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  END OF ACT FIVE

  ACT SIX

  57 INT. CARSON’S PANTRY. DOWNTON. DAY.

  MRS HUGHES (V.O.): I wish you’d stop working for one minute. At least put the light on, or you’ll strain your eyes.

  Carson looks up from his accounts. She is standing in the doorway. He switches on the lamp on his desk.

  CARSON: It’s getting dark so early now. Has she gone?

  MRS HUGHES: She has. So, we’ve lost Mr Bates and Lady Sybil in one day.

  CARSON: I can’t believe it. I suppose I’ll have to look after his lordship now, on top of everything else.

  MRS HUGHES: And I don’t want any jokes about broomsticks and sweeping the floor.

  Which makes him laugh a little. Then he sighs.

  CARSON: His lordship’s got his regimental dinner in Richmond tonight. That means he’ll be in the full fig.

  MRS HUGHES: You’ll manage.

  CARSON: You know, when Mr Bates first came to this house, I thought he could never do the work. But now, I can’t imagine the place without him. Did you see this coming? Because I didn’t.

  MRS HUGHES: I have a confession… I let them have their tea in my sitting room.

  CARSON: That was nice of you.

  MRS HUGHES: It was quite nice. But I had my reasons. There’s a grating on the wall, which means you can hear what’s being said in the room.

  CARSON: You’ve never told me that before.

  She raises her eyebrows slightly to acknowledge this.

  CARSON (CONT’D): If I was a gentleman, I wouldn’t want to know.

  MRS HUGHES: But you’re not.

  CARSON: Fortunately.

  He gets up and closes the door.

  58 EXT. COLLEGE OF NURSING. YORK. DAY.

  The college is attached to a hospital. In the background, men – some on crutches, some in wheelchairs – are tended by nurses. Sybil waits for Branson to unload her two cases.

  BRANSON: Now, where should we go?

  SYBIL: No. I’ll take them. I’m a working nurse now. It’ll be tough enough to be taken seriously without a chauffeur carrying in my luggage.

  There is a strange moment, as they just stand there.

  SYBIL (CONT’D): …Be hard to let you go. My last link with home.

  BRANSON: Not as hard as it is for me.

  Too late, she realises what her words have invited.

  SYBIL: Branson —

  BRANSON: I know I shouldn’t say it, but I can’t keep it in any longer.

  SYBIL: I wish you would.

  BRANSON: I’ve told myself and told myself you’re too far above me, but things are changing. When the war’s over, the world won’t be the same place as it was when it started.

  SYBIL: I agree, but —

  BRANSON: I watched you in that kitchen. You’re not like the others. You were working with those girls. There was no gulf between you.

  SYBIL: That’s true —

  BRANSON: All right, I’m a driver now, but I won’t always be. I’m clever in my way, and a hard worker. And I’ll make something of myself, I promise.

  SYBIL: I know you will.

  BRANSON: Then bet on me. And if your family casts you off, it won’t be forever. They’ll come round, and until they do, I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness.

  He stops. Sybil’s response is not what he’d prayed for.

  SYBIL: I’m terribly flattered —

  BRANSON: Don’t say that!

  SYBIL: Why not?

  BRANSON: Because ‘flattered’ is a word posh people use when they’re getting ready to say no.*

  There is an awkward moment. He’s right, of course.

  SYBIL: That sounds more like you.

  BRANSON: What do you mean?

  SYBIL: Well, you’re hardly an admirer of the British aristocracy.

  She is trying to lighten matters, but she has misjudged him.

  BRANSON: Please don’t make fun of me.

  SYBIL: No.

  BRANSON: It’s cost me all I’ve got to say these things.

  But she cannot give him what he wants. He snaps awake.

  BRANSON (CONT’D): Right. I’ll go. I’ll hand in my notice and I won’t be there when you get back.

  SYBIL: No, don’t do that.

  BRANSON: I must. They won’t let me stay, when they’ve heard what I’ve said.

  SYBIL: They won’t hear. Not from me.

