#the amount of times Carson has to step in to serve tea or dinner or whatever

[benchowmein]

EVERY episode of Downton Abbey after the War ALWAYS has a line where Carson is like "it's good to be running at full capacity again!" or Mrs. Hughes "I suppose the war finished off second footmen and lady's maids..." like...we KNOW what the staff was pre-War because its season one. They have ONE kitchen maid who ALSO lays the fires, and ONE LADY'S MAID for a house with FOUR LADIES who attends only to ONE. O'Brien ONLY attends on Cora!!!! Anna contrary to popular belief is a PARLOUR MAID, but she also waits on ALL THREE OF THE CRAWLEY DAUGHTERS in addition to her duties as a maid!!!!! Which is fucking laughable for a house of that size!!! She's seen dusting in the library, polishing in the drawing room, tidying in the parlour!!! AND she helps ALL THREE girls get ready every MORNING and EVENING!? And has time for witty asides with Mary?!?!?!? Downton was NEVER running at full capacity if it WAS it maybe wouldn't have had one woman doing three full time jobs at once!!!!

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday 2: Because I Felt Like It

...okay, I was going to save this. I was going to save this for if I ever finish this sprawling behamouth of a monstrosity of a novel.

Assuming it didn’t get cut for being completely self indulgent.

However.

I feel like being completely self indulgent and, more to the point, if it does get cut, I want everyone to have gotten to see Thomas being a thoroughly vindictive little snark face.

Enjoy.

Thomas tried not to fidget, but it was difficult. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much pent up energy. He glanced at the list of names in front of him, then at the clock. Ten minutes. It was going to feel like ten lifetimes, he was certain.

Mr. Carson was ill. Not terribly ill, Mrs. Hughes assured them. Just a bit of cold. He should be right as rain in a couple of days. In the meantime, Andrew would serve the drinks at breakfast and tea, Mr. Molesley had been prevailed upon to cover dinner, and Thomas had, with a surprising amount of relief, agreed to step down and see to the day-to-day running of things. The ledger was in order, as was the wine list. The hall boys knew their jobs well enough that he didn’t need to ride herd on them too badly. The only other major thing that wanted doing was the interviews. He’d already done one, a rather promising candidate from Derbyshire. There were two more.

He glanced at the clock again, told himself he would not smoke, and started to go over the ledger again to fill the time.

He wasn’t certain whether he hoped Mr. Moore arrived early, exactly on time, or slightly late. Not late, he thought. That would end things too quickly. He was dimly aware that the thought was exactly the sort the good people of the world disapproved of. His parents, Mrs. Hughes, Miss Baxter, Anna, they would all cluck their tongues and tell him not to be petty and vindictive.

Just then he didn’t care that much, but it still brought a slight frown to his face and dampened his enthusiasm just a bit. To banish the feeling he imagined what Mary would think if he told her what he was about. That did the trick. After all, Mary was as petty and vindictive as he was, and didn’t it feel nice to not be the only one in the family anymore?

There was a knock on the door and he glanced involuntarily at the clock. Three minutes early. He smiled and called out politely, “Come in.”

Mrs. Hughes opened the door. “A Mr. Moore to see you, sir.”

He’d asked not to be called by his proper title while doing the interviews. The last thing he needed was candidates kissing up and thinking that anything he said meant they had the job. Here, though, it also afforded him a bit of camouflage. Even if she’d told him that he would be meeting Mr. Crawley rather than Mr. Carson, there was no reason for Mr. Moore to be expecting anything other than a strange butler. “Do show him in, Mrs. Hughes,” he smiled, all politeness and pleasantry.

The man who was shown through the door reminded Thomas of a walrus. He’d thought that the first time they’d met, but in the year between then and now, he’d managed to forget. He remembered immediately. If anything, he’d put on weight and his receding hairline had receded further, combining with his unchanged mustache to heighten the resemblance. He rolled into the room with an air of ineffable dignity, took one look at Thomas sitting at his desk, and ground to a halt. His eyes widened, but he showed no other sign of recognition.

The door closed behind him.

“Mr. Moore!” Thomas greeted, as cheerfully as he was able. “So good to see you again. Do have a seat.” He gestured to the seat on the other side of the desk.

Mr. Moore sat, his eyes shifting to the side ever so subtly, as if waiting for someone to pop out and yell ‘surprise!’ and tell him it was a joke. “Good day Mr.,” he hesitated over the last name before saying, very firmly, “Barrow.”

