LOIS LANE
JUNE 19, 1917 (Two Weeks Later)
“Miss Lane?” There’s a knock at my door. Ughh. Who could possibly be at my door this early in the morning? Maybe if I ignore them, they’ll go away. “Miss Lane?” Or maybe not. But I am not getting out of bed. Not unless I absolutely have to. “Miss Lane.” Seriously, why won’t they just leave. And who needs me this early anyway? “Miss Lane.” Well whoever they are, they’re persistent. Groaning, I roll out of bed… and realise that this is not my apartment. Where– oh. Right. “Miss Lane!” Yes, yes, I’m coming.
Opening the door, I find a very annoyed looking maid that I don’t recognize. That’s strange. Where’s Anna?
“Yes?”
“Lady Grantham’s requested you come down for breakfast.” Is that a good thing, or should I be worried? I haven’t talked with Lady Grantham very much, so I’m not sure. I guess I’ll just have to go downstairs and find out.
Turns out, I should have been worried, because when I walk into the library where the rest of the family is having breakfast, they all turn to look at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Good heavens!” Lady Mary exclaims, looking like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Is your hair really that short?” Edith asks. Oh, give me a break. Seriously? That’s what they’re all worried about? I forgot to pull my hair back. It’s not exactly a crime.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” The grandmother replies snappily. “If you don’t mind being mistaken for a man.” Excuse me? I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, Lady Sybil cuts in with a smile.
“Well I think it’s lovely.”
“You would.” Lady Mary mutters over her teacup.
“Thank you.” I nod to Sybil, grateful to have someone on my side for once, before turning back to Lady Grantham. “I was told you wanted to see me?”
“Ah, no dear.” The grandmother replies before Lady Grantham can get a word in. “That would be me.” Does that mean her title is also Lady Grantham? But they can’t both be Lady Grantham. Why is everything here so complicated? “I must admit, I’m very interested in where you come from, and how you ended up at Downton.” Something about the way she’s looking at me makes me think there’s something more to that statement. But she couldn’t possibly know the truth… right?
“Like I said when I first arrived,” I start cautiously, trying to figure out if this is a trap. “I’m a reporter from the Daily Planet.”
“Yes.” She nods, but she doesn’t seem entirely convinced “From Metropolis, is that correct?”
“Yes.” I’m not sure what she’s trying to get at.
“Does everyone in Metropolis wear their hair like that?” This again? What is the big deal? By 1920, everyone will have their hair this short anyway. And don’t they have bigger things to be worrying about? Isn’t there a war happening, and a hospital to be run?
“It’s a growing trend.”
“Hm.” She smirks, like she knows something, before becoming more serious. “Sit down, dear. You’re not a maid.” Normally, I would keep standing out of defiance. But that’s probably not the smartest idea right now, especially when I feel like I’m being scrutinized for every little thing I do. Plus I can’t exactly eat while I’m standing. So, carefully, I take the open seat next to Lady Sybil, who immediately turns to me and chimes in.
“What’s Metropolis like?”
“Busy.” I reply, still watching the grandmother– Lady Grantham– Old Lady Grantham? Is that offensive?– out of the corner of my eye.
“There’s always something happening, there’s never a dull moment” Or at least, that’s how it used to be, before the Planet exploded and my life turned upside down.
“Do you miss it?” Mary looks up from her tea, catching me off guard.
“I…” Do I miss it? I don’t know. Everything here has been so exciting that I haven’t thought about Metropolis at all. Well that’s not entirely true. I’ve thought about Clark– a lot, actually, wondering what he’s up to, or if he’d like it here– but that’s obviously not the same as missing Metropolis. “I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to miss Metropolis yet. It’s still so new, and exciting, in a different way.” The grandmother is still eyeing me over her tea, although she’s smiling now, and I’m choosing to take that as a good sign.
“Hm.” Mary goes back to eating, and the table goes quiet for a bit before Sybil turns to Lady Grantham.
“Mamá, is there anything I could do today to help with the house? I’m on a night shift at the hospital, and I don’t want to waste my day doing nothing.”
“Sybil,” Edith cuts in before Lady Grantham can answer. “You need to rest. You can’t expect to work all day and all night. You’ll run yourself ragged.”
“I agree.” Mary adds, just as Sybil opens her mouth to argue back. “You’ll be no use to anyone if you’re exhausted.”
“Last I checked,” Sybil retorts,”neither of you are my mother. And-”
“But I am.” Lady Grantham interjects before Sybil can finish that thought. “And I insist you rest. You can help Edith with the soldiers until lunch, but then I expect you to take the rest of the afternoon off.”
“But Mamá-” A stern glance from Lady Grantham stops whatever argument Sybil was about to make, and she sighs instead. “Yes, Mamá.”
The rest of the morning flies by in a rush of helping Edith and Sybil with the soldiers, which today means delivering letters.
“Miss Lane,” a young Scottish soldier by the name of Lieutenant Gamgee– no joke, his name is Sam Gamgee, although Sam is short for Samuel, not Samwise– calls my name, as I’m just about done delivering the mail in the game room upstairs.
“Lieutenant Gamgee. I have something for you. A letter.”
“Ah, thank you.” He takes the letter before gesturing to the nearby chess table. “I was wondering if we might have another match, when you’re done.” Every day for almost a week now, he’s challenged me to a game. I have yet to lose.
