Chapter Text
O’Brien, having been awakened by the soft creaking of floorboards outside her door, was surprised by what she had seen when she had peeked out into the dark. Her own day had only concluded a mere few hours beforehand, after Her Ladyship had retreated to her own chambers with O’Brien only a few steps behind. Only after being dismissed for the night could O’Brien begin to wind down. With her tasks for the day completed and with no preparations for the morning, O’Brien had headed off to her own bed in the women’s corridor in the Attic. By the time her head had hit the thin pillow, Sarah O’Brien had been swiftly pulled into a light slumber.
Only to be rudely awakened by the creaks of the floorboards beyond her door. Given the ungodly hour, it begged the question of who might be sneaking around. It couldn’t have been one of the housemaids; Sarah could recall seeing them head up well before her. Anna had got up just before she had. As she ran the list of the female members of staff, knowing that they always followed the rigid schedule of finishing their work for the evening precisely when they were expected to, wanting to avoid any issues with Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson.
The realisation of what that left hit hard and fast, as a cold sweat washed over Sarah. Dread quickly followed as the only logical solution dawned on her. Could it truly be an intruder? If someone was brazen enough to break into this most splendid of estates and cause chaos, it seems strange they’d begin their search for valuables in the attic. The servant quarters offered little but the quiet virtue of the young women housed within. A symphony of silent snores and shallow breaths filled the silent night air. Too many unanswered questions raced through her frantic mind.
She silently pushed her up and out of bed, letting the bed linens fall aside as she started to tiptoe across the room. In a few well-placed steps, O’Brien found herself standing before the door; as she reached out for the handle, she could not help but quake a little. Fear was more potent in these few short seconds than in any moment that she could easily recall from her life. Whether that be in the one before coming to this most magnificent of estates or in the time since then as she meticulously climbed through the ranks after starting as a lowly housemaid, all the way up to the prized role that she proudly coveted. Each shallow breath she took hitched slightly in her chest, the air thick with a tension she could taste.
Her calloused hands revealed a history of hard work and success, serving as badges of honour that represented her dedication, perseverance, and the sacrifices she made to become the Countess’s lady’s maid. Service demands its due, leaving behind a few battle scars and a constant barrage of aches and pains. She sat nearly at the summit of the ladder, with Mrs Hughes perched one rung above.
Downton Abbey was usually a symphony of hushed activity, the constant murmur of servants and the distant clinking of silverware a familiar background noise. But now, in the pre-dawn stillness, the silence amplified her apprehension. Her fingers tightened around the brass handle. The polished surface reflected a distorted image of her own face, pale and drawn, with eyes that seemed to have swallowed the darkness of the room. With a final deep breath, she turned the handle and pushed the door open a fraction, pausing as fear crept back in. After steadying her nerves, O’Brien carefully opened the door, trying to make as little sound as possible while she peered into the dark hallway.
It was nearly impossible to see any detail, just the faintest of shapes, as she peered down the corridor, straining to make out any movement. She slowly inched the door open and spotted a figure hovering outside the last bedroom down the hall. As Sarah prepared to scream, her eyes finally adjusted to the lack of light. The figure was slight, resembling a small woman more than a man, especially since they shouldn't have been able to get past the locked partition door that trusted few possessed a key to. The shadow resembled the resident of that room, which raised the question: why was that housemaid up at this hour? Was she trying to beat the morning rush, or had she only just returned from a night of illicit activities with an unknown lover?
The absence of good gossip or any titillating drama recently had caused Sarah to become bored. The scraps of the Bates affair had not been enough to keep her mind from wandering as she toiled through the long hours of the working day. Now, however, the tides were turning, and with a vengeance. This maid, whose name Sarah couldn’t even recall, had never been a bother; she was quiet, almost invisible. Sarah would dare go as far as to call her mousey. She blended into the background, a silent observer of the household’s daily rituals. Affable and friendly to the rest of the staff, the maid had never drawn Sarah’s particular notice, though O’Brien would engage in polite small talk if the young woman addressed her.
