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“That” royal visit was finally over. The ball at Harewood had come and gone, the Royal party had departed, and a frankly rather exhausted noble family had returned very late to Downton Abbey. Affectionate good nights were said, even on the part of Mary and Edith, who seemed to be getting on rather better than previously, and the ladies and gentlemen retired to their various rooms.
As usual, Anna was waiting to undress Lady Mary, and could not suppress an unwonted smile or two while doing so.
“What is it, Anna? You’re not pregnant again, are you?” asked Mary in her typically arch tones.
“No, Milady”.
“Well, what then? I’ve known you long enough to see when “something’s up”. Come on, out with it!”
“Well, Milady, I would need to swear you to secrecy … “
“You know full well that will never happen!”
Anna sighed, “very well, Ma’am. You remember the slight, er, strangeness, surrounding the royal dinner here?”
“Only too well. Molesley’s Pavlovian pirouetting will be for ever imprinted on my memory.”
“Ah yes, milady, but that’s not all … “
“Oh, you mean the different menu?”
“Yes, but there was more.”
“Was there, now,” exclaimed Mary, waggling a finger at her faithful maid, “Whatever it was, I insist … “
There was a knock at the door.
“Who on Earth can that be?” muttered her Ladyship. “Come!”
In walked Edith, still fully dressed in her evening finery.
“I am so sorry to bother you. I’m usually pretty good at getting myself out of my “togs”, but the fastenings on this dress are very peculiar. Mary, when you’re done, could I borrow Anna for a few minutes?”
“Of course, my dear, we are nearly finished here, though Anna was on the point of being squeezed by me for some particularly meaty gossip, which I suppose will now just have to wait till the morning – I know I sha’n’t sleep a wink … By the way, Edith, it’s a fabulous dress, and you looked wonderful tonight.”
Edith’s jaw nearly hit the floor, “Crikey, Mary, you are in a good mood.”
“I know, I can’t imagine what’s come over me,” came the sardonic reply.
Edith screwed up her face, and raised her eyebrows – she was very used to this sort of thing.
“If I may, Lady Mary, Lady Edith”, interrupted Anna, who had been watching this interchange with a particularly wry smile on her lips, “The dress is part of the gossip, which actually isn’t anything malicious nor untrue, just what you might call “back story”.”
“ 'Back story', indeed!” said Mary, knitting her brows. Suddenly she exclaimed, "Well, it's all got to come out, whatever it is!" She turned to Anna, whose face would have made a sphinx look expressive. “Now, tomorrow, everyone from “downstairs” who was in on … whatever it was, is under strict instruction to come to the library at eleven o’clock sharp. Will you tell Barrow to announce that at the servants’ breakfast, please? Coffee for all and a mountain of Mrs Patmore’s best biscuits will also be essential.”
“As you wish, Milady.”
“I most certainly do wish, the suspense is killing me. I knew something odd was going on, and now we might find out just what. I’ll phone Granny after breakfast – she won’t want to miss this, I’ll be bound. I’ll tell Pappa that it’s just to say a proper thank you to everyone and so forth, and I’ll make sure Mamma is up … “
She turned back to her sister, ”You and Bertie are staying till after lunch, aren’t you?” “Indeed we are … what about Tom?” “I’ll drag him out of his office by his ear, if necessary.”
She paused. “Now Anna, do be a dear and go and extricate Edith from that gorgeous gown, but not a word of all this subterfuge while you’re doing so. I’m going to bed.”
*
Anna was early to arrive at the servants’ hall next morning. She scuttled passed Mrs Patmore, Daisy, and the other kitchen staff, who were already hard at work, and rapped smartly on the door of the butler’s pantry.
“Come!” said Thomas, who was sounding rather pleased about something. As Anna entered, he rather hurriedly stuffed a letter into his inside breast pocket, smiling his most non-committal smile, but could not prevent the very tips of his ears from being distinctly pink.
“Yes, Anna, what can I do for you so early in the morning?”
“I have instructions for you from Lady Mary.”
“Oh, heck! I wonder what she has in store for us now?”
“It’s actually more about what we might have in store for her, and everyone else upstairs, for that matter. She wants the whole story of what really happened when Their Majesties were here.”
Thomas’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What, everything?”
“Well, perhaps not the fact that you and a certain member of the royal staff were seen returning very late on a particular evening … I was putting the cat out, and I do have ears … “
Thomas really did blush now, furiously,
“Don’t worry, Mr Barrow, I also know when to keep my mouth shut. Not that anything was done or said, or … “
“Nothing to put us behind bars, I don’t think, Anna, but thank you.” He suddenly smirked, “Shall we get Molesley to repeat his obeisance.”
