For anyone who has not read the updated chapter 1, (as of Aug. 1, 2026) I recommend you do so, because I ended up completely re-writing it to help with the rest of the story structure. Sorry.
CHAPTER II
ANNA SMITH
YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND, 22 JUNE 1917.
It’s been a long day, but I’m nearly finished. The hospital arrangements have all been taken care of, and the only thing left to do is tidy up Lady Mary’s room, and make sure everything is ready for her after dinner. As I’m finishing up with washing Lady Mary’s hairbrush, and setting everything back to its proper order, a light from the side of the room catches my attention. Normally, I’d think nothing of it. Likely it’s just the sunlight bouncing off one of the mirrors. Only, it’s dark out now, and the light seems to be getting stronger. Turning around, I am stunned to see that the floor-length mirror by the vanity is glowing. A moment later, a woman in a very strange looking dress steps out. In my shock, I grab the first thing I can reach for, which happens to be Lady Mary’s desk lamp, and raise it over my head.
“Who are you?”
“Oh.” She turns to me in surprise for a moment, looking me up and down as if I was the one who had just stepped through a mirror in the oddest clothes. “My name is Lois. Lois Lane. I’m a reporter for The– for LNN.” Well her accent is clearly American. I suppose that could explain her outfit, too, although none of the Americans I’ve ever met have dressed quite like that.
“LNN?” I repeat, growing more confused by the second.
“Luthor News Network,” she clarifies, as if that’s supposed to mean something, then takes a look around the room as if she’s studying it somehow. “Where am I?” She turns back to me, and inspects my dress, “and why are you dressed like a character from an Austen novel?” She seems to be just as confused as I am, perhaps more. And she doesn’t seem to be an immediate threat, so I lower the lamp, though I keep a hold of it, just in case.
“This is my uniform. And I don’t exactly think this is what ladies in Jane Austen’s day were wearing.” At least, when I read her books, I pictured the ladies in gowns like the ones Lady Edith and Lady Sybil wear, and certainly not in maid’s uniforms.
“Uniform?” She seems to be bewildered at the suggestion. “What kind of uniform is that?”
“The uniform of the head housemaid of Downton Abbey.” I retort with a small sense of pride.
“Downton Abbey?”
“House of Lord Crawley, the Earl of Grantham.” I explain in the hopes that it will clear up any confusion. Unfortunately, she seems even more bewildered than before, as her mouth drops open in shock.
“Lord– Earl— I’m sorry, what?” Goodness, neither of us is going to get anywhere if we keep on like this.
“Look, why don’t you tell me where you came from, and how you got here, and then maybe I’ll be able to help you.” She looks between me and the bedposts for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before sighing.
“Well, that’s kind of hard to explain.” She starts to pace around the room. “I was in my apartment, and my mirror started glowing. I thought it was just sunlight at first, but that didn’t make any sense. Anyway, I reached out to touch it, and my hand just… went through the mirror. And then I tried to pull it out, and ended up falling through instead.” Well that is quite the story. And I’d be hard pressed to believe her if I hadn’t just seen her come through Lady Mary’s mirror. She grimaces. “I sound like a crazy person, don’t I?”
“Well, maybe a little.” I chuckle. “But it’s rather hard to argue with your story when I literally saw you step out of Lady Mary’s mirror like some sort of ghost.”
“I’m not a ghost.” She seems to have taken offense at that.
“I didn’t say you were.” I correct. “But you’re clearly not from ‘round here, either.”
“What gave it away?” The sarcasm is dripping from her voice as she turns towards the window, and for a moment she reminds me of Lady Mary, and it almost makes me laugh. As it is, I manage a small smile before replying directly.