Now, safely ensconced in the privacy of her own chambers, it was hard not to chew over this tidbit of gossip. Her mind raced through all the many avenues that could easily be explored when she was face to face with her usual partner in crime in the coming hours. Mr Barrow, of course, would be just as eager to hear precisely what she had witnessed. With her door carefully closed behind her, Sarah continued to pace, then finally retreated into bed, the cotton sheets flush against her.
“There is much to uncover, but I can’t waste sleep thinking about one maid,” she muttered to herself, the words a half-hearted attempt at dismissing the tantalizing information. The phrase didn’t quite banish the images of clandestine meetings, secret rendezvous, and the potential for delicious, scandalous revelation that was now firmly rooted in her mind. The night, she knew, wouldn’t be as restful as she’d hoped, the allure of the mystery proving far more potent than her weariness. She pulled the linen sheet back in place, the crisp fabric cool against her skin, and laid her head down to rest for a few more hours, knowing that the morning would bring a deluge of opportunity and the irresistible allure of a good mystery.
As you perched yourself on the very edge of your bed, exhausted but yet completely satiated, the room overflowed with a sense of accomplishment and fulfilment. The peaceful smile on your face in the late hours after is proof of the delight that came from such a labour of passion. In those idyllic moments, where the class lines were forgotten and masks were shed, a reminder of the raw, unfiltered emotions shared in that heated moment remained as you retreated up to bed.
The night, much like all those had that come before, was a whirlwind of intensity and vulnerability, leaving a lasting impression that would be cherished in the depths of your memory. Having exhausted your last reserves of energy, you finally reached the sanctuary of your bedroom after climbing countless flights of unforgiving stairs. It was a small but comfortable space to rest your head, preparing for another relentless day, much like the one before.
Long hours toiling away at the mountain of tasks that would likely be assigned to your station, on top of the additional on-the-job training that came with the potential for advancement. It seemed too much for just Anna to undertake, darting between the two Miss Crawley's and Mrs Branson. Miss O’Brien had made it quite clear through her words that to assist was beneath one in her position as the Countess’s lady’s maid.
You had offered to help; it was a chance too good to pass up with the potential to move up the ladder. To one day advance beyond your station as a simple housemaid. To become a lady’s maid was the ambition of many a young woman upon entering service.
Your training as a lady's maid had begun at first light, though not as early as those at the bottom of the hierarchy, but earlier than the Crawley's day. Being there gave you a perfect alibi; your position justified your presence in those halls at any reasonable hour. No-one would dare question why you might have been summoned, as there was always a chance of working late when hemming a dress or two for one of the young Misses. You had on fair few occasions seen Anna until the small hours seated alone at the table with a needle and thread, with a tired smile upon her lips as she silently worked.
It would be a perfect, acceptable reason, a way to omit the truth. The position came first, the arrangement a few months after. Not that anyone would believe the real reason behind your twice a week after hours ventures or even how you had fallen into them. You still couldn’t, even now, as you briskly washed away any signs of what had occurred between those soft, silk sheets. The lingering scent of sandalwood and something floral, a scent that clung to you still, taunted your memory.
You would never breathe a word of what happened within those four walls. Never would you have ever entertained the possibility of falling headfirst into a secret, scandalous arrangement with both the Earl and his Countess. You, a housemaid, entangled in a web of desire and forbidden pleasure with the very people you were employed by. Never once had you dreamed of anything of the sort. You felt as if you were caught up in a whirlwind of events from a younger maid’s favourite novella, a romance novel, the kind you used to scoff at when your sister waxed and waned over the latest tale printed in the newspaper.
Yet, here you were, living it, and the absurdity of it all both thrilled and terrified you. The Countess’s sharp wit, the Earl’s smouldering gaze, the clandestine meetings, the stolen kisses – it was all a dangerous game, a delightful dance on the edge of ruin. The water, now tinged pink, swirled down the drain, taking with it the evidence, the whispers, and the secrets. But the feeling, the undeniable memory of their touch, remained, branded onto your very soul.
