ENOUGH OF THAT
The Dowager's Diagnosis
The Dowager Lady Grantham hobbled into the library of the Abbey and her son, seated at his desk, rose to greet her with a smile and a kiss.
"Mama." He escorted her to the sofa and sat down beside her.
Barrow, who had brought her into the room, disappeared in pursuit of tea. Bringing the tea was a footman's job, but they were down to only one of those at Downton now, and Andy had not yet returned from an afternoon of helping Mr. Mason down at Yew Tree Farm. Barrow realized he was going to have to lay down the law about Andrew's second career.
By the time the butler returned with the tea tray, Violet Crawley and her son had dispensed with most of the perfunctory chit-chat about health and weather.
"Is it only to be us?" she asked, as Barrow arranged the tray and poured the tea. "Where is everyone else?"
"Everyone else is busy," Robert told her. "Thank you, Barrow."
Dismissed, the butler withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him.
Staring thoughtfully at her son, Lady Grantham decided not to ask the next obvious question, which was why Robert himself was not also busy. She turned instead to what she believed was a related matter.
"Why do we never see Carson about?"
"You know why, Mama," Robert said, and managed to keep out of his voice that impatient tone people often took with old people who could not remember something they'd repeatedly been told.
She raised an eyebrow at him, indicating that she saw through his careful manner. "I understand that Barrow is the butler now, Robert. But I thought you had an arrangement with Carson that he was to be the senior butler and sort of oversee things?"
Robert stirred his tea. "Carson has not chosen to take me up on that, Mama," he said heavily. "Not yet, anyway."
"But...why?"
"Mama, the onset of this...impairment...has been a severe blow to Carson. It's taking him some time to get used to this...limitation of his abilities, and to accept his withdrawal from day-to-day management of the house."
"But it's been months, Robert."
Robert glanced away from her, a little annoyed at her persistence. "We must let Carson adjust to his new realities in his own time, Mama."
"It sounds as if he's not adjusting at all. Really, Robert. Why are we even speaking about this?"
"You tell me," he murmured under his breath, already seeing that she was not going to let it go.
"It's very frustrating, Robert," she went on. "Why must we go over the same ground time and again? Why can't you just learn the lesson and apply it?"
"I don't understand what you're talking about, Mama." He let a note of impatience filter into his words.
"Carson!" she said, with some exasperation. "You're treating him exactly the same way you did Mary after Matthew's death."
"I am not," Robert said indignantly. Apart from the fact that he disagreed with her, he also remembered that he had been proven spectacularly wrong with regard to Mary and he did not like to be reminded of it.
She glared at him sceptically. "Pastoral walks? The dog? Keeping him away from Downton? I hardly expected such defeatism from Carson - although I suppose his middle-class nature must out sometime - but you! This is quite unacceptable, my dear."
There was nothing more aggravating than an unjust accusation. "I'm not keeping him away from Downton, Mama. He stays away. I cannot force him to work. And he does not think himself capable of doing so. He can't manage many of the tasks associated with the role of butler. His tremors are unpredictable."
"Well, who needs a man with his experience polishing silver or pouring wine anyway?" she demanded. "Has he abdicated his responsibilities with regard to the wine cellar? That, after all, is a butler's first calling."
"He cannot handle the bottles, Mama. He's afraid of dropping them." Robert spoke more heatedly to his mother than he was in the habit of doing. She was, to his mind, being more than usually obtuse.
She made a dismissive sound. "He doesn't have to handle the bottles to order the wine," she said, making what she thought was an obvious point. "That is where his expertise lies, after all."
"You are missing the point, Mama. He has lost his confidence and we must let him recover it in his own time."
"No, Robert! It is your job to help him win it back, not to undermine him completely by agreeing with him!"
Shaking his head, Robert stood up and walked over to the windows. Sometimes it was helpful to put a little distance between himself and his mother. "I'm afraid I don't really see this as my business."
She was, naturally and unsurprisingly, not at all put off by this pretension of disinterest on his part. "The last-ditch manoeuvre," she said scornfully. "When all else fails, claim lack of jurisdiction. Of course it is, Robert. Our family has made a vast investment in Carson, professionally and personally. He cannot just abandon us because his hands shake a bit."
Robert turned and stared incredulously. "Do you have any idea what we are speaking of, Mama!" he snapped. "I've seen him. It is like an earthquake in his hand, his right hand, when it comes over him. And he has no more control over it than we, any of us, have over a geological quake." He was angry with her for minimizing Carson's predicament and diminishing the distress Robert had observed in him when it occurred.
"Oh, Robert. Carson's not the first person I've ever known with the familial tremors."
"The...what?"
If she indulged in that vulgar affectation of rolling eyes in exasperation, she would have done it. "Don't you even know what he has?"
"Mama, he doesn't know what he has!"
"He most certainly does, Robert. His father had it."
"And his grandfather," Robert added automatically.
"Exactly."