  * I think that it would be modern and silly to imagine that, however liberal Sybil is, and however open to new ideas, she would immediately overcome the prejudice of a lifetime and embrace the chauffeur. She has to get to that point slowly, and we will watch her arriving there. Part of this process will be achieved by her working as a nurse, alongside Thomas and others like him. Again, I thought Allen Leech and Jessica Brown Findlay played all this very, very well. In fact, it amused me to write the exchange about her being ‘flattered’ by his compliment, because I’ve seen it used often in my life as a device for saying no. ‘Alas, we can’t, but it’s terribly flattering to be asked,’ and so on. ‘Flattered’ is a word posh people do indeed use when they’re getting ready to say no, as Branson says. But there we are: she can’t come across quite yet.

  59 EXT. TRENCHES. SOMME. FRANCE. DAY.

  There is fighting going on, with explosions, near and distant. Thomas is struggling with one end of a stretcher.

  THOMAS: Bloody hell. There must be more to life than this.

  A shell explodes, throwing them down into the filth.

  STRETCHER BEARER: Are you all right, Corporal?

  THOMAS: I think so… yes. More or less.

  They get up, but the wounded man is lying half-buried in mud.

  THOMAS (CONT’D): My God.

  STRETCHER BEARER: They wouldn’t believe it, back home where I come from. I thought, Medical Corps — not much danger there. How wrong can one man be?

  The stretcher bearer takes out some cigarettes. He offers one to Thomas’s trembling hand, lighting that one first, then his own as he talks.

  STRETCHER BEARER (CONT’D): I think it comes down to luck. If the bullet’s got your name on it, there’s nothing you can do. If not, then thank God you were lucky —

  As he finishes the last word, a sniper sends a bullet straight through his head, from ear to ear. He stands, blank, for a second and then crumples. Thomas is frozen with shock as, around him, men take cover. He is breathing heavily when a medical officer turns to him and instructs him to load up the bodies. He looks at Thomas.

  MEDICAL OFFICER: Come on, Corporal Barrow. Anyone would think you were losing your enthusiasm.

  THOMAS: Never that, sir. Never that.

  MEDICAL OFFICER: You heard him. He was unlucky.

  Grimly, Thomas picks up the load, pushing through the chaotic trench, past men groaning from wounds. As he goes, he mutters:

  THOMAS: Maybe. But in my book, you make your own bloody luck.

  60 INT. OFFICERS’ MESS OF THE LONDON SCOTTISH. YORKSHIRE. NIGHT.

  The table looks splendid, gleaming with regimental silver and gold. Robert is in full mess kit, talking to a General.

  ROBERT: I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be here tonight, sir.

  GENERAL: We’re very pleased to have you here, Grantham.

  Robert smiles at him. He would love this man to understand.

  ROBERT: You see, just to know I’m with you all, to sense that I belong here… Well, it’s as simple as this: I no longer feel like a fraud.

  61 EXT. HOSPITAL. DOWNTON VILLAGE. NIGHT.

  Clarkson closes the door and walks across the small garden towards the road, when Molesley steps out of the shadows.

  CLARKSON: Mr Molesley? What are you doing here?

  MOLESLEY: I was waiting to see you, Doctor.

  CLARKSON: How can I help?

  MOLESLEY: It’s just, I was wondering whether you’d written that letter. The one you spoke of this afternoon.

  CLARKSON: To the War Office?

  Molesley nods, licki
ng his lips. He is very nervous.

  CLARKSON (CONT’D): Not yet. I was planning to do it in the morning. I’m sorry you were involved in all that. I should have checked with you first, before I interfered.

  MOLESLEY: Well, that’s just it. You see, I think if you had checked with me, you’d have found exactly what Lady Grantham described.

  CLARKSON: I don’t quite —

  MOLESLEY: That I have trouble with my lungs. I get so breathless sometimes, and I’ve noticed it’s getting worse…

  At last, Clarkson is beginning to grasp what is being asked.

  MOLESLEY (CONT’D): They haven’t written to William yet, the Ministry I mean, but they have discharged me. Won’t it just make extra work for them to have to fail me all over again?*

  Clarkson looks at him. Molesley is holding his breath.

  CLARKSON: Very well. I shall correct my statement as regards William, but make no mention of you.

  MOLESLEY: Thank you, Doctor.

