March 1920
"Daisy hurry up with the pudding!" Mrs. Patmore barked, her sudden terseness causing the girl to jump.
Mrs. Patmore's sharp request called the young woman's mind to the present and at once rattled her to the core, almost causing her to drop the hot pan she was holding. Daisy recovered quickly and stared back into the depth of the liquid filled pan as the rest of the kitchen scurried around her, seeing her own pale, sullen image staring back.
"Still just a shadow." She whispered so softly no one could possibly hear her.
Baby Samuel Carson laughed, watching her from his place in his highchair where he sat chewing on his hand. He raised an almost blonde eyebrow, humored both by his auntie's frustration and Daisy's flustered reactions. Of the many places the chubby eight-month-old boy spent time, the kitchen was one of his favorites. A people person, he liked that the busy kitchen seemed to serve as a hub of activity for the whole house and sometimes even the village. It was where his family gathered during the day and where auntie Beryl seemed to live, spun into a panicked frenzy about work he didn't yet understand, Daisy along with her. The frenetic energy the little boy loved about the kitchen was exactly what kept Daisy unsettled day after day and meal after meal. Today was no exception for it was Mothering Sunday, a new holiday spun out of an old, old tradition.
"I don't see the point." Carson said sharply from the other room, his tone of voice causing Daisy to jump once more and Sam to turn around in search of his father.
Samuel didn't yet understand that, that was the tone his dad took with things when he was thoroughly unconvinced, as he was with this newfangled Mothering Sunday. But nonetheless a celebration had been ordered of the new event (reformed by Americans of course) at the behest of Lord Grantham for the sake of his American wife. And as such, Beryl was extra nervous and Daisy extra pressured as they always were on the brink of something new, and when they had unfamiliar American dishes at their fingertips.
Daisy found herself extra flustered on and tripped up by every little noise, her whole body on edge at the mere idea of Mothering Sunday. Samuel shrieked and giggled, shoving both of his hands into his mouth when his sister ran into the room, causing Daisy to trip while carrying a tray. She fell on her knees, the tray shooting across the floor and soliciting a decided glare from Mrs. Patmore. Beryl turned to Daisy, her eyes flashing with a cold, frustrated anger but then she took a deep breath and reached out for the young woman, helping her up. She had not forgotten what Mothering Sunday meant for Daisy.
"Alright love?" Beryl asked softly.
Daisy froze and stared into Mrs. Patmore's eyes, shaken deeply, although she knew not by what.
"Daisy?" She pressed, having a better understanding of what put her assistant on edge.
Daisy broke away from Beryl and retreated to the other side of the kitchen, continuing her work in haste. Beryl watched her sadly for a moment, hating to see her disconnect like this, deciding they needed to talk.
"Hi baby!" Charlotte Carson squealed, holding up the card she was holding and showing Sam. "Baby do you want to sign mummy's card?" She asked quickly. "But shu don't tell her it's a secret."
"But daddy thank you for helping me give mummy her flowers. Mummy deserves flowers!" Charlie explained, following his father into the room, excited about the little bouquet of flowers he'd been aloud to choose for his mum.
Carson sighed. "When I was your age, one didn't need a day to honor one's mother they just simply did it. Back then we had Mothering Sunday, where all the servants visited their mother church once a year and saw their families, now what is so wrong with that?"
Carson didn't disagree with the idea of honoring his wife as a mother, but he did hate the change in century's long tradition brought on by an evolution of time.
"Oh please." Mrs. Patmore interjected, returning to her own work. "Look at all she does with her job and the little lass and two little lads, one of whom I might add is growing into a squirrely handful." She said of Sam who was, at that moment, pushing teething ring onto the floor, just so he could watch it fall. "She deserves a day that's just for her and so do all mums, don't they Daisy?"
Daisy was staring off and didn't answer for a moment.
"Daisy?" Beryl asked, growing frustrated.
"That's right." She said quickly, biting her lip. "M-mothers deserve a lot." She added quietly, her voice breaking. In that moment, Beryl knew what was wrong and her soul sighed deeply. She put down her rolling pin and watched as Daisy tried to hold back tears. She was about to speak when Elsie suddenly came in the room.
"Mummy!" The twins squealed, rushing to her side.
"My lad and my lass what is this?" She asked surprised as she got on her knees to see the card and the flowers the twins were trying to present her with. Sam looked on curiously, reaching for his mother.
"Happy mummy's day mummy!' The twins squealed.
Daisy watched almost catatonic from her place behind the counter but no one noticed. She jumped and took in a deep breath, the image of a belt whipping across skin flashing before her eyes. Daisy felt numb and cold to the bone in half an instant and wrapped her arms around herself.
"Oh flowers and such a lovely card you made yourselves." Elsie acknowledged, kissing the twin's cheeks as Carson joined them, baby Samuel in his arms now.
"Mummy we love you lots!"
Beryl watched sadly as the twins lavished their mother with love, feeling every bit as much a mother as Elsie was. It didn't matter that she'd become one in such a different way, or that her child had not come from her womb, she'd still been one for so many years, deep in her heart and in every way that counted.
