This is a last ditch attempt to deter my revision and inspired by the fact that everyone (who I know)'s pipes seem to be bursting at the minute. My attempt to be funny- in places. Could be left as a oneshot.

The Flood

It was not the yelp that moved Anna and Gwen to leave their beds and investigate: it was the quiet splash it followed. Emerging around the door in their nightgowns, they saw a steady flood of water streaming from under the door that separated them from the male servants.

"Oh_!"

They giggled at the sound of curses emitting from the other side of the door.

"Kindly refrain from using such language!" they heard Mr Carson's distinctive tones as his shadow moved close to the door and indicated to it, "There are ladies present!"

"What the blazes is going on?" Miss O'Brien appeared at the door, looking somewhat dishevelled and with her hair bound rather ridiculous fashion.

Anna skipped over the advancing tide so she could speak to her.

"What's it look like?" she asked.

With a little more difficulty, due to the speed at which the water was approaching, Gwen followed suit.

"What d'you think started it?"

It did not appear to concern Miss O'Brien very much. She gave a disinterested shrug, but Anna was not sure if it was genuine indifference or just lack of sleep.

"Cor blimey!" was the cry as Mrs Patmore came around the corner, her hair in similar rags to Miss O'Brien's. Daisy followed on her heels bearing a lamp. "I'll have to get me Wellington boots out if this keeps up!"

"Do you suppose we should get all of the stuff off our floor?" asked Gwen.

Anna said that she thought that was probably a sensible idea. When they returned everyone was much the same, Mrs Patmore it seemed had set up camp in Miss O'Brien's doorway; the two of them leaving Daisy in the middle of the stream that was the corridor in her slippers.

"Come out of there, you daft lump," Gwen told her, "You'll catch your death."

Given that her slippers were soaked through, Daisy looked remarkably cheerful. She told them that she didn't really mind. This, Anna thought, explained who had been splashing about earlier.

"I'd stop looking that cheerful when Mrs Hughes gets here," she advised her, then asked Miss O'Brien, "Does anyone know where she is?"

"Who, the old witch?"

As soon as the words were spoken "The Old Witch" emerged from her room in person, bearing a candle. A look of utter disbelief was etched onto her face. Anna noticed, before reminding herself that she should be concentrating on the matter in hand, that Mrs Hughes did not look half as old with her hair down.

"What's all this?" Mrs Hughes in awestruck tones.

"The Nile burst its banks." Mrs Patmore replied without flinching.

Exchanging a quick smirk with Gwen, Anna knew that her friend was also wondering if Miss O'Brien and the cook were in some way related. Obviously used to it, Mrs Hughes appeared to ignore the remark and proceeded to peer under the door.

"Mrs Hughes?"

The rumble of Mr Carson's voice caused the housekeeper to jump a little and the hair she had thrown over her shoulder to hang momentarily in the water.

"Yes, Mr Carson?" she replied a little crossly, wringing out the end of her hair while trying to balance her light. Anna moved forward to help her before she set herself on fire to cap everything off.

"I think it would be wise," he told her, "If you opened the door."

"Opened the door?" she repeated stupidly. Her face admitted that she had not even considered the notion.

"Yes, Mrs Hughes: you are the only one with a key."

For some reason, the housekeeper seemed mildly scandalised. An expression of severe discomfort passed over her face.

"Mr Carson," she began uneasily, "Everyone is here, it would hardly be very proper to-..."

"Mrs Hughes." the Butler's voice now sounded severely tested, "I am standing here- in my pyjamas- as are most of the staff: water up to our ankles and rising rather more rapidly than I feel comfortable with. I think we can relax our standards just this once."

Miss O'Brien, far from being disinterested, was looking nothing short of gleeful by the time the butler had finished. His shadow had fallen over the translucent door and it could not be clearer that he would stand there until he was let it. Mrs Hughes- still looking- very uneasy reached with hesitation for the key.

