I haven't written anything since New Year's. (I've been away on holidays and then returned to LOTS of work!) However, Cami asked if I could contribute to a Chelsie challenge on tumblr. (Find it here: post/109815283610/not-like-i-dont-have-enough-to-do-in-the-month-of) It asks for drabbles, but I'm afraid I wrote far too much to consider this a drabble! LOL It is still using their first prompt of 'beginning'. Perhaps it will prompt a new beginning for me to find time to write. :)
Marigold stroked the spindly blue-green veins of the pale hand she held comfortably in hers. "The big butler," she prompted.
"Carson," the hand's owner affirmed immediately. "Oh, there's a lot I could tell you about him."
"Go on," Marigold encouraged gently, eager as ever to hear her mother's reminiscences.
"There's one thing that springs to mind; he was a hopeless romantic."
Marigold's eyebrows lifted. Perhaps her mother was confused, she thought. Before she could say anything to this effect, the older woman continued: "I was a witness the day Carson made the announcement that he and Mrs Hughes, Downton's equally esteemed housekeeper, planned to retire. To everyone present's exasperation their retirement dates would be one and the same."
"Not the done thing, for two such senior servants to leave at the same time," Marigold noted dryly.
"No," Edith agreed. "Father speculated as to whether it was wise, for them to abandon us at such a delicate time. That's how he put it. To this day I could not tell you why this era of history was more delicate than any other."
Marigold smiled, remembering Donk's faux arrogance wistfully.
"Anyway, after father's blustering, Carson was forced to explain that not only were he and Mrs Hughes retiring at the same time, they would also be retiring to the same residence, as husband and wife."
"Yes, that is romantic."
"No, not in itself. It was more common than you think," she revealed with a raised eyebrow. "Mother congratulated them and grandmama's reaction was such that at one stage fetching Dr Clarkson was suggested. We were accustomed to her theatrics though, and in the end took little heed of her realisation that her favourite butler would no longer be at her beck and call. And truly, who could hold this against her, considering the alternatives of Spratt, Barrow, and Molesley."
Marigold nodded, a little lost as to who was who on the aspiring butler list, but willing to let her mother continue nevertheless.
"After she was calmed somewhat, the romantic part came about, stemming from father's avid curiosity."
Here her mother paused for dramatic effect, proving the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
"He said, 'I just now took pause to wonder when it all began. I'll assume you haven't been frolicking below stairs since 1905.' In my mind I have a perfect image of the expressions on our faces at the thought of our favourite servants frolicking."
"Frolicking," Marigold snorted out the archaic word. "We really should bring that word back into vogue, don't you think?"
She was rewarded with a smile from her ailing mother.
"So Carson had to reply to this query and he did so nobly. He had a very deep clear voice, perfect for oration really, and I still remember every word of his answering speech. 'There was no beginning, milord,' he said. 'Every twist and turn in the path of our life simply turned us towards each other without us even realising, and it's just happened that we now find ourselves happily meeting up in the middle of that said path.' Granny interrupted then, asked if Carson had been tasting a tad too much wine. Carson, quite rightly, ignored her and went on. 'I think Mrs Hughes would agree that after running parallel for years, it only took the smallest of shifts for our paths to cross and twine together.' And with this, Carson had looked down at his betrothed, and truly, she was staring at him like..."
"A woman in love?" Marigold wondered.
"Yes. It wasn't a look we expected. 'There was no beginning. Just as there will be no ending. We'll simply continue on our anticipated route forever,' he finished, causing the occupants of the room to embarrassingly tear up."
Marigold leant over and wiped the tears that now spilled down her mother's cheeks.
"It sounded like the most romantic thing to me, especially then. I'd had so many beginnings and endings. Heartbreaking endings," she stressed.
"You got your happy ending eventually," Marigold reminded her.
"Yes, but it would have been simpler if I'd waited for the man I didn't have to begin with. You should look for someone like that too."
Marigold winced. Even now her divorce was cause for concern for her mother. She attempted to steer the conversation back to the poetic couple. "I thought Carson was featured in that book."
"Yes. Their marriage is mentioned briefly in it, but it's glossed over as if their relationship was one of habit, or convenience, instead of adoration. Fanciful butlers don't fit the mould they were clearly trying to create in that potboiler. But the truth is he wasn't always the stern serious automation. And my most vivid memory is that day, where he claimed that they'd never really began, but just were."
Her mother fell silent for a long time after that, sleep chasing her after she'd exerted herself with conversation for so long. But Marigold had one final question: "What happened to them? Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes. Do you know?"
"Oh yes," Edith murmured. "Mrs Hughes died peacefully in her sleep on her 83rd birthday. Mr Carson joined his wife a mere month later. He was almost 90. I suppose if I cling onto my religious leanings, I could assume they're still together somewhere."
Marigold reached up and tucked a wisp of hair behind her mother's ear. Her mother's choice in this story above all others now became apparent. Her stepfather, Bertie, had suddenly died three months ago.
"Sleep now, mama," she ordered softly. "We'll talk about someone else in the morning."
"Yes... I haven't yet told you about Miss Baxter and Mr Molesley..."