A/N: Welcome, welcome, welcome! Ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, today we find ourselves knee deep in an Alternate Universe fic requested by Hogwarts Duo! Commentary is very much encouraged and appreciated!
The sunroom is empty, the french windows that lead out to the patio are wide open. The muslin curtains sway in the breeze and Elsie Hughes, Housekeeper of Downton Abbey, stands on the threshold, soaking up the sun. She doesn't often get the chance to be truly alone, without an occupation. Of course she ought to be in her parlour, working on ledgers and rotas, or to be supervising her girls (they don't need much supervision these days, they know how she likes to see things done. Her authority comes easily - the strictness and forced maturity of her early years has made place for a calm maternal quality that gets the best from her maids).
She needs a few moments to collect herself. Her weekly meeting with Lady Grantham had not followed its' usual path. Normally Lady Grantham will ask Elsie how she is doing (to which she always responds 'very well, Milady') and moves on to questions about the running of the house. Today however Lady Grantham asked Elsie to sit, to which she had chosen a chair and had sat up very straight while she listened to her employer telling her that Charles Carson was almost thirty years* in the Crawley's employ.
Elsie's mind had drifted to the gallons of tea Charles Carson had carried up the stairs, the countless dinners he served, the hallboys and footmen he had trained. His loyalty and devotion to this house and it's inhabitants was incomparable. She had been shaken from her thoughts by a question, that she only just caught and she had answered that she doubted Mr Carson would like a fuss about his jubilee.
"You know what he's like, Milady."
When Lady Grantham had answered that she did, but possibly not as well as the Housekeeper, Elsie had blushed.
Now she just smiles at the thought of her blood prickling her cheeks, of course Lady Grantham had not meant anything untoward. She had simply established that nobody knew Charles Carson the way Elsie Hughes did. It's true: she knows him better than anyone, simply because they have worked together for so long, have shared so many sherries and cheese biscuits, so many worries and even sorrows. Joy too.
She tries not to think of the other ways she knows this good, kind man. It won't do to dwell on the fading colour of his chest hair, the taste of his lips. She swallows hard before turning and stepping back inside. She has no time to dwindle and daydream:
She has a party to plan.
She goes into his pantry, finding him hunched over his desk. There is a stack of letters to his left, his ledger in front and a cup of tea - no doubt cold - in the right hand corner. Hard at work, as ever. He is not the kind who daydreams or ponders. He saves his worries for the evenings where he sometimes discusses them with her over leftover wine. They don't have enough staff to keep up the high standards they have set themselves and it doesn't feel like the family minds very much. Lady Mary is leaving for Scotland soon, Lady Grantham is trying to persuade her husband to sell Downton Abbey and start over elsewhere. The house is filled with bad memories. The loss of the baby who wasn't meant to be, the loss of Lady Sybil, the loss of the Levinson's fortune. The war. The flu. The loss of Miss Swire, the death of Mr Crawley. The scandal surrounding the death of the Turkish diplomat, the scandal of Lady Edith's daughter - nothing stays a secret long where Elsie's concerned. Perhaps Lady Grantham doesn't know, it's a fact his Lordship doesn't - but Lady Rosamund knows and the Dowager knows and thus Elsie knows about the little girl who has Lady Edith's eyes and Michael Gregson's chin.
Secrets fall into Elsie's lap. Of course sometimes she has to shake the tree a bit, go through wastepaper baskets or perhaps listen at a grate or two, but she will always find out what's being kept from her.
She walks over to Charles quietly and puts her hand softly on his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" She asks and he nods stiffly. She kisses his hair, breathing in the smell of his pommade and something besides.
"Shall I fetch you a fresh cup of tea?"
He shakes his head and she smiles. "Alright, I'll leave you to it." She kisses him again and makes sure to close the door behind her. She makes her way to the kitchens to ask Mrs Patmore if she has a special treat for the Butler. Poor man is working much too hard, he deserves a bit of pampering.
"Go through your mother's things." Greg had said after she had told him she couldn't marry him if she didn't know who she was. "You never know what you'll find. Maybe there are clues." He did like his detective stories. And so Beatrice pulls poster after leaflet out of the box and feels she definitely deserves a treat after going through all this. Her mother's passing has left her feeling even more at a loose end than she normally feels, she is glad to have Gregory to steady her. She thinks of his proposal and his caring kindness, his wit and his spirit before pulling out a diary and a small stack of photographs**.
It's all that's left of her mother. Everything else had to be sold to pay for outstanding debts - Bea's mother had never been very good with money. She had not been good with money, she had not been good with routine and she certainly had not been good with children; Beatrice had been sent to nunnery after nunnery as a child, her mother always making a fuss when she was finally getting settled.
Her mother - who she was not allowed to call 'mother' or 'mum', but always had to address by her first name, because the scandal may out, if was so much easier if Bea was simply the child of a friend, glorifying the compassion and charity of Agnes' heart (or 'June's' - for her mother was known on stage as June Gray) taking in the poor orphan - had not cared much for Beatrice. Which she had always found rather odd, since her name meant 'bringer of joy'. According to her mother, little Bea had brought not much besides a whole lot of trouble. Thankfully the nuns had usually been quite good to her. Of course she had been whipped and had missed more meals than was healthy for a growing child, but it could have been worse.
She isn't angry at her absent father. He wouldn't have known of Beatrice' birth or existence. Agnes would have kept that from him; she liked her freedom too much, didn't like answering to anyone, especially not men. She liked the company of men and what they could provide her with, but she didn't like to give much herself.
Loving had not been one of her mother's talents. Agnes Matthews was selfish. A dreamer, calculating and a bit cold. A child was not what she wanted. Fame was, money was, freedom was. Men chasing after her and showering her in attention was. Though at times, when June Gray seeped through into Agnes Matthews, Beatrice would be gathered up in her arms and sung to. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it was wonderful.
Bea shakes her head and gets back to the task at hand: finding out about herself, about who her father might be. There are posters with her mother's stage name and an 'Alice Neal' as well as an act called 'The Cheerful Charlies'. Pictures of her mother with this Alice and a Charlie Grigg. Pictures of her mother in full costume. Her mother with Charlie Grigg, a candid shot where they are obviously bickering (another favourite pastime of Agnes Matthews). A picture of her mother with a Charlie Carson - her mother is looking calm. At peace. It's the only time Bea has seen her mother look so happy in a photograph.
She stares at the man in the picture. He is tall, with wavy hair and kind eyes. He has his arm around Agnes' shoulders and she is looking up at him. Beatrice' heart pounds painfully against her breastbone. Would her mother have made it so easy?
Is this Charlie Carson her father?
* About this fic: do not care about the actual timeline, because this fic won't make any sense. I blame JF.
** Onmyside is writing this AMAZING fic 'What remains of the past' that uses this same set up. I may have stolen it a little bit, but it's only important in the first (two) chapter(s) - I hope she isn't mad at me!