“Actually, it’s Crawley now,” Thomas corrected him. “It’s been quite the year of self discovery for me. Among other things, I’ve discovered I was adopted, funny thing, and I’ve decided to revert to my proper last name.” If the other man made any connection between Thomas and the Crawleys who lived upstairs, he didn’t show it. “I must say,” Thomas continued, “I was rather surprised to see your name on the list of people to interview. I thought you and the missus were happily settled at Rothwell Manor. What prompted you to apply?”

“As you are aware, Mr. Crawley,” the man emphasized the last name, “Rothwell Manor has been going through a slight restructuring of the staff. Under the circumstances, it was felt my experience might be better utilized at a different house, one in greater need of leadership.”

In short, Thomas summed up, he’d been made redundant. He felt like a cat up to its chin in cream. “Right. No need to have a talented butler sitting by idle while the assistant butler does all the work, is there? And while Rothewell Manor is an undeniably fine house,  I can’t see there really being enough work for two.”

Mr. Moore came very close to glaring.

“Well, we certainly have a staff that could use overseeing. Not large for a house of this size, admittedly. We’ve been having our own staffing issues, as you’re well aware. At present we have one footman and two hall boys for you to oversee, with a second footman who comes up from the village as needed. I can’t imagine that would be too difficult for you.” He frowned, thoughtfully. “Mrs. Moore would be a bit of a problem. Our servants’ quarters, of course, are not set up for married couples, and we don’t have any available cottages for you to take at the moment.”

“I have sufficient funds to arrange for Mrs. Moore and I to have our own living quarters, separate from the estate,” Mr. Moore informed him.

The image of Mr. Moore huffing his way up to the Abbey from the village enough was almost enough to make Thomas reconsider and hire him. He was certain the other man didn’t have his own car. But after O’Brien he was less interested in keeping his enemies close than keeping them as far away as possible, preferably in another country. “Ah, yes, a little place to retire. I’m certain you’ve saved up quite a little nest egg over the years,” Thomas nodded, having no qualms about taking pot shots at the other man’s age. After all, they’d just had one butler retire on them, and Mr. Moore couldn’t have been that much younger than Carson. Which was not to say Thomas wouldn’t agree to hire an older, more experienced butler, but any excuse to turn this man down was seen as a bonus. “Are you certain, though, that Downton is the sort of place the missus would like to spend her fading years? I understood that women went in for Bath or little seaside cottages.”

While it was clear from his expression and his notably chilly replies, Mr. Moore knew he was being mocked, he showed a surprising resilience. He must have really wanted the job. “Mrs. Moore was born and raised in Yorkshire, Mr. Crawley, and she hopes to die here. She also enjoys the society of others, so a small town near enough the cities to visit would be preferable.” Before Thomas could phrase his next question, he asked one of his own. “If I may, Mr. Crawley, why are you not taking the position when Mr. Carson leaves?”

The light bulb went on over Thomas’s head. Of course Mr. Moore was being polite and professional. He thought Thomas was still the under-butler, standing in for Carson, and therefore without real power. Well, that would have to be remedied. “Oh, Mr. Carson’s already left, actually,” Thomas assured him. At his immediately perplexed look, he elaborated, “You see, Mr. Carson was the butler here for years, but then his hands went shaky and he had to step down. I took his place at that point, but as I said, it’s been quite the year of self discovery. Along with being adopted, I discovered that Lord and Lady Grantham are actually my parents. So,” he spread his hands philosophically, “I’ve moved into my rightful place upstairs and Mr. Carson has taken over just long enough for us to find a replacement. Except today he has a cold, so I’ve offered to fill in.”

Mr. Moore stared at him, his jaw working like a fish. Thomas understood the look completely. Finally the older man found his voice and, giving in and breaking his professional character, growled. “Is this a joke?”

“I know!” Thomas laughed. “I thought the same thing when I found out. Everyone did. But no. The lawyers have been over everything and concluded that it is no joke. I am the current Viscount Downton and any butler who serves my family will have to be dedicated, discreet, and unfailingly diplomatic.” He stopped, smiling, not caring that it was a nasty smile. Mr. Moore looked like he had swallowed a live toad. “Do you think you have those qualifications, Mr. Moore? Because for some strange reason, I have my doubts.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then there was the scrape of wood on stone as Mr. Moore pushed his chair back and stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Crawley.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Moore.” Thomas remained seated and smiling as the other man turned and showed himself out of the room. “We’ll be in touch.”