Alright, I admit it: my ability to write anything but fluff is gone. Destroyed by a one-minute trailer and a forehead kiss.
I feel like I should apologize for that – but maybe not. Just consider yourselves warned. ;)
Changing Ways
Elsie Hughes wrinkled her nose against the stench coming from the nearby sties. Not for the first time that day she wondered why the family had considered a visit to the pig fair to be a welcome outing for all the staff.
Memories of her home and the farm assaulted her with every waft of the strong, earthy smell coming from the various compounds.
She pushed the unpleasant thoughts away as she tried to focus on her companion's words – his deep, baritone rumblings so far having served as nothing but pleasant background noise; the content of his monologue something which she had quite deliberately ignored.
"Lady Mary is convinced that on the day…"
And with those words she tuned out again, rolling her eyes so subtly that she was sure he hadn't noticed.
Maybe the visit to the pig fair shouldn't have been that much of a surprise to her. For the past few weeks Elsie Hughes had felt trapped in some strange, parallel world. A world in which the Granthams planned a wedding for their Butler and Housekeeper that was fitting for a King.
Maybe, in that strange universe, day trips to pig fairs were a perfectly normal source of enjoyment for people.
When her fiancé had informed her – early on Christmas day, after he had obviously spent all night deliberating over it – that he would like to inform the family of their good news as soon as possible, she had been hesitant.
She hadn't really shared his faith in the family's favourable reaction and while she would have loved to claim that her greatest concern had been his hurt feelings, it wasn't quite true.
Lord and Lady Grantham were kind and generous employees, but occasionally his Lordship showed an old-fashionedness that rivalled even that of her future husband. And although the year was 1925, married Butlers and Housekeepers were still not a common thing – frowned upon inside and especially outside of London.
She had worried about what would happen if the family turned them out. How they'd afford the renovations on their guesthouse, Becky's care. How, most of all, she could settle into retirement when she had no real wish to stop working yet – still enjoyed her position, her work in the household.
But then he had explained that he did not wish their news to be sullied by making them dishonest. Disloyal to the people who had been so good to them for so long and she had given in eventually.
She couldn't have been more grateful for the family's response to their engagement. For them not disappointing the trust he had placed in them, for their enthusiastic well-wishes and the smile they had conjured up on the Butler's face.
It hadn't only been Mr. Carson's eyes which had filled with tears of affection and gratitude when his Lordship had extended his hand in congratulation, when Lady Mary had gently insisted on allowing the family to help with the wedding.
She had agreed to it; of course she had. And how could she not have when he had been so proud – proud of the family and her and them.
She had, perhaps foolishly, expected the family to offer some wine for the festivities and maybe grant an extra day off to mark the occasion. She had even expected Lady Mary to insist on attending the ceremony.
What she had certainly not expected was the sudden talk of church decorations and the detailed planning for the reception after the ceremony.
Suddenly she had been informed – quite brusquely – that wearing her blue suit during the ceremony was out of the question (the suit for which she had saved for months; which she had chosen because she had gotten it in her head that he liked her in blue). That a new dress would be made by Anna and Ms. Baxter.
She had endured all those meetings, the ever more fantastical ideas the Ladies had thrown around as well as Mr. Carson and his Lordship's unnatural silence on the question of propriety because there had been one person left, one very important person, who'd easily see the madness behind all the plans and who'd swiftly put all of them back into their rightful places.
So when the Dowager had arrived for dinner a few days later and Mr. Carson had returned from upstairs with a dazed expression on his face, she had already schooled her features into a mask of gentle sympathy. She had even been prepared to make little tutting sounds of disappointment when he had taken a deep breath and had obviously prepared himself to tell her that their wedding plans would have to be a lot simpler than they had originally thought.
Nothing, however, could have prepared her for what Mr. Carson had said then. For the reverent whisper with which he had relayed the Dowager's insistence on contributing the flowers to the celebration and the church decorations.
The Housekeeper had felt her jaw slacken with disbelief and for the next three days she could be heard muttering about the old bat under her breath.
