Chapter Text
1926 dawned cold and snowy in the small Yorkshire village of Downton. Most of the village and all the surrounding land as far as the eye could see belonged to the Crawley family. Their ancestral home was Downton Abbey, a Jacobean mansion of immense size and stature where the family had resided for centuries. Outside its doors, the wind howled, and the snow swirled about, forming deep drifts. Inside, the house was warm and dry, heated by cozy fires lit by harried servants.
Robert Crawley, the seventh Earl of Grantham, felt restless that winter. Since his brush with death the previous year after a burst ulcer, he was no longer in charge of the day-to-day running of the estate. That task fell to his eldest daughter, Lady Mary Talbot, and widowed son-in-law, Tom Branson. It made him feel old and useless. Even his wife, Cora, had her work at the hospital. Instead of resenting her position as he once did, he found himself envying it very much. He knew he needed to find something to do.
It was then that he revisited the idea of erecting a large housing development on the edge of the village on a parcel of land known locally as Pip’s Corner. Mary and Tom had initially supported the plan but later balked at the cost of going forward with the project. Robert would have to find the capital somewhere else. He pitched his idea to an interested Duke of Crowborough at their London club when he was in town for one of his regimental dinners. They discussed the plan at great length, with Robert later posting him all the details. Crowborough agreed to finance the project, and construction began at the site early that spring.
Before the war, the Duke had once been an honored houseguest at the Abbey. At the time, it was believed he was planning to make an offer of marriage to Mary, but upon learning that the estate and the bulk of the money were entailed away from the oldest Crawley daughter, he abruptly changed his mind and departed. It had left her broken-hearted and humiliated, and her parents furious, but now that he and Robert were working together, it seemed better to leave all that in the past.
One spring afternoon, the Earl was seated in the library with his dog, Tia’a, on the floor at his feet. He jumped slightly when his wife entered the room, causing her to remark, “Goodness! I hope I haven’t interrupted some deep thought.”
He smiled lovingly up at her. “I was just about to take a walk to Pip’s Corner and see how the building is coming on. Would you care to join me?”
“Actually, I’m busy organizing a little house party for the weekend. Edith and Bertie are driving down, and your sister has agreed to come. We’ll give a dinner while they’re here and invite Mama and Isobel and Dickie. It will be like old times.”
Robert nodded his approval. “The Duke has been anxious to see the progress being made in the village. We must invite him, as well.”
Cora frowned. “Are you sure, darling? Wouldn’t it be better to stay with family and friends?”
“Nonsense. We’ll ask him, too.” He called to Tia’a, “Come, girl.”
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Thomas Barrow listened attentively as Lord Grantham detailed the plans for the coming weekend. “This will be your first big event as the butler, Barrow. I hope it won’t prove too much for you.”
“I think I’m up to it, m’lord,” the younger man replied, flashing a broad smile intended to convey confidence. He wished everyone would stop treating him like he was made of glass. He had survived a suicide attempt the year before, committed after losing his place at the Abbey. Reluctantly, he had accepted another post nearby, but returned when he was offered the position of butler.
The Earl was studying him closely. “Why don’t you ask Carson to help you? He’ll know how to manage things.”
The last thing Barrow wanted was his predecessor looking over his shoulder. “There’s really no need to bother—”
“I think it’s best,” Robert insisted.
Thomas knew when he was beaten. “Yes, m’lord.” He glowered as he made his way downstairs to the servants’ hall, where Miss Baxter, Lady Grantham’s maid, sat nibbling on a slice of bread and jam.
She rose automatically at his entrance. “You look like you could use this,” she observed, pouring him a steaming cup of tea.
“His Lordship wants Mr. Carson to oversee their house party. Apparently, he doesn’t think I’m capable.”
“I’m sure that’s not the reason.” The kind-hearted woman offered him an encouraging smile. “He probably doesn’t want you to take too much on yourself.”
“Why? Because I’m fragile and might try to top myself again if things go wrong?” He knew he shouldn’t be taking his frustration out on her. She had proven herself a loyal friend, having saved his life. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“Be patient, Mr. Barrow. Give it time.”
Thomas had a sudden idea. “Do you think Mr. Molesley would help us out this weekend?” The former footman, now a teacher at the village school, had expressed a willingness to don his livery again when needed for large parties and grand events.
“He might. You could ask him.”
“I bet he’d come if you asked him,” Barrow remarked with a knowing grin.
Baxter blushed. “Don’t be silly.” She rose from her chair, unable to look him in the eye. “I’d better get on.”
Later, he and the young footman, Andy Parker, were serving tea to the assembled family members in the library. The conversation was centered on the upcoming weekend. “Rosamund said she’d call back with her train time,” Cora informed them. “Edith and Bertie will be driving down on Friday and should arrive in time for tea. And I’ve asked Isobel, Dickie, and Mama to join us for dinner on Saturday.” She turned to her husband. “When did the Duke say he’d get here?”
There was a loud clink of china as Mary’s cup rattled in her saucer. “What?”
Cora offered her an apologetic smile. “I was going to tell you. We’ve asked the Duke to come. Your father wants to show him the progress being made at Pip’s Corner.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s bad enough that Papa has gone into business with the wretched man. Now you’ve invited him to stay?”
Tom Branson seemed confused by his sister-in-law’s vehemence. “Who’s this we’re talking about?”
Robert answered, “The Duke of Crowborough. I told you—my partner in the building project.” He looked over at Mary’s husband, Henry Talbot. “He’d be about your age. You must have come across him somewhere.”
Henry’s face darkened. “We’ve met, but it was many years ago.”
Barrow, standing at attention, felt like he might faint.