The rising sun brought with it a fresh wave of anxiety, as the events of the night before replayed in your mind. Fear gnawed at you, and you braced yourself for the inevitable dismissal. The thought had been with you since the moment you’d stumbled through the ajar bedroom door, inadvertently interrupting the couple’s intimate moment. The sight that greeted you was enough to make you want to sink through the floor, a blush creeping up your neck as you registered the intimate scene. All thought before that moment vanished on that first night.
You’d never done anything of this nature before, and your understanding was based on the tales your married older sisters told. Turns out, they’d deliberately left out crucial details. It was a cruel joke, designed to make you think you weren’t brave enough to pursue a relationship. They thought you were too naïve and sheltered to get involved in anything serious.
Unbeknownst to you, your sisters had a secret wager going. They were betting on how long it would take before you, ever the least romantic of them, gave up on this adventure and came home, dejected. They'd always been close, but their contrasting views on life often sparked friendly competitions. As you started your respectable job and tried to find your place in the world, your sisters were placing bets based on the letters you sent. They wagered on which footman you’d fall for, and how long it'd take before he moved on, leaving you heartbroken again, prompting another letter.
Despite your belief that they cared, this situation offered them a slightly more entertaining diversion compared to the bleakness of their own lives. They found solace in anticipation as they shared scandalous secrets about their family, using one hand to gossip and the other to offer empathetic words in writing. Thinking back, you had honestly expected justified frustration and anger levelled your way, not curiosity and a hand reaching out with an offer that seemed far too good to be true. The Earl, a man of imposing prestige with his piercing blue eyes, had been the first to speak, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He'd beckoned you closer, a smile playing on his lips that was both unsettling and captivating.
You had ultimately chosen to take the proverbial bull by the horns, firmly believing nothing further to come of this one night. The Countess, a vision in silk and lace, had watched you with a knowing glint in her eyes. You'd spent the evening in their company, an odd sort of tension and excitement bubbling beneath the surface. The conversation had flowed surprisingly well, with the Earl's dry wit and the Countess's grace drawing you in. You soon found yourself laughing, and even enjoying their company, a dangerous proposition in your current situation. It was surreal, as if you had walked into a scene straight out of the movies'
This first night had been just that, the first of many encounters. You had believed that after a night of laughter and conversation that the chance of receiving your marching orders with a good reference seemed a more likely outcome. Yet nothing came; the days continued as they normally did. It was not something you had given a second thought to, not until the precise moment when Her Ladyship cornered you outside of her bedroom while you were preparing to go up.
As she smiled gently, she gestured silently with her hand, beckoning you to follow her into the privacy of her chamber. Though you could not deny her request, a feeling of dread began to surface. Was this the moment that your dismissal notice was to be given? Would be let go with a good reference or simply turfed out into the icy embrace of the night. You could not possibly be entertaining such thoughts about Her Ladyship, considering that she has consistently treated you with nothing but kindness.
Once the door had been closed, it was then that you noticed that His Lordship had not yet come up. Your face flushed at the possibility that Mr Bates might discover you here, knowing that he would be on the Earl’s heels the moment that he announced that he would be retiring for the night.
“There’s no need to worry; His Lordship won’t be up for sometime yet. I wanted to discuss the events of the other night”
The third nocturnal encounter had initiated a shift into unspoken desires, after which you were offered a unique position, an additional hidden role that would allow you to remain within their household, a task that was both exciting and terrifying. Nonetheless, as the sun climbed higher, everything stayed the same, except for a delightful ache that was a new but embraced sensation. The Earl was asleep, and the Countess, lying beside him, was staring at you with a knowing smile before you slipped out of the bed after hastily redressing and retreated out of sight, leaving the inviting draw of the bed.