And now there was this – Lady Mary had suggested holding the reception at the Abbey. 'Much more fitting' she had said and once again Elsie had been left to wonder whether the young Lady really remembered who Mr. Carson was. The Butler.
She also wondered whether the Butler had forgotten that fact.
They'd had the discussion about the location for the wedding reception before, in his pantry a few nights ago, until they had – thankfully – been interrupted by Mr. Molesley.
Yet here they were, discussing it again – although discussion was too strong a word for his droning monologue.
She was merely informed of what the Ladies had decided. She, who had planned every function at the Abbey in the past twenty years, was suddenly banned from having any say in her own wedding.
"So you see, it really would be easiest to have it at the Abbey," he concluded his monologue with an air of such insufferable self-satisfaction that she felt her hackles rising.
"I want a Scottish minister!" She blurted out, surprising herself as much as him.
"I beg your pardon?" He replied in obvious confusion and she turned towards him; raised her chin defiantly.
"I said I want a Scottish minister at the wedding."
"But… but we have already planned the ceremony with Mr. Travis. You agreed to it. You've been a member of the Downton parish for decades," he stammered.
"I've changed my mind," she declared – taking pleasure in the exasperated look on his face.
"Well, let me talk to her Ladyship and see what we can do." He was truly baffled by the look of annoyance on her face. He had been slightly perturbed by her lack of interest in the planning so far but now she was rolling her eyes at him and he knew that he needed to address it.
"Have I done something to offend you?" He asked tentatively.
She sighed in exhaustion. The insecure look on his face effectively taking the wind out of her sails, causing her anger to evaporate as quickly as it had come.
"Don't you ever think that it's all a bit much?" She looked off into the distance, weary of the hurt look she was sure would appear on his face as she spoke the words. "That all those grand gestures would be more appropriate for other, younger people?"
She didn't want to speak of her displeasure with being put into the focus. About how being the centre of attention had only ever hurt her in the past. She also didn't wish to mention her apprehension about her fine wedding dress with the elaborate train and the – for her – unusually high heels. Both of which caused her to stumble and gave her nightmares as she imagined embarrassing him and herself on their wedding day.
"I… no, I thought a bit of style and show wouldn't be remiss for our wedding." He was beginning to change his mind, though. Suddenly he wondered whether she saw him as a sad, old fool this time; so very eager to celebrate this marriage to her – this beautiful, perfect woman – in the grandest possible way.
Proud was what he had been – not least of all because of the family's enthusiasm. He had been tickled by their regard for him. That he was more than just a butler.
"Oh Mr. Carson," she said softly, shaking her head ever so slightly.
"So, this Scottish minister," he began but she interrupted him by putting her hand on his arm.
"Forget it, Mr. Carson. It's not important. I'll wear my blue suit on Sundays and we'll be married just as you and the family wish. And now excuse me please; I need to make sure that the maids are ready for when his Lordship wants to leave."
She gave his arm a gently squeeze and marched off towards the square where most of the servants had gathered.
She didn't want to hurt him. Not after he had been so tender and understanding when she had doubted his motives for their nuptials a few weeks ago. Not after he had taken her head so gently and had pressed such a reverent kiss to her forehead. And really, what was one more instance of being stared at?
He watched her walking away from him, his brow creased in confusion as he tried to make sense of her disjointed utterances. He'd need to talk to her again later.
She huffed in quiet frustration when she pressed her coat to her face. Despite having hung outside for the remainder of the afternoon and all through dinner service, the garment still smelt of pigs and dung.
At the short rap at her door she quickly bundled the coat up and put it aside. She'd give it to the laundry maids in the morning.
When he entered her sitting room, he didn't carry a binder with him, which was most unusual these days.
"No new wedding plans then?" She couldn't help needling him a little.
"Not tonight, no. I brought some wine instead if you are so inclined."
She nodded and sat down opposite of him. After he had poured and they had both taken a sip, he studied her, seemingly lost in thought.