“Aren’t you tired of losing?” I quip back with a chuckle.
“One of these days, I’ll win. You’ll see.” Not if I have anything to say about it. And it just so happens this is the last room I have letters for.
“Not today. I’ll be over in a minute.” After I’m done, I join him by the table, where he’s reading his letter with a smile. He looks up when I sit down, and folds the letter back up.
“Black or white?”
“I’ll go easy on you today. Black.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Shaking his head, he grins, before turning the board. “That attitude,” he moves his first pawn, “is exactly why you’re going to lose.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” I move my pawn opposite his.
The next few minutes pass with similar banter and small talk, until he manages to back me into a corner, and it takes me a while to figure out the best move. By the time I’ve decided, and turn back to Sam, he’s staring out the window, lost in thought.
“Sam?” He snaps to attention.
“My turn?”
“Yeah.” He surveys the board before moving his rook, and knocking out one of my knights. Shoot. “What were you thinking about?” Wait, he left his queen unguarded. Yes!
“Oh nothing.” He moves his knight. “Do you ever think about life before the war, or what you’d be doin now if it wasn’t for it?” I was just about to move, but his question caught me off guard.
“You know, that is the second time today someone’s asked me that question.” Refocusing, I move my rook to corner his bishop.
“It seems to be a pretty popular question these days.” He remarks before turning back to the board, and blocking my way with his knight. “So?”
“I can’t say that I have.” But it’s only been two weeks, and everything here has been so fascinating that it’s not surprising, really, that I haven’t thought about Metropolis at all. Sam seems surprised, though. Probably because life before the war for him was three years ago, instead of two weeks.
“There’s nothin you miss?” Immediately Clark comes to mind, but I’m not getting into all that right now.
“It’s your turn.”
“Ah, so there is somethin.” Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the board, moving my queen to set up a checkmate before replying.
“What about you? What was your life like before the war?”
“I’m not fallin for that again,” he mutters, moving his bishop to block my queen before looking up to answer my question. “Near perfect. I was a teacher in Edinburg, I’ve got a lass up there, too. We were hardly married a month when the Archduke was assassinated."
“Is that who the letter is from?” I move another pawn.
“Aye. She says she can catch a train down day after tomorrow. It’ll be the first time I’ve seen her in nearly a year.” He smiles fondly, but it quickly turns into a wicked grin as he moves a pawn to the end of the board. “My queen.” He holds out his hand, and, begrudgingly, I give him the piece. “And that,” He swaps the pawn and the queen, “is checkmate.” What? No! That’s impossible! But… he’s right. My king is trapped in the corner between his queen and his rook.
“Fine. Play again?” He laughs.
“You’re not a very gracious loser, are ya?” Glaring at him, I start to reset the board, when Lady Sybil barges into the room.
“Miss Lane? Oh, there you are. There’s a captain in the great hall that’s asked for you.” Oh? Why?
“I guess I’ll have to take a raincheck on that rematch.” Sam remarks with a grin. “Same time tomorrow?”
“You’re on.” I turn and follow Sybil out into the main hall. She stops in front of one of the soldiers.
“Miss Lane, this is Captain Smiley.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smile in what I hope is a comforting way.
“You as well. I was told you’re a writer?”
“I am.”
“I was wondering if you could help me with something.” Well I figured that much already. “I was hoping you could help me write a letter.” Oh? “It’s for my parents. I haven’t written before now because I didn’t want to worry them with the different handwriting.” He lifts his arm to reveal a bandaged stump where his left hand should be. Oh. Well that explains it. “I’m left handed. They tried to make me use the right one when I was in school, but Mother wouldn’t let them. How’s that for luck?”
“You’re lucky to have a mother who would fight for you like that.” Sybil remarks with a gentle smile. It sounds like exactly the kind of thing Clark would say. He
“I suppose so.” Captain Smiley smiles up at her, before turning back to me. ‘So you’ll help?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“There’s paper in the library.” Sybil adds helpfully before another soldier claims her attention, and she hurries in the other direction, and I turn back to Captain Smiley.
“I’ll be right back.” He nods, as I turn to head upstairs.
The library is empty. It's actually kind of nice after the chaos of this morning, but I don’t have time to dwell on that. I'm here on a mission. Paper. Where is– ah! On the desk by the window. Snatching a piece, I turn to head back into the main hall… and smack right into someone. Backing up, I’m surprised to see that it’s Mr. Branson. Great. Just great. I haven’t seen Mr. Branson very much, not since my first day here when he drove me and Sybil back to the abbey– it’s hard to believe that was two weeks ago– but there’s something about him that I don’t trust.
“Miss Lane.” He drawls in a thick Irish accent.
“Mr. Branson” I’m about to push past him when he speaks again.
“I was hoping I’d run into you. “
“You were?” There is no way that’s a good thing. Pushing past him, I head for the door. “Well I–”
“I know you’re not who you say you are.” That stops me dead in my tracks. What? How?
“What are you talking about?” I hope that sounded more confident than I feel.
“You told Lady Sybil you’re a reporter from the Daily Planet.”
“I am!” I fire back indignantly.
“Then how come I saw you the night before, sneaking round the back of the Abbey?” Oh, you’ve got to be joking. “So tell me: who are you really, and what do you want with the Crawleys?”