“Maybe not, Thomas, that wouldn’t be kind … “
“No, you’re right, though I would have loved to have seen it. He’d better be there, though, I’ll phone the school … “
“ … and tell Mrs Hughes that her husband’s presence will be an essential part of the proceedings.”
“Oh, Lor’, I suppose you’re right. After all, I was hardly here at all … “
“ … but if it hadn’t been for you and that nice dresser man … what was his name again?”
More blushes “ … er, Richard Ellis.”
“ … and his powers of mimicry, none of it would have happened at all – so you were up to your neck in it as well.”
"So what does her Ladyship require of us?"
"All of those who were "involved", as it were, are to present themselves in the Library on the dot of eleven - Lady Mary will gather the "toffs", and has requested coffee for all, and, I quote, "a mountain of Mrs Patmore's best biscuits."
"Her Ladyship's will is our command, as usual."
*
It was thus a singular assemblage gathered in Downton Library later that morning. Variously standing about or sitting about were the whole of "upstairs", including Lord Merton and Isobel (the Dowager had telephoned them at once on receiving Mary's message, and insisted on their coming), while most of "downstairs" were clustered at one end of the library table looking distinctly uncomfortable. Only Thomas, Andy and Albert were doing their usual jobs of doling out coffee and carrying around plates of biscuits. Molesley was, as so often, looking slightly sweaty in his schoolmaster’s suit, while an “off duty” Charles Carson was harrumphing quietly to himself, standing as invisibly as possible at the back of the servants’ group, his wife making intermittent shushing noises to little effect. The Earl and Mary were standing in front of the fireplace, the former looking as though he was about to make a speech, the latter endlessly preventing him, since she wanted to make one of her own.
Suddenly a familiar cut-glass voice cut through the subdued hubbub.
“Well, what are we all waiting for?” said the Dowager. “This coffee is excellent, and your biscuits, Mrs Patmore, as delicious as ever, but I sense something more is afoot.” She rapped her cane on the floor and glared about her like an overactive lighthouse.
“I just thought”, began the earl, “ that I might take the unusual step of bringing everyone here …”
But Mary could contain herself no longer.
“Yes, Pappa, I know I suggested you might gather everyone together to thank them properly for making the whole royal visit the huge success that it most certainly was, but that is not why we’re here."
“I thought as much, Mary, when the telephone rang just as I was buttering my toast”, muttered the Dowager. "My breakfast wasn't ruined, but this had better be worth all this brouhaha!"
“Rest assured, granny, I rather think it will be,” said Mary. "Now, where to start? Well, frankly, we could all tell there were things that did not go strictly to plan. The royal servants disappeared, ours appeared to serve dinner in State Livery that I’d never seen in my life … and your curtsey-bow to Their Majesties, Molesley, was a thing of wonder – how you ever stood up again I shall never know (at this point Molesley nearly choked on a piece of shortbread and was thwacked heartily on the back by Daisy, who was clearly revelling in the whole situation). And then there was the different menu, which, as you know, the King and Queen enjoyed enormously - your “Charlotte Russe”, Mrs Patmore, is quite simply as good as it gets.” (Murmured "hear, hears" from the "upstairs" contingent.)
The cook looked suitably abashed, “Thank you, Milady.”
“I was against the whole thing from the start”, came a mutter from near the window.
“Carson, stop lurking behind that aspidistra and explain yourself,” said the dowager.
The former butler bowed his head to her, and turned to his former employer. “Do I have your permission to speak freely, Milord?”
Grantham sighed, “I think you’d better, Carson.”
“Well, Milord, in a word, I thought what was being proposed was treasonous, and could endanger the reputation of a house and family I had served for many years.” He bowed again, and had never looked more "grave". Mrs Hughes coud barely suppress a giggle.
“Goodness, Carson,” exclaimed Mary. “Tell us more.”
“With your permission, Milady, I’d rather not. There were “ringleaders” who could do so rather better than I, should "better" be deemed the appropriate expression.” His bushy eyebrows were in full orbit, and his harrumphing "off the scale". "Might I suggest Mr and Mrs Bates take up this sorry tale?” He withdrew, still muttering to himself, and helped himself to more coffee.
“If I may, Milady," said Thomas, “Might I just add one more thing? As you know, several royal servants arrived before the royal party itself, to make sure all would run smoothly, to give instructions, and the like. I have worked in this house for almost twenty years, Milord, and, if I may speak freely, Sir, some guests can be, er, difficult, but no gentleman nor lady would ever behave towards a servant as some of them did towards us.”