  CLARKSON: It’s all right. But Molesley —

  Molesley turns back, his face half in shadow.

  CLARKSON (CONT’D): I hope you will help the war effort in other ways.

  He may have helped a coward dodge the draft, but he cannot resist a slight snort of amusement as Molesley slips away.

  * One of the reasons we started in 1916 was to begin the show with the start of conscription. Otherwise, we couldn’t send men to the front who didn’t want to go. That was why I tried to save William’s line, in Act One, Scene 4, when he says, ‘When they brought conscription in, I thought I’d be called up straight away.’ One element I’m afraid we did lose is that conscription didn’t operate for the first two years of the war, which I don’t think most people are aware of. If we’d started earlier, it would not have been believable that Branson, for example, would enlist. But, as a young and single man, he would certainly have been called up right away. As for William, his promise to his father would have been meaningless unless conscription had not yet come in. Thomas, of course, enlisted early in the Medical Corps because he thought conscription would come in straight away, which he was wrong about. He also thought the Medical Corps would keep him out of trouble, and he was wrong about that, too. He imagined he’d be in a lovely field hospital, behind the lines, bringing people a cup of water. This is not what would have happened, and the Medical Corps was, in fact, a very, very brave part of the fighting force, but he didn’t realise that. Anyway, by this stage of the episode, we have placed Thomas back in the show and at the front.

  62 INT. OFFICERS’ MESS OF THE LONDON SCOTTISH. YORKSHIRE. NIGHT.

  The dinner is over and they are smoking cigars. Officers are standing and talking. Robert leans back in his chair.

  ROBERT: I know the Germans thought the submarines would scare everyone off, but they seem to have had the reverse effect.

  GENERAL: Quite right. It’s too early to crow, but it looks as if America will come in at last.*

  ROBERT: When might the regiment be wanted, sir? The talk at dinner suggested it might be soon.

  GENERAL: Oh, pretty soon, I’d say.

  ROBERT: Well, I’m as ready now as I’ll ever be.

  GENERAL: For what?

  ROBERT: To go to France. With the regiment.

  GENERAL: Why would you do that?

  ROBERT: Because I’m their Colonel, of course. There must be some use for me over there.

  For a moment the General is still. Then he laughs.

  GENERAL: Oh, my dear fellow. We’re not as heartless as that! The position is only an honorary one. Nobody expects you to go to war.

  ROBERT: An honorary one?

  GENERAL: We thought it’d cheer things up a bit, to have the Lord Lieutenant at our table. And so it does. We’re very glad to welcome you here.

  ROBERT: I see.

  GENERAL: But we old codgers have our work cut out for us keeping spirits high at home. Someone must.

  ROBERT: Indeed, sir.

  GENERAL: Is that Taxi Cavendish over there? I must catch him before I go.*

  * We were very lucky to get Jeremy Clyde to play the General, because again, in a scene like this, which is essentially a two-hander, you must feel that the actor playing the other part alongside Hugh Bonneville could be a running character. There is nothing in this very well-acted exchange to tell the audience that we’re not going to see the General for the next two series. Jeremy is an unusual actor. His mother was a Wellesley, and thus a descendant of the great Duke of Wellington, and Jeremy has completely got Wellington’s nose. If you look at him in profile, he is the Iron Duke to the life.

  * Taxi was the nickname of a friend of my father’s. I’ve forgotten his surname, otherwise I would have used it. He was a very senior diplomat, an ambassador to somewhere quite important. But when he was a little boy, he and his brothers and sisters used to play a game in the nursery where they were all vehicles; he was the taxi, and it stuck. I always feel that nicknames can be used by the upper classes to exclude outsiders, because you can very quickly get to know someone too well to call them Lady Bateman, but not well enough to call them Sausage. So there’s a sort of Gaza Strip between these two methods of address, and you’re stuck calling them Louise or some name which nobody who knows them uses. Of course, they don’t, as a rule, see any of this. For them, the nicknames are a reminder of their happy nursery days. So they will still say, ‘Yum, yum, lovely grub…’ and ‘We’d better go, or we’ll get stick,’ or they will quote Nanny to each other. It’s like living in an eighty-year childhood.

