another hour I'd say, m'lady...is it urgent?"

"...Yes. Please tell her to come up as soon as she gets here." She turned to go.

"I can send a hallboy if you'd like, m'lady. To the cottage, to fetch her if it's serious."

It was a bit cruel, Mary thought. Pulling Anna out of bed and towing her to the house earlier than usual like she was a puppet on a string. Her family certainly weren't slave drivers. They felt the servants deserved their own private time as well. But...

It was a hesitant answer. "If you would, please. Tell her to come to Miss Margaret's room."

Barrow nodded, a bit taken aback. "Yes, m'lady."

Mary nodded curtly in thanks, then headed back towards the stairs and ascended them briskly. Barrow stood bewildered in the corridor for a moment before moving down the corridor to find the hallboy, muttering to himself a bit as he went. What on earth could be so urgent that they had to drag Anna from her cottage at half past six in the morning?

Hey guys! Here's chapter 21! I'm trying to get on somewhat of a schedule as far as updating goes but my schedule is pretty crazy right now, so I'm sorry it's so sporadic. My grandmother went to be with Jesus about a month ago, so please pray for us. Everything else has been crazy, but I've got some good news! I'm currently working on a rewrite of my Newsies story, "Beyond the Brooklyn Bridge" for any of you that read that! That'll hopefully be done within the next few weeks! And my Big Time Rush story "When Darkness Calls" is on a bit of a hiatus right now, but I'm working on it, so bear with me! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please review!

God bless you all and Merry Christmas!

-downtonabbey15