"Girls," she turned to them and almost hissed, hands still outstretched towards the hook, "Go back to your rooms or else avert your eyes."

All five of them, now scarcely able to control their mirth retreated into Miss O'Brien's room before they could be told again.

"Cor blimey!" Mrs Patmore exclaimed for the second time that night, sitting on the bed and rocking dangerously with laughter "Bat 'em down the hatches: her face!"

"It's not funny," Gwen, told her but at the same time wiping her own eyes.

There still a mild giggling among them as there was a mild rumble of commotion and further splashing as the door was finally opened and, presumably, as the man made there way further down the corridor: bringing more water with them. Amid this noise they heard Mrs Hughes, apparently reprimanding Mr Carson for something or other.

"Bet she's loving this," Miss O'Brien remarked dryly, with a jerk of her head towards the corridor.

This seemed to confuse Mrs Patmore as well as Anna.

"Who- old Hughsie?" she asked.

"Did you not see her face when Mr Carson announced he was there in his pyjamas?" she asked them.

This was all it took to send the three younger girls into hysterics again.

"Carson- what the devil has happened here?"

The sound of Lord Grantham's voice sobered them up no end. Forgetting what they had been told moments ago they simultaneously shot to the door; a great notion spreading through them that this was not to be missed for all the world. The sight that met them would probably stay with them forever. Lord Grantham was standing in his pyjamas, staring agog at what lay before his eyes. Apart from the small matter of the corridor being flooded- Mrs Hughes was crouched at Mr Carson's ankles, apparently trying to roll his trousers up so that they would not get any wetter: despite their already being soaked through. Out of the corner of her eye Anna saw Miss O'Brien and Mrs Patmore exchange a knowing look and tried desperately not to giggle herself. Evidently, lack of sleep was affecting them all very strangely.

"A burst pipe, my Lord," Carson informed his master, in Thomas's room.

Anna noted with satisfaction that Thomas was looking appropriately drenched. Though unintentionally, she caught Mr Bates' eye and had to stifle a second giggle. Lord Grantham had developed a great sense of purpose about him.

"You can't sleep here," he told them simply, "You'll have all caught colds by the morning. You all may sleep in the guest bedrooms. There may have to be some sharing but at least they're all dry. "

"Your Lordship, we couldn't possibly," Mr Carson protested.

It wasn't as if he was in any place to argue, Anna thought, standing there with his wet pyjamas on.

"Well, I could possibly." the declaration came from Mrs Patmore, "If his Lordship insists, I don't see that we have any choice. Besides I'm not waking up to find my mattress afloat. Come on, Miss O'Brien, I'll share with you."

Without any further hesitation the two women lifted their nightdresses above their ankles and waded towards the stairs. In dribs and drabs the rest of the staff began to follow suit until only Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes and Lord Grantham remained in the corridor.

The last guest room that Anna and Gwen came across was empty but they entered anyway at the sight of Daisy bouncing on the bed. On seeing them, the girl collapsed onto the mattress to give the impression that she hadn't been doing anything- but not quickly enough.

"If Mrs Hughes came in here and saw you doing that!" Anna reminded her.

Her face was uneasy as she looked up from straightening the bed clothes until she saw Anna grin at her and knew she had been joking.

"Do you mind if we share with you?" Gwen asked, setting her large packing case down on a table.

"What's that?" Daisy wanted to know.

Try as she might, Anna could not quite stop herself from rolling her eyes as she said it.

"Her typewriter. She wouldn't leave without it."

"I should think not, either." was Gwen's defence, "I've no idea what water might do to it!"

"I don't think the water would quite reach the top of the wardrobe." Anna pointed out.

As it seemed Gwen had no reply to this, Anna turned to the two of them and said:

"Well, Daisy, as seen as you haven't thrown us out yet, I assume we can share with you." She waited for Daisy's no of consent. "Right, if I go on that couch, you two can share the bed. Fair?"