“Names, Barrow, if you please?” said the Earl, looking distinctly displeased.
“The greatest martinet was one Mr Wilson, a little man who insisted on his title of “Page of the Back Stairs”, telling us all to keep out of his way, taking over the butler’s pantry, informing Mrs Patmore that she could “cook for the servants”, and generally making it abundantly clear that he thought the whole place wasn’t “up to snuff”, as I believe the saying goes. He insisted on marching in through the front door, looked sneeringly around the Great Hall, and was, I am reliably informed, later heard to remark to my long-suffering predecessor (Carson looked round in astonishment; Mrs Hughes beamed) that 'you are a retired servant in a minor provincial house, serving an undistinguished family.' "
"Bloody cheek," muttered Grantham.
“In our army days, Milord”, said Bates, “and begging your ladyships’ pardons, we might have termed him a pompous, over-weening … er … prat.”
The Dowager’s cane banged on the floor again, “Never give little men a little power.”
Mrs Hughes broke in, “Meanwhile the Royal Housekeeper, Mrs Webb, whose face would curdle new milk at twenty paces, tried to order me out of my sitting-room ... we nearly came to blows", she added under her breath.
"I would have paid good money to see that," said the earl, to general laughter.
“And,” added Mrs Patmore plaintively, "the whole village was so full of pride about the royal visit. Mr Bakewell had done us an order that would have fed the whole county for days, and which we felt we couldn’t return, for all that Monsu what’s-his-name (“Courbet”, whispered Daisy) … yes, Kor-blummin’-bay, had brought mountains of provisions and was treating us like slave labour.”
"No doubt Mr Wilson just thought he was doing his job," remarked Mary.
"I daresay he did," remarked Tom, but that's no reason to treat servants like dirt."
"Tom, dear," said :Lady Violet, "You and I may still disagree on many things, but you never spoke a truer word. Mr Wilson may have a fancy title, but he is no gentleman, obviously."
"We were soon calling him far worse things behind his back than that, Milady, I can assure you," added Bates.
"My late father served in the Crimea, Bates," replied the dowager smilingly. "The army slang that sometimes escaped him, even in the presence of us children, has stayed with me all my life."
“Simply put, were all very unhappy, “said Anna. ”It was as though the honour of Downton was at stake, so John and I determined to “fix” them.”
“Excellent," said Mary, “the knitty-gritty, I thought we’d never get there. So, how exactly did you "fix" them?”
We all met down in the wine-cellars, out of the way of prying eyes and ears, and hatched a plot. I put a double dose of a sleeping draught in M’sieur le Chef’s tea. Announcing his weariness after lunch, he went up to his room for a little rest, and that was that for the rest of the day. Shortly before dinner service was about to start, Mrs Patmore contrived to throw sauce all over Mr Pratty-Page-Wilson’s livery. Of course, he had to rush up to his room to change, and Andy locked him in “by mistake.”
“Mrs Webb, for all her grand ways, rather collapsed at this point. She knew she was beaten," added Mrs Hughes, clearly delighted at the memory.
“But what about the royal footmen?” asked the Countess, “What happened to them?”
“I understand, Milady,” said Thomas, “that Mr Pratty-Wilson received a phone-call from a superior in the Royal Household saying there’d been a mix-up in the schedules, and that they were all required for a royal function in London that evening. It later turned out to have been a hoax call from a phone-box, someone mimicking the “Comptroller’s” voice … untraceable, of course.”
“I wonder who could have done that?“ murmured the Earl.
Mary caught a twinkle in Thomas' eye, but said nothing.
“Someone with a grudge against, er, Mr “Pratty-Wilson”, I imagine,“ replied Lady Violet, with a satisfied smile. "The Royal Household is notorious for rivalries, always has been.”
"But we must all keep this to ourselves," said the Earl, "Not a word beyond these four walls, understood?" A chorus of "Oh, but of course" and "Yes, Milord" followed.
The Dowager, however, said nothing, just exchanged a knowing glance with Mary - both knew the use to which such information might be put, should the need arise. She rose to her feet. “Is that all, Mrs Bates?"
"Yes, Milady."
"Well, it was quite a tale, and I think" - she glanced around the room - "that you did indeed all do Downton proud. (More murmurs of "quite so", "hear, hear", and "thank you, Ma'am".) Now, Robert, I must be going: Spratt will be desperate to bring me a glass of sherry before luncheon. Barrow, please get my car brought round.” On the butler's supporting arm, she exited as gracefully as ever.