She'd distracted him. "What does that matter, Mama? It still means he can't do the job, or, at least, he cannot do the job to his own satisfaction."
"It means nothing of the sort. But the fact that Carson's withdrawn from Downton in this way tells me that he is wallowing in self-pity over it..."
"Mama..."
"And you are encouraging him in this." She held up a hand to arrest Robert's vigorous rebuttal. "There's no point belabouring the issue with you. You've had your turn and exacerbated the situation. I see that I must take a hand. Seriously, Robert, I don't know what you're going to do without me!"
Robert had not won an argument with his mother since he had decided to marry Cora. Although convinced that she was not only wrong but also brutally inconsiderate with regard to Carson, he thought it wiser to turn the conversation in a different direction.
"What would you suggest?" he asked, with cool politeness. Let her advance her own strategies that he might torpedo them.
"Give him something to do that will call forth his talents," she said swiftly. "Plan a great event."
She had made it easy for him. "The pressure of just such an event would aggravate his condition, Mama. It's likely to become more intense or occur more frequently when he is active. Rest is far better for him."
"Nonsense. What pressure! Carson could organize any formal affair short of a royal visit in his sleep!"
In some corner of his mind Robert wondered if his mother, or anyone else, ever thought him as as capable in his work as this statement suggested of Carson.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, still reserving judgment.
"Robert, we have a Marquis and a Marchioness in the family. Invite them to stay and throw a party for them."
"And what is Carson supposed to do when he cannot physically attend to the details?" How she could have missed this obvious point he did not understand.
"He doesn't have to do anything. Robert, you run a major estate and I've never seen you drive a tractor, slaughter a pig, sheer a sheep, or cut a stalk of grain. It's called management!"
"It still takes a physical toll, Mama," he reminded her grimly, and then added, more quietly, "And I'm not doing much in the way of management these days."
She stared at him for a long moment, distracted. That, she told herself, was another matter. One challenge at a time.
"Robert, you had your stomach cut out. Carson's hands are just shaking a little. He doesn't have to touch a dish or a bottle, or set the table, or write a place card in order to exercise his talents. He can supervise it all. And when that's finished, he can take on the christening." She seemed infused with energy. "I shall summon him to the Dower House for a chat." She smiled. She enjoyed developing a good plan.
Robert could see that it had all unravelled beyond his control. But he did not abdicate all authority in the matter. "Mama, I insist you speak to Mrs. Hughes before you do anything. She would know better than anyone else the state of Carson's mind and whether this...scheme...may prove more damaging than helpful."
The Dowager looked up at her son in some astonishment. "Of course I will speak to Mrs. Hughes first! This is her husband and her life we're talking about, Robert. I would never transgress on a wife's territory without permission. Really!" She was affronted at the very thought.
Robert gazed at her with some ambivalence. He took a sip of his tea and wondered what Cora would say to that.
A Meeting of Minds
Mrs. Hughes's professional duties rarely brought her into contact with the Dowager and she had always preferred it that way. Old Lady Grantham was her least favourite member of the Crawley family and this was saying something about a group that also included Lady Mary, although Mr. Carson had worn down the sharper edges of her attitude toward Lady Mary over the last little while.
She had never been to the Dower House and, contemplating the note that had arrived on her desk that morning and requested her presence sometime between tea and dinner at her convenience, she was both puzzled and perplexed. Even the flexibility with regard to the appointment unsettled her - it was suspiciously considerate.
Mr. Spratt gave nothing away when he met her at the back door and led her through the house to Her Ladyship's sitting room. Mrs. Hughes was momentarily distracted. They saw very little of Mr. Spratt at the Abbey and no one really knew much about him. The revelation - gleefully imparted by that gossip monger Miss Denker - that Spratt was the face behind Cassandra Jones, the advice columnist and social commentator featured in the ladies' magazine owned by the Marchioness of Hexham (formerly Lady Edith Crawley), had astonished them all and given the butler a novelty value that had yet to wear off. This was not, however, the moment to inquire after his glamourous sideline.
The Dowager Lady Grantham was sitting in one of the easy chairs in her formal, if not entirely uncomfortable, sitting room. Although she greeted Mrs. Hughes in a courtly way, she did not invite the housekeeper to sit. Nor did Mrs. Hughes expect her to do so.
"Mrs. Hughes, I won't take up any more of your valuable time than I must," the Dowager began, coming straight to the point. "I've asked you here this afternoon to discuss Mr. Carson."
Mrs. Hughes, who sported a poker face the cardsharp Mr. Samson would have coveted, did not react to this surprising announcement. Perhaps she ought to have known. The only people over whom she and the Dowager might possibly intersect were Lady Merton and Mr. Carson, and the former had been existing in a state of bliss recently, leaving the rather more obvious problem of the long-standing butler at Downton Abbey.
"How is he?" Lady Grantham asked carefully.