"I like your blue suit!" He suddenly exclaimed; shaking her from her own musings.
"Come again?"
"I said I like your blue suit. It's very becoming."
She flushed slightly at his compliment but still didn't quite know what to make of his strange comments.
"We could make it to Gretna Green in just under four hours. You could wear your blue ensemble and we'd be married without any fuss."
She was glad that she hadn't just taken a sip from her glass or she would most certainly have chocked in light of his uncharacteristic awareness and sensitivity.
"We couldn't do that," she rebuked him softly. "But I thank you for the offer."
He looked decisively smug at having got it right, but she decided to allow him that.
"I realise that I'm very late with asking this but how would you like our wedding to be then?" he inquired gently, his face open, his interest honest.
She debated her answer, but in the end she decided to be frank.
"When I thought about it, I imagined a small church ceremony. I wanted Mrs. Patmore to be there, Anna and Mr. Bates maybe. I thought we could go to the Grantham Arms afterwards, have a bite to eat. And in my more daring fantasies we'd then have a halfday to… get accustomed to being husband and wife."
She blushed prettily and he smiled softly – until he caught the double meaning behind her words and his face blazed a bright red.
"I thought… had hoped really that Lady Mary might be there. I know how much it'd mean to you."
She broke off then, slightly embarrassed by her ramblings.
"But they are all going to be there," he reminded her gently; still puzzled as to why she was so dissatisfied with the way their wedding was going to go.
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, her eyes resting on her hands. Then she shook her head ever so slightly – about herself much more than about him.
She had always prided herself about living in the real, the modern world. Had always assumed that she knew how life worked. And yet she had been unable to imagine how much work this slowly unfolding relationship with Mr. Carson would be. Had never been able to imagine how much she would have to change; how hard she'd find it to depend on him.
In the past she could have let the conversation tapper out at this point, could have contented herself with thinking that he simply didn't understand and leave it at that.
But now she was no longer responsible for only herself. Now she needed him to understand her; she needed to show him that she cared about his opinion, his concern.
Opening up so much, revealing so much of her inner workings scared her – pushed her in a way she had never been pushed before. While she had always and did still find it easy to look after him and his emotions, she felt an inexplicable resistance to bare her innermost thoughts to him.
And how could she tell him that she was worried about what would happen on their wedding day? How could she tell him that she dreamed of seeing his eyes swimming with tears of emotion again during the ceremony?
That she feared it would actually happen that way, because she was afraid that people would laugh at him, would find his behaviour inappropriate for a man of his age and standing.
That she feared that it wouldn't happen that way, because he was so focused on appearance that there'd be no emotion during their vows?
How was she supposed to tell him all of that without coming across as the sentimental fool of a woman she was beginning to fear that she was?
However, she knew that she needed to address these topics. She had to give him the opportunity to understand her.
She took another deep breath and began speaking in a clear and strong voice. Her eyes, however, continued to stare at her hands.
"Mr. Carson, we've always been private persons, you and I. I would have loved for our wedding to reflect that – to be an intimate affair between us and our closest friends… our family I suppose. But now our nuptials are the talk of the village. I heard Mrs. Wigan commenting that she couldn't wait to see it."
"You know, you could see it as a compliment that so many people want to celebrate with us," he interjected.
She shook her head, drawn somewhere between affection and irritation. For a man as intelligent as he was, he could be incredible naïve at times. She fixed him with her glare before she continued.
"I am a 61 years old woman, Mr. Carson and I will be wearing a gown that would be appropriate for someone much grander than me. I will walk down an aisle that will be decorated with flowers that could at worst be described as ostentatious. Do you really think people will come to celebrate our marriage? Don't you think it might be to ridicule the affair with their friends, instead? To make fun of us? Me? The old bride who is putting on such a flamboyant show?
And it would hurt because I was looking forward to celebrating this….." She broke off briefly but then closed her eyes and soldiered on. "this love between us. And I didn't want to have to mind the way I looked and spoke and whether I was crying when I said the vows. But now I feel as if I have to… because the Dowager will be there and half the village and because people aren't always kind. Believe me, Mr. Carson, Downton is no different than Argyll and our wedding will provide them with weeks of gossip and cynical comments if they want it to.