“Yes, that was certainly quite something, but I think we are all done here”, said Grantham. “Mrs Patmore, this will have kept you from your duties. Would a cold collation at, say, one-thirty, be feasible?”
“Of course, your Lordship, we’ll get right to it. Come on, Daisy”. They and everyone else slowly wended their way.
When there was hardly anyone left in the room, Edith suddenly turned to her sister. “Mary, we forgot about the dress!”
Fortunately Anna was still within earshot. “Miss Lawton, the Queen’s Dresser, made the alterations for you, Milady. I gave her good reason.”
“How do you mean?” asked Mary.
“Well, Milady, you remember that it seemed that small items seemed to keep disappearing from the house while the royal party was here?
"I most certainly do."
"From the start, Miss Lawton seemed a very "cool customer", keen to impress us: her French training with Madame so-and-so, that sort of thing. However, once or twice I came across her in rooms where servants shouldn't normally be, and it was just that her manner was very odd at times. Then I guessed, and guessed right. She was stealing things, had been doing it for years. I threatened her, with the police and the newspapers, and she had a sleepless night of needlework as a result ... oh, and returned everything.”
*
It was a quiet “family” dinner that evening at Downton, just Grantham, Mary, Henry, Tom, and “Granny”. When the after dinner drinks stage was reached, Mary announced that she had one more thing to tell.
“This must be kept utterly secret, cross your heart, hope to die, all that.”
“Oh, Lor' ”, murmured Tom.
“Before the Royals arrived, some kind of “Special Branch type” chappie called Chetwode turned up in the village, and started cultivating Tom, who, with his Irish Fenian past, thought he was being checked up on, and, frankly, so did I. I couldn't have been more wrong: Chetwode, outwardly the perfect English gentleman, was in reality a Republican fanatic - just before the parade started he sneaked off down an alley in the village, found the King at the back of the procession, and aimed a pistol at him from twenty paces. Fortunately Tom had followed him, tackled him to the ground, and saved His Majesty's life."
For once in her own life, even Lady Violet Crawley was speechless.
*
However, that did not prevent her from writing the next day a letter to her newly-reconciled cousin, Maud Bagshaw:
“Dear Maud,
Several matters have come to my notice, proceeding from Their Majesties' recent visit to Yorkshire. If it is not against protocol, might I ask you somehow to convey the import of what follows to Her Majesty at an opportune moment.
It is evident that His Majesty’s “Page of the Back Stairs”, Mr Wilson, is, as coined by one member of the Downton Staff, “a pompous, over-weening prat”, condescending, endlessly attempting to stand on a dignity that he clearly does not possess, and thoroughly unpleasant to trained professional staff whom he considers to be inferior to his own exalted self. Meanwhile, Monsieur Courbet is undoubtedly a great chef, but is also a dreadful snob and an arrogant bully, as is Mrs Webb, a woman, who, as well as apparently having, and I quote, “a face that would curdle milk at twenty paces”, clearly regards offending senior staff as part of her job. Perhaps most seriously of all, Her Majesty’s Dresser, Miss Lawton, is a thief, far too fond of purloining small items of sentimental or greater value from houses that Their Majesties visit. At Downton she was caught out by a faithful and observant member of our staff.
Much looking forward to welcoming you and Lucy Smith to the Dower House in the near future,
your affectionate cousin,
Violet”
*
At Sandringham later that summer, an appropriate moment did arrive.
One morning, after assisting the Queen with some correspondence as usual, Lady Bagshaw said, "Ma'am, I have received a letter myself, which, if I may, I should like to read to you."
"How very singular! But, of course, if you wish ... "
"Thank you, Ma'am. Shall I ring for some tea?
"Ah, one of those letters, I see."
"Well, Ma'am, the letter is from my cousin, the dowager Countess of Grantham, and might be described as a "warts 'n' all" missive ... if such an expression may be excused."
Her Majesty was a little taken aback. "Goodness me! Tea is clearly essential ... and please do not omit the warts."
"Very well, Ma'am."
The bell was rung, the tea arrived, the servant departed, the letter was read.
Her Majesty did not take such matters lightly: Miss Lawton was dismissed without a reference; it was suggested to Monsieur Courbet that a return to his native land to brush up on recent culinary developments might be in order, while Miss Webb was given early retirement, and consigned to an extremely small grace-and-favour cottage in a rather far-flung part of Windsor Great Park. As to Mr Wilson, his difficulties with the Comptroller of the Royal Household did not diminish, and he was last heard of trying to page the back stairs of the Duke of Windsor in his role of Governor of the Bahamas. Mr Wilson hated the heat.