"He is well, my lady." Until she knew where the Dowager was going with this, Mrs. Hughes had no desire to give anything away.
The older woman looked thoughtful. "I've begun badly. Let me be blunt, Mrs. Hughes. I have the impression that Carson has taken a setback in his health very much to heart and that he has given up any idea of remaining an active force at Downton. Is this true?"
Mrs. Hughes said nothing. She did not know how to respond without betraying her husband's confidence.
"Oh, dear me," Lady Grantham said, with some consternation. "We are not getting on at all."
This elicited a slight thaw in Mrs. Hughes's manner. "I'm not sure what you want from me, my lady."
The Dowager nodded. "Then let me put it to you, Mrs. Hughes. Carson has been a part of my life for more than sixty years. I remember him as a boy about the stables when I first came to Downton. I always liked him. He has given the best of service to my family, to my son especially, for half a century. I think he is troubled. I want to help him. I've asked you here to seek your permission to do so."
This impassioned statement was almost enough to rattle even Mrs. Hughes's famous aplomb. "I am...touched, my lady."
"Then may we put our cards on the table?" the Dowager asked, regaining a little of her crusty disposition.
Well, there was no point in denying that Mr. Carson was troubled. "You know of Mr. Carson's...condition, my lady."
Lady Grantham nodded. "I do. He has the tremors."
"Yes. And he believes that this has made it impossible to continue his work as a butler. So he has effectively resigned his position at Downton."
"Do you believe he is finished, Mrs. Hughes?"
"It doesn't matter what I think." Mrs. Hughes spoke sharply and they both recognized the worry behind her words.
"Tell me," Lady Grantham said encouragingly.
Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. "He's lost his confidence, my lady." In for a penny, in for a pound. "I thought he would come out of it, eventually. When the earth settled beneath his feet and he realized how much he could still do and stopped focusing on what he could not do."
"And that has not happened."
"No. At first, he said he didn't want to step on Mr. Barrow's toes. He wanted to let him find his own way. And I couldn't argue with that, not strenuously anyway. He had a professional point."
"But there never came a moment when he felt it appropriate to venture back."
"No. I didn't think he really could stay away, especially with the generous offer from His Lordship and Lady Mary's determination that he should take it up..." Their eyes met over this. The Dowager nodded, understanding just how resistant Mr. Carson was being if he could deny this last inducement. "But..."
"Is he unhappy in his new life?"
Was there any point in denying it? "He is. And it...frustrates me, my lady." Mrs. Hughes had spoken of this a little with Mrs. Patmore, but somehow this conversation was proving a more effective outlet for her feelings. "This is usually the kind of problem I can solve."
The Dowager was sympathetic. "I can see that you've done your best, Mrs. Hughes. Would you approve of my making an attempt to bring him round?"
This, then, was the reason why she was here. Mrs. Hughes was more than surprised that the Dowager was bothering to ask permission. But she put aside this ungenerous thought in view of what she realized to be the sincerity of the offer. "I've no objection, no, my lady," she said cautiously. "Although perhaps you'll forgive my being dubious of your prospects for success."
Lady Grantham smiled confidently. "A man like Carson may dismiss the advice of his wife, Mrs. Hughes, no matter how much he loves her. But he won't ignore the voice of his superior. It is time to bring the crushing weight of tradition and deference down on him. It wouldn't work on just anyone, not these days. But I think we have a good chance with Carson."
The Dowager's emotional revelation of her own and her family's attachment to Mr. Carson had moved Mrs. Hughes. She had, frankly, never given the old bat much credit as a human being. For a moment she had doubted her long-held impatience with the indomitable old woman. This statement, however, brought her crashing back to England in 1926. Mrs Hughes would never, could never shake her rejection of the assertion of the "great divide" or her exasperation with the those among the aristocracy and their collaborators - like her own Mr. Carson - who conspired to maintain it. But there was the rub of it. She had grudgingly to admit that Mr. Carson's commitment to that very system made the Dowager's proposal a viable one. And it was certainly worth the effort.
"If you want my approval to make your own appeal to Mr. Carson, my lady, then you have it." Mrs. Hughes was nothing if not pragmatic.
Lady Grantham stood up and walked over to her writing desk. She picked up a small envelope and held it out to the housekeeper. "Could you please take this to him, then, Mrs. Hughes? It is an invitation to him to meet with me on Sunday afternoon."
Mrs. Hughes accepted the note.
"I wrote it in my own hand," the Dowager confided, beaming as if this were a great benefaction.
Mrs. Hughes managed not to roll her eyes. 'I'm sure that will mean something to Mr. Carson," she said evenly, wondering if the Dowager would ever realize how pompous she sounded. Again she pushed this compulsion to criticize from her mind. The older woman wanted to make Mr. Carson whole again, her desire to do so grounded in a respect for him that had transcended the "divide." And so Mrs. Hughes met the eager gaze of the Dowager Lady Grantham and added, "And I thank you for it, my lady."