“Your clothes for one thing. No self-respecting Englishwoman would be caught dead in a dress that short.” She looks positively affronted at such a suggestion, but then glances at her dress, and tugs the skirt down a little. Not that it helps much. “Your hair for another. Although it’s very flattering, it’s not exactly the style around here. I think Old Lady Grantham would faint if any of the girls cut their hair like that.” She rolls her eyes, and goes back to examining the room. “And then there’s your accent. American, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Metropolis,” she nods absentmindedly, before moving past me towards the window. Setting the lamp down on Lady Mary’s vanity, now fairly certain that this Lois Lane is not dangerous, I join her by the windowsill.
“What I don’t understand is why you came through Lady Mary’s mirror, specifically.”
“Really? That’s your problem with this?” She raises her eyebrows incredulously, reminding me once again of Lady Mary, and this time I let out a small chuckle.
“Well if I were to believe in magic mirrors, which, given the evidence,” I gesture to her with a pointed look of my own, “I suppose I must, then I should think that there should be some reason for why out of all of the mirrors in the world, you came out of Lady Mary’s.” She tilts her head in acknowledgement before glancing back at the mirror. As she does, her eyes light up, as if she’s just realised something.
“Because it’s the same mirror.” Walking towards the mirror, she traces a finger along the wooden frame, inspecting it carefully. “This is my mirror. I mean, it looks a little newer, but it is my mirror.” The same mirror? How? I’m just about to ask, when she mutters, “Great aunt Mary,” still examining the mirror in a trance, before abruptly turning back to me with a kind of fire in her eyes. “Does Lady Mary have any sisters?”
“Two. Lady Edith and Lady Sybil.” I think I see where she’s going with this, even if I find it a bit difficult to believe.
“Sybil!” She gasps, confirming my suspicions. “Sybil Siobhán…” Wait a minute, that doesn’t sound right. Lady Sybil’s middle name is Cora, after her Ladyship. But then… “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone with the last name Branson, would you?”
“Tom Branson?” I’m even more confused now. “He’s the chauffeur.” But why would she know the name Branson? Unless… but no. That would be ridiculous. Or would it? Mr. Branson’s been sweet on Lady Sybil since he started working here– it’s no secret–and Lady Sybil isn’t like Lady Mary; things like status, and wealth don’t matter much to her. Still, Lord and Lady Grantham may let Lady Sybil get away with a lot– too much according to some– but to let her marry the chauffeur would certainly be out of the question. Then again, there’s nothing that’s ever stood in the way of Lady Sybil when she sets her heart on something, not even her parents. Anyway, I’m not sure if that’s what Lois meant at all. I suppose it would be best to just ask her. “Do you think you’ve figured it out, then?” She flinches and turns around abruptly, as if she’d forgotten I was here.
“Oh… I think so. My mirror,” she casts a glance back at the mirror, “was a family heirloom. Mother said it was a wedding gift from a great aunt Mary, who she’d never met, and she gave it to me when I graduated college. And my grandmother’s maiden name was Branson. Sybil Branson. She was named after her mother, who I met once, when I was very young. And if Branson is the chauffeur, that would explain why I’d never heard that great-grandma Branson was a Lady– Mother never would have shut up about it if she knew we were even remotely related to any kind of British nobility.”
Even though I’d thought as much before, it’s still a bit disconcerting to hear her confirm my suspicions, and to think of the implications of what it all means.
“Then you mean to say that you are Lady Sybil’s great-granddaughter? From the future?”
“I think so.” Of all of the fantastical things I thought could only happen in fairytales, this would be at the top of the list. To be honest, I’m not sure I haven’t hit my head, and this is a dream. Lois seems to be deep in thought for a moment, before she walks back to the mirror, and reaches out to touch it, no doubt hoping to go back through to her home, but the glass remains steady, and the reflection doesn’t change. She stands in front of the mirror as if transfixed, and it’s only when she takes a deep breath and turns back to face me that I realise she’s trying not to cry. Right. No matter who she is or why she ended up here, she’s stuck here now, and in desperate need of a place to stay. Which means I’ll have to make a plan. It can’t involve the family. As much as I would like to recruit Lady Mary or Lady Sybil’s help, neither of them would believe me. I’m barely sure I believe me.
