As usual, apologies for my delay. Thank you to those who are continuing to read and special thank you to those who are continuing to review.

PS RL events in this chapter all happened, but obviously I've used a little licence when it comes to the time settings.

My half day fell on the last day of December, a day which dawned with the promise of clear skies after a prolonged period of brisk and drizzly weather, so I decided to chance a visit to Betsy and her wee bairn.

After lunch Mrs Tomkinson helped me pack a basket. Along with the booties and bonnets I'd knitted, we added enough bottles of jam and preserves to get the lass through for a couple of months at least.

"I've made an apple teacake for your afternoon tea too."

Without Betsy in the house to moderate, Mrs Tomkinson and I could have quite easily suffocated in a tense atmosphere. Instead, we did our best to maintain a semblance of friendship, albeit one borne from necessity rather than choice. And we had, like now, rare moments of harmony.

I still found it much easier to share confidences and talk freely with Mrs Patmore than the London cook, however. Not that I'd seen Mrs Patmore in person for quite some time. Sadly, not since she'd returned to Yorkshire after her operation. We'd had to continue our friendship with the lively exchange of letters and telephone calls. She kept me up to date on the comings and goings at Downton Abbey.

Of course, Mrs Tomkinson was not under my feet as much as she could have been. The family rarely visited London since the bombing raids had begun and they often opted to stay with Lady Painswick if they did. As such, Mrs Tomkinson's hours had been cut accordingly. She spent weekends with her sister-in-law now, helping out where she could since her brother had been killed on a field in France.

This was the major reason she and I had not crossed swords of late. There were bigger problems in the world than our fragile alliance.

The route I followed when I left Grantham House only served to emphasise that fact.

I cut through the park where the lake had been drained of its water so that the Germans couldn't use its reflection as a guide. The recruitment placards outside of Scotland Yard caught my attention despite my best efforts to ignore them and the next wave of young men who would need to report to duty. And, as I passed by Big Ben, I couldn't help but be distressed at the clock tower's still hands.

There certainly wouldn't be any bells ringing tonight at midnight. Tonight London would remain as dark and quiet as possible.

It was difficult to believe it had already been two years since I'd been here with Joe to cheer in the new year. Two years since I'd refused his proposal and instead chosen the life of a housekeeper.

I believe it had been the correct decision - I would have not made Joe happy - but I did feel twinges of regret every so often. Especially given the change in my role. Today I am more of a caretaker than a housekeeper.

Hoping to shake myself out of my funk, I continued on and concentrated on presenting Betsy with a cheery disposition.

Betsy and Reg had married within a week of their first meeting. They claimed they had no time to wait and I suppose they didn't, considering Reg was sent to the Front less than three months after Betsy learned she was pregnant.

The bairn was tiny and red and blessed with a good set of lungs. I set about doing what chores I could while Betsy fed him.

The first floor flat was far too small for the amount of clothes I needed to peg onto the makeshift lines strung up around the kitchen, but there was a nice heat coming from the wood stove, at least. I also managed to get a soup made and simmering on its top, proving I wasn't always a terrible cook when Mr Carson wasn't around to peer over my shoulder.

Next, I boiled the kettle. "Now that he's got a full belly, you relax and let me see if I can get him to sleep," I offered as I placed a cup of tea and a thick wedge of the cake in front of the new mother.

"Reg made that," Betsy told me as I settled down into a lovely rocking chair, cooing softly at the sweet smelling infant. "He worked through the night on it when I told him I was pregnant. Finished it just in time, he did."

I bit down on my bottom lip at the memories she evoked of Mr Carson working through the night to polish my small table. It would be disrespectful of me to compare the two.

"I wrote to Reg to tell him he had a son over a week ago and I still haven't heard," she said.

"Don't fret. I'm sure receiving and sending letters from the Front is a challenge," I said with confidence I hardly felt. The odds were not good.

"Charlie looks just like him, you know."

