#marthadore

This is the sequel to “Addicted to Love”.  There is an unfinished prequel as well, “The Absinthe on My Lips” (which I also need to work on as well as my other incomplete works...geez).

Here is the beginning of what will be a longer fic at some point - part of my Cobert Modern AU headcanon.  I didn’t use a prompt today, just remembered this and wanted to write some on it!

The day had been shaping up well as it approached tea time.  Violet stood as Thompson rolled the tea trolley into the library.  When she did, something out the window caught her eye.  It looked like…a small house attached to a truck.  “Patrick?”

“Mmm?” he asked lazily, his eyes still glued to his newspaper.

“Patrick, you need to come see this.”  She blinked several times, staring at the thing in the gravel drive, and moving closer to the window.  “Thompson, do you know anything about this?” Violet asked when all her husband did was grunt.

Thompson approached the window, then shook his head.  “No, Lady Grantham, I don’t.”

Leaving the tea untouched, Violet hastened out of the room and out the front door.  She circled the monstrosity in chagrin, then noticed a packet hanging from the knob of the door on one side.  A loud snort escaped her as she recognized the handwriting – wide loops and tall swirls – with instructions on where to leave the packet for “the Crawleys”.

“Dear Patrick and Violet,” it read.  “Issi and I know that we have been – and will be – coming to visit quite a bit.  Not wanting to put you out every time (and certainly not wanting to stay all the way in the village!), we purchased this portable little guest house for ourselves, for when we come.  As it might be finished before we arrive this month, I asked the builders to bring it to Downton and leave it for us.  I hope that’s fine!  We can’t wait to see everyone!  Love, Martha and Isidore.”

“Tacky, inconsiderate, vile –“

“Violet?”  Patrick’s voice interrupted her mutterings.

When he reached her side, she thrust to letter into her husband’s hands.  “Just when you think it can’t get any stranger!”

After reading the note, Patrick laughed.  “Oh bloody hell,” he mumbled.  “I suppose we’ll have to find a place for it, figure out how to hook up the water and such.  Although they might have someone come out and do that for them….”  His face took on a pensive expression, a fingertip to his chin.

“Patrick Crawley!  You really think I’m going to let this – this – eyesore stay anywhere near our house?  And the nerve of her!  She didn’t even ask!  And having this letter attached to the thing – she couldn’t even pick up the telephone and tell us it was coming, much less get our approval!”

Violet stopped mid-pace when Patrick stepped in front of her.  Taking her arm, he gently pulled her away from the Levinson’s tiny house.  “You’re kicking gravel everywhere, darling.  And sputtering.  I think you need your tea now.”

But she hadn’t ceased her ranting.  “I can’t believe you, Patrick!”  She kept on, even as a strong cup of sweet, hot tea was put into her hands.  “Where are we supposed to put it?”

“They arrive tomorrow.  I’m sure we’ll think of something.  I’m certain they don’t mean to park it in front of the house indefinitely.”  He’d poured himself something slightly stronger and sat down again.

“See?”  Violet pointed at him with the manila envelope she still held.  “It’s driving you to drink!”

Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Violet, you are driving me to drink.  You’re over-reacting,” he muttered.

She hadn’t heard him, and instead set her cup and saucer onto the tea trolley.  Reaching into the envelope, she pulled out the keys to the truck attached to the tiny house.  They dangled from her hand as she fixed Patrick with a questioning look.  “We can’t drive it into the lake…I suppose.”

At this, Patrick just chuckled.  “No, Violet.  We cannot drive it into the lake.”

Sighing, Violet dropped the keys back into the envelope and the envelope onto a sofa.  “Too bad.”