The first thing to do is get out of Lady Mary’s room. Luckily the family’s just gone to dinner, and they aren’t likely to be done for a while yet. But the maids are in the East rooms, the soldiers are downstairs, and the footmen are likely to be bringing up the main course by now. I can’t see any way to sneak her down to the servants’ quarters unnoticed, especially when she looks like… well the way that she’s currently dressed.
I suppose that should be the first step, then. Her hair will be easy enough to fix. If I can pin it, and curl it quickly, I might be able to pass it for the style Lady Edith likes, with the waves that make it look shorter. But her dress… I’m certain Lady Mary would notice if one of her dresses went missing, even one of the ones she hasn’t worn in years. And she’d certainly recognise it if we did have the rotten luck of running into her before we’d figured out what to tell the family. Not to mention that Lady Mary is a good bit taller than Lois is. Her dresses would probably be a bit big. Lady Sybil’s would be more Lois’ size, and she’d be less likely to notice if one of her dresses went missing, especially one from the back of her wardrobe, perhaps one of the ones she’d been meaning to give away anyway? But then–
“Are you ok?” Lois, who has seated herself at Lady Mary’s vanity, is now looking at me with concern, and I realise I haven’t said anything for the last several minutes.
“Yes, I’m fine. I was only trying to figure out how to get you out of here without anyone noticing.”
“Oh.” Her face falls, and though she tries to hide it, I can see the panic flashing in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I reassure her quickly, “I won’t throw you out on the streets. I believe your story, like I said. But it wouldn’t do to have anyone else find you in Lady Mary’s room. If we can find a way to get you downstairs, you can stay in my room tonight. I have no roommate at present, so there’s an extra bed, and then we can make a plan for tomorrow once everyone else is asleep.” She glances at me, then exhales, and smiles genuinely for the first time tonight.
“Thank you.” Standing up, she joins me by the windowsill. “So… what’s the plan?”
“I’m trying to figure that out now.” I explain the problem, and after a moment where she seems deep in thought, she straightens, as if she’s got an idea.
“If you could get a dress, and fix my hair very quickly, then we could tell anyone we happen to run into that I’m one of the soldier’s wives, here to visit.”
“I’d thought of that. But Mr. Barrows is in charge of the soldier’s records. Anything like that would have to be reported back to him, and he’d know if we were lying. Thomas is the last person who’s bad side you want to be on, believe me. Anyway, visiting hours are over, so it wouldn’t work.” Brushing a piece of hair out of her face, she turns back to the window, biting her lip in thought for a moment, before she narrows her eyes, and leans out the window, peering at the ground.
“Is there any way I could get down from here?” That’s a thought. If I could find a piece of rope, then she could use it to climb out the window safely, and when everyone’s gone to bed, I could let her back in through the servant’s door. But where would I get the rope? Looking around Lady Mary’s room, the answer stares me in the face, even though it would be highly improper, not to mention dangerous, if we get caught. But it’ll be at least forty minutes before anyone comes looking for me, and another few hours before Lady Mary returns, which just might be enough time to get away with it.
“I have an idea.”
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Fifty minutes later, I’m just pulling a clean set of bedsheets over Lady Mary’s bed when there’s a knock at the door.
“Anna?” Mrs. Hughes calls before opening the door. “Everyone was wondering where you were. Dinner is ready downstairs.” She casts a wary glance at the unmade bed.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hughes, I was just about to come down. I tripped and spilled the cleaning vinegar on the old bedsheets, and I had to change them. Clumsy me.” She purses her lips disapprovingly, glancing back at the bed, before sighing heavily.
“Carry on, then. But if you’re much later, you’ll be eating a cold dinner.”
“I know.” The moment the door is closed, I let out a relieved breath, before going back to the bed. I can’t believe that it actually worked. Hopefully Lois will be alright for a few hours until I can sneak down to let her back in.