I ran my fingers across the small amount of downy hair covering the child's head. "He's a bonny lad," I agreed softly. "Charlie…"

I would wonder if Betsy's choice of name for her child influenced my decision that day, because instead of returning immediately to Grantham House after my time at Betsy's, I found myself travelling to Kensington and hovering outside an impressive brick building.

I watched the parade of men exiting the building's wide front double doors, squashing their hats onto their heads, puffing furiously on cigarettes, scribbling frantically in their notebooks.

I took a few steps nearer until I could read the plaque which announced the occupants of the building. The editor was unknown to me, but the owner had aided and abetted in breaking my heart.

"Lady Mary?" I'd asked Mr Carson at the start of the 1914 Season, when I'd confronted him about his odd behaviour since returning to London. "Whatever does Lady Mary have to do with you avoiding my company?" I'd specified, hurt. "Has she initiated a new rule? One that disapproves of a butler socialising with the housekeeper?"

"No, no. Of course not." He waved his hand towards a chair, indicating I should sit. I obeyed without thinking, although he still stalked and circled around the sitting room like a caged lion. "Lady Mary is to marry Sir Richard Carlisle."

"There's been an announcement?" I wondered aloud.

"No," he said, firm. "But there is an understanding."

I nodded slowly, although I still didn't understand what the pending nuptials had to do with his temper of late.

"Lady Mary has always been my favourite of the Crawley sisters," he stated, as if he was telling me something new. "Sir Richard has purchased Haxby. It is where they plan to reside."

My expression was neutral. I had no idea where Haxby was and I didn't need to ask as Mr Carson continued on, explaining the house's location and size.

"It sounds perfect for the newlyweds," I said after he relayed the details of the estate. I even allowed myself an excited smile of anticipation. If I knew Mr Carson and Lady Mary half as well as I thought I did, I knew he would be joining her at her new residence. Lady Mary would surely offer him a free reign over staff…

I sat up straighter in my chair, alert. He would need a reliable housekeeper.

"I wasn't sure how to tell you," he said "Only…" He hesitated for long enough that I knew his next words were going to cause me distress. "I hope you and the new butler will work harmoniously."

There would be no offer for me to join him at Haxby.

"Excuse me, love."

I jumped as a man, most likely a reporter, knocked me awkwardly as he sailed into the building, his news story his entire focus just as mine was with my memories of Mr Carson.

I wondered now how often Mr Carson came to London. He and Lady Mary had not stayed at Grantham House since war had been declared, but that didn't mean he did not come to the city. I could quite easily imagine Sir Richard insisting he and Lady Mary stay here in Kensington, to be near his newspaper office.

I searched the streets now, like some unhinged young floozy, for Mr Carson's tall frame, as if I expected him to be in London just at this precise moment. He might very well gracefully stride around the corner, the slight swirl of mist that was gathering as the day came to the end acting as a dramatic backdrop for his appearance. Once he saw and recognised me, he would sweep me into his arms, declaring how much he had missed my company and…

I shook my head and checked the time. It must have been time enough for me to return to Grantham House if I was getting so fanciful with my daydreams.

It was true, however, that Mr Carson could possibly have been in London on several occasions without me knowing. We could have caught the same train, shopped in the same store, and I would never know. It was possible even that I could have walked right by without knowing, distracted by something happening in the other direction.

I laughed to myself. Could I ever be so distracted that I would not instantly recognise Mr Carson's bulky physique should we pass along the the street? As if I would not recognise the way he carried himself, holding his shoulders back when on duty. I would always know the slight stoop that came about when he relaxed, knowing the family were out of sight. The way he held his hand out, politely offering others to precede him.

I entered the house through the back door. Mrs Tomkinson was nowhere in sight, so I set to work on making myself another cup of tea, mentally running through the list of chores I planned on attending to in the morning. It wasn't long.

Most of the house's furniture was covered with dust sheets, and tending to the remainder took little time and effort. Should an impromptu visit occur, Mrs Patmore would telephone with an inventory. We had all become quite adept with the communication device, at least. I even spoke with Mrs Bute now and then.