  63 INT. MRS HUGHES’S SITTING ROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Carson looks in to find Mrs Hughes.

  CARSON: I’m whacked. When I’ve finished his lordship, I think I’ll turn in. How’s Anna?

  MRS HUGHES: Sobbing her heart out.

  CARSON: Would the truth help her? Tell her he’s still in love with her and she’ll never let go of the dream.

  MRS HUGHES: Mr Bates won’t change his mind?

  CARSON: He can’t. Not without making this house a scandal across the country.

  MRS HUGHES: That’s all you care about! Keeping the creepy Crawleys out of trouble!

  CARSON: Certainly it’s what I care about. And you should care about it, too!

  His stern tone does bring her back to her senses.

  CARSON (CONT’D): Mr Bates has behaved like a man of honour. Would you undo his sacrifice and render it void?

  MRS HUGHES: I suppose not.

  CARSON: Go to Anna. Give her what comfort you can. But do not tell her.

  64 INT. CORA’S BEDROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  O’Brien is getting Cora ready for bed.

  O’BRIEN: So Lady Sybil got off all right in the end. I’m afraid we have to admit she knows what she wants.

  CORA: Yes, she certainly does.

  O’BRIEN: I don’t s’pose the war will leave any of us alone by the time it’s done. I’d a letter from Thomas the other day. He writes that when he thinks about how things used to be, it seems like a dream. It’s not much more than two years ago, but he says it might as well be a century.

  CORA: So you hear from Thomas. Is he well? Please give him my regards.

  O’BRIEN: He’s well enough, m’lady. But I don’t think he’d mind coming home.

  CORA: Oh, how I wish he could, O’Brien. How I wish they all could.

  65 INT. ROBERT’S DRESSING ROOM. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Carson has finished making Robert ready for the night.

  ROBERT: Would it help if William took over again?

  CARSON: I can manage for the time being.

  ROBERT: Of course if Bates hadn’t been so bloody selfish, he would have let us plan for his departure properly.

  Carson does not respond to this for a moment. Then:

  CARSON: Your lordship… I have information that I have no proper claim to…

  ROBERT: Well? What is it?

  CARSON: Well, if your lordship can assure me that you will keep it to yourself —

  ROBERT: I p
romise, Carson. You can drop the last veil.

  CARSON: Well, I feel it only right to tell you that Mr Bates’s leaving was not selfish. Quite the reverse.

  ROBERT: It felt selfish to me. As for the wretched Anna, bedizened with dishonest promises —

  CARSON: Mr Bates left because, had he not done so, his wife was planning to engulf this house in scandal.

  ROBERT: Scandal? What scandal?

  CARSON: The point is, m’lord, Mrs Bates would have made Downton notorious. The price of her silence was her husband’s return.

  ROBERT: But I must know what story she was planning to tell.

  CARSON: I’m sorry, m’lord, I could not speak of it without injuring you and betraying myself.

  Robert looks at him. Carson is not going to budge.

  ROBERT: But you are saying that Bates fell on his sword to protect the reputation of my family?

  Robert is horrified at his own treatment of his valet.

  ROBERT (CONT’D): I must write to him at once. I can’t leave it for a moment. If you’ll kindly give me his address —

  CARSON: M’lord, I cannot. We shouldn’t know these things. It won’t help him to find that we do. You promised.

  ROBERT: Thank you, Carson, there’s no need to frown at me like a nursery governess. I know what I said.

  66 INT. HALL/DINING ROOM/SERVANTS’ STAIRCASE. DOWNTON. NIGHT.

  Crossing the hall, Carson sees a light in the dining room. Ethel is on her knees, with a torch and a duster.

  CARSON: Ethel? What are you doing?

  ETHEL: Seeing to the plugs for the night.

  CARSON: What?

  ETHEL: Polishing the electric plugs and checking them for vapours.

  CARSON: And why are you doing this?

  She looks at him, puzzled by his ignorance.

  ETHEL: Because you were too busy. She said you usually did it, but could I manage it tonight.

  CARSON: And ‘she’, I take it, would be Miss O’Brien?

  The penny drops for Ethel.