And having the reception at the Abbey? How is that supposed to work? I'm surprised that you'd feel comfortable with being seated upstairs. It's equally unthinkable to have the family join us downstairs. And who would wait on us? Are the people who are supposed to celebrate with us going to serve? How would all of that work?" She interrupted herself; removed the aggression from her voice before she continued.
"I just…," and here her voice hitched, "I just want to celebrate what we have and I don't want others to sully it by mocking us."
She took a deep breath to dispel the tears in her eyes. Now he knew.
Maybe not about the many times a family outing for the Hughes had been destroyed by people's negative reactions to Becky or the bitter tears her mother had cried because she had felt ashamed when she shouldn't have.
Nor about the way Elsie had learned from an early age that maintaining one's composure and keeping others at distance with an air of indifferent superiority could somewhat cushion the piercing pain of disparaging comments.
But at least he knew why she was so opposed to having such a grand wedding.
Charles felt rooted to his seat, overwhelmed by both the depth of what his future wife had told him and by what she had only hinted at.
He couldn't believe that he had been so blind to her needs; to the extent of her apprehension. Not for the first time he wondered whether he was a fool to attempt marriage at his age. He had lived alone for nearly all his life and if anything, the fact that she had to remind him that she, too, should play a role in their wedding, showed that he still had an awful lot to learn about sharing his life with another person.
He was still trying to organize his thoughts when she looked up at him, her lip drawn between her teeth – insecurity radiating off her.
He leant forward and grasped her hands with his. The need to reassure her, to protect her and to right the situation easily overrode the doubts plaguing his mind.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, pressing her hands gently.
She cocked her head to the side and studied him questioningly.
"I have been so focused on celebrating this wedding in the style that I thought it deserved to be celebrated that I didn't think to pause and ask for your opinion. I clung to what I knew. Fulfilling the family's wishes, adhering to their suggestions has always been my top priority and I handled this all wrong. I'm sorry that I didn't put you first."
She smiled softly at this and squeezed his hands tentatively.
"Do you think we'll ever work this out?" He asked quietly, his eyes coming to rest on their entwined hands; the hands that fit so well together even though his were dwarfing hers. He tightened his hold as if he was afraid that she would let go.
"I think we are beginning to. And we're nothing if not perfectionists. I'm sure we'll manage it eventually. But it's a lot more work than we both expected, isn't it?" They both smiled wearily at each other.
"What do we do about this wedding then?" he asked. He longed to give her what she wanted but he knew as well as she did that it was too late for that now.
"Well, I'm going to wear a dress that makes me stumble and I am going to walk down an aisle decorated with extravagant flowers and I will not look left or right… as long as you are there waiting for me."
He couldn't help the rush of tears to his eyes at her words. Blinking heavily he looked at her with soft eyes.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be. And afterwards I will lead you out of that church with a proud smile on my face and I will not care if anyone finds that ridiculous. Then I will escort my wife to the Grantham Arms or to wherever she wants the reception to be held because it would be a bad idea to have it at the Abbey." He smiled when she gave his hands a gentle squeeze.
"And then?" she asked; slightly amused by the direction of their conversation.
"Then, I guess we will live happily ever after," he declared with a solemn face.
She couldn't help it, she began laughing. He soon joined her and they sat quietly chuckling for a while, their hands still linked; his thumb brushing the back of her hands tenderly.
"Oh look at us, Mr. Carson," she teased.
"A very fine pair of old boobies," he chuckled.
"Too old to change?" she asked and although she was still smiling, there was a shift in the atmosphere.
"Not when it's important, my dear Mrs. Hughes," he replied with such conviction that she had to swallow down the lump of emotion that rose in her throat.
"That's good," she said softly.
And it was – despite the Scottish minister that showed up at the wedding and the maddeningly smug smile on the husband's face.
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