"What does Mrs Bute have to do with you going to Haxby?" I'd asked the day Mr Carson announced his Haxby position. I'd remembered he'd said Lady Mary and Mrs Bute were to blame for his mood.

"Mrs Bute has…" Mr Carson stopped his pacing, cleared his throat and looked over my head, staring at the wall behind me. "She has made suggestions of impropriety between two members of staff."

I frowned, wondering just who Mrs Bute had caught in an uncompromising position. For some time I had realised that William was sweet on Daisy, but I could not imagine the lad acting on that impulse in a harmful manner. I didn't think-

I started. Mrs Bute was going to dare to accuse Mr Carson and I of…

"I could be guilty of…" I didn't finish the sentence, but it was true. I held Mr Carson in some esteem these days and was guilty of contemplating him in ways that were not strictly professional. This I would admit to myself now, at least. Members of staff were kept apart should they be distracted and their work be neglected. This, too, was something of which I was guilty.

"I'll resign-"

"What?" Mr Carson almost shouted the interruption.

"I mean," I continued after taking a deep trembling breath, "if she should think someone is acting that way. You are far too important to the family and I'll-"

"I would soon set her straight about any accusations she might throw in your direction, Mrs Hughes," he said. "Besides, if I'm to be at Haxby and you here in London, I hardly think she should worry about anything improper occurring between us."

"No," I concurred in a quiet voice. "Then who?" I prompted.

"Anna. Anna and Mr Bates."

"Oh." I looked down at my toes as Mr Carson continued to stare at the wall. We both knew, I think, that Mrs Bute was quite correct with her suspicions. We'd both had the same ones and, as far as I knew, we were both guilty of ignoring them.

"Mrs Bute has threatened dismissing Anna without a reference."

I took a sharp breath but remained mute. No strong defence came to mind.

"She's…suggested…that Anna be employed at Haxby whilst Mr Bates remains at Downton."

"Suggested," I hissed between clenched teeth.

"Yes."

I concentrated on breathing steadily, calming my temper which threatened to overwhelm me.

"I've let you down," Mr Carson murmured quietly after several minutes.

"How in heaven's name would you think you've done that?" I instantly denied.

"I know how much you wanted to go to the country. Leave London."

"I'd rather cope with London if it means Anna isn't dismissed," I stressed. "She'll be a very good housekeeper," I added.

"Ladies maid," he corrected me.

I frowned, if she was to be ladies maid... I scraped the chair back as I stood, far too quickly. "Then, Haxby still needs a housekeeper?"

"Haxby already has a housekeeper in residence. It would be completely improper of me to replace her."

I swallowed. "Of course," I agreed, lowering my eyes, embarrassed by my eagerness. He was correct, of course. I would never like Mr Carson so much if he had suggested replacing the housekeeper already in residence.

"Mrs Bute has-"

The shrill piercing sound of a whistle jerked me back to the here and now. It was coming from outside.

Without thinking, I stood and opened the back door. I could hear someone shouting from the street and then, another whistle blast.

I looked up; I could hear the rumble of thunder. Odd, I thought, considering how clear of clouds the sky had remained.

It was then that it occurred to me that it wasn't thunder but bombs echoing in the distance. The whistle was being blown by a policeman enacting the new warning system the government had put in place for zeppelin attacks.

Before I could react to either reality further, however, I was distracted by a deep impatient growl near my ear, "What on earth are you doing out here in the open?"

I spun around, recognising the voice immediately. Its owner's dark clothes blended into the night, only the white shirt he wore underneath giving him definition. "Charlie?" I wondered as I reached out and rested my palm against his pristine-as-always shirt, even under these circumstances. His heart beat reassured me that I wasn't actually asleep in my bed and dreaming this entire scenario.

The whistle blasted again, fainter, as the policeman moved into the next suburb. It was immediately followed by the earth vibrating. More bombs had fallen.

He gripped my arm firmly. "Come along, Mrs Hughes," he ordered. "Time for us to seek shelter in the wine cellar," he ordered.