The two of them nodded. It seemed that it had suddenly dawned on Gwen just how tired she was as she gave a great yawn as she sat down on the bed. Daisy, however, was wide awake.

"Where do you think we'll stay until it's fixed?" she asked, throwing the bed cover over her legs.

Anna shrugged.

"I hadn't thought about," she replied honestly.

"You'd think his Lordship would know someone who would get it fixed in no time," Gwen mused sleepily.

"Yes, because lots of members of the aristocracy are plumbers in there spare time," Anna smiled as she looked in the wardrobe to find the spare pillow.

The response she got was a hearty yawn and a You know what I mean.

Daisy looked anxiously at Anna.

"Thomas said that most of his room was ruined," she told her, "And Mrs Patmore says that water'll do no end of damage to the wooden flooring. What if someone fell through the boards?"

Evidently Daisy's morbid fixation was still going strong: Anna tried not to smile at it.

"So do you think they're...?"

Miss O'Brien clicked her tongue swiftly and winked. It only served to make Mrs Patmore's incredulity grow.

"What him...and her?" she asked.

"No, the king and queen. Of course him and her!" she replied with exasperation to the woman sitting up at the opposite end of the bed.

Mrs Patmore looked as if she were thinking dark thoughts. At last she said:

"I've known Elsie Hughes a long time, Miss O'Brien and I know I've often had my piece to say about her-..."

Miss O'Brien snorted: that was certainly true.

"But I'm not sure she's the type to go around chasing the butler."

Miss O'Brien was not about to give up that easily.

"You saw her grovelling on the floor over his trousers."

Mrs Patmore's raised eyebrows told her that she wasn't buying it before the cook even opened her mouth to respond.

"I could almost say the same for you," she remarked dryly, "Giving old Thomas the eye in those soaked pyjamas- you were."

It was Miss O'Brien's turn to look incredulous.

"Very droll: you know as well as I do that I was seeing what a fool he looked," she responded coolly, "Anyway, I don't think I stand much a chance of getting him what with young Miss-Madam after him at every opportunity she gets."

Mrs Patmore turned her eyes to the heavens.

"And thank the Lord she doesn't get more!" she declared, "Else I'd have probably locked her in the larder by now: that is if I was ever entrusted with the key long enough." she added ruefully.

"What does she even see in him?" Miss O'Brien wondered allow, "He's a right pain in the neck most of the time."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Mrs Patmore warned, "Things the sun shines out of his every orifice, she does."

He approached her with a gas light. His face was more benevolent than when she had last seen him, but then the last time she had seen him she had been chastising him, while clinging to his trouser le in front of his employer.

"Everyone found a bed?" he asked.

Elsie nodded.

"Yes, all of my lot have." she responded. "Have you?"

"I'm sure there'll be one somewhere for me, and if not I can always settle on the settee in my pantry. I expect that's what you'll do, too?"

Taken in the wrong way, she thought, that could have almost been a proposition. She briefly toyed with the idea of making a coy remark but decided against it: she was tired and coy could inadvertently turn to down-right promiscuous quite easily. He seemed to realise his choice of words and looked uncomfortable. She giggled in spite of herself. He raised an eyebrow at her; as if surveying an insolent school girl.

"Sorry," she apologised, managing not to giggle again.

"Well, the invitation's there."

She half yelped before seeing the smile on his face.

"Sorry," he apologised too, "I'm very tired: ignore most of the things I say to you tonight."

She could lead this on, she could ask him all kinds of things: questions that have nagged at her for a while now, about him, about them- all under the premise that she would be obliged to forget in the morning. But no, she didn't.

"Goodnight, Mr Carson."

She turned to head down to her sitting room.

"Goodnight, Mrs Hughes."

What did you think? If you want more there is no plan and I have lots of exams but I'll see what I can come up with: if this is the case, ideas are heartily appreciated! Please leave a review if you have time.