"Yeah love you lots and lots."
"We love you bestest." Charlotte added, kissing her mother's lips gently.
Elsie giggled into her daughter's face, the girl's bright eyes shining. Daisy watched Mrs. Carson with her children, at once entranced and crushed by the scene before her. Very suddenly, Daisy felt herself flying through the air, her eyes meant in an instant with the sight of mud and rock, her whole side stinging with the feel of jagged pebbles imbedded deep in her skin as her blood began to soak the ground below. Daisy gasped suddenly and looked around, fear evident in her eyes. Carson looked back disapprovingly and Beryl fought the urge to go to her side.
"Come along my loves." Elsie said, taking the twin's hands. "Let us go to the sitting room where we can put mummy's beautiful flowers in a vase."
Carson raised an eyebrow, looking back at Beryl as his family left the room, but Elsie snuck her a knowing glance understanding at once that Mothering Sunday was painful for Daisy. She'd once looked upon the occasion, and a much younger Daisy with a similar heartache. Her longing for a child and Daisy's desperate need of a mother didn't seem that far off.
Beryl gulped, watching her nervously as Daisy shook.
"Shuu." She approached taking her hands. They were alone now and Beryl knew it was time to discuss what had for years remained unspoken.
Daisy stiffened and tried to pull away, turning her gaze from Beryl's but she held her there.
"It's alright love." Beryl whispered as her assistant began to blubber.
'It's alright love.' Daisy recalled the smoothness of Beryl's voice that cold, rainy day so many years before.
She could not remember ever feeling so frightened, or cold or afraid as on that horrible Mothering Sunday. Her uneducated, almost dull little mind had been frantic with worry, the words slurring in her head, traveling so fast that even she could not make any sense of them. Her heart pounding so fast she could scarcely breathe. Covered in mud and blood and bundled in rags, Daisy had traveled the streets on her own, the rain oddly peaceful in the midst of the horrors raging within her head, the air all around her painfully, eerily quiet before everything faded to black.
And then there'd been the sounds of those then unfamiliar words, 'my love,' Beryl had uttered. At the time, Daisy had been unfamiliar with the kind of warm, caring hands and the loving embrace that had taken her in and as best as they could, made their own. Like a small child, Daisy didn't remember how it had all happened, her own mind having shut out much of what really happened for protection. But after all these years, Beryl remained the keeper of the whole story, and wrote it on her heart as the day she'd become a mother.
Daisy stiffened at Beryl's touch. The cook sighed sadly, her eyes downcast. She squeezed Daisy's hand again, shaking it gently before retreating to her side of the kitchen and the pile of work that lay ahead. Beryl was a little upset, wanting to lecture the girl about her tendency to push away those that cared for her: William, Mr. Mason, Ivey, Alfred and the woman who thought of her as her own flesh and blood.
"Just remember, that come Mothering Sunday you're never alone." She reminded.
A single tear poured down Daisy's cheek, she watched it attentively as it made its way down her face and salted the pudding mix where again she saw her bitter reflection before her, staring back angrily, like an image of the pain that marred her soul. A pain that dwelt within her everyday, but pressed into her like salt in a wound on Mothering Sunday. Daisy slowly turned to look over at Mrs. Patmore who'd returned to her work, unacknowledged for her kindness and love.
'That's mum over there.' Something inside urged. 'You've no need to think back or look any further.' And at that, Daisy started to sob.
"Oh love, Daisy what's the matter?" She asked, making her way back to the girl as her crying became more intense.
Beryl took Daisy in her arms this time and kissed the side of her head, beginning to rock her.
"You're never alone on Mothering Sunday." She said, meaning to tell her she was never alone any day of the year because she was there. "Don't cry. It were a long time ago now Daisy."
Beryl smiled bittersweetly, getting Daisy to look up and finally wiping her tears away with her thumbs. It had been an exceptionally long time ago, thirteen years to be exact since Beryl and Mrs. Hughes had stumbled upon a starving little orphan alone in the rain, covered in filth and barely clothed. Daisy recalled bits and pieces of the meeting, of how scared she'd been, and how unfamiliar she was with the touch of a loving mother figure and the softness of a kind smile. Neither knew it, but the encounter had been bittersweet for Elsie, a secretly married woman who was barren and longed for a child of her own.
But for Beryl, the instinct to care for this girl had been natural, as though she were already her own. The much younger cook had gathered the child in her arms and taken her home to Downton where she'd fed her, bathed her and put her to bed all before bravely imploring her employers to allow her to keep the girl as a scullery maid. It would be along time before Beryl would admit even to herself that she'd kept her because she tugged at her heartstrings and she loved her in an instant.
"You were just nine years old then." She remarked.
"I hate mothering Sunday." She admitted, throwing down the spoon she'd been holding. Beryl listened attentively, wondering what Daisy would say given that she'd mostly remained silent about the day she'd been found and everything that came before it.
"I don't." Beryl confessed.
"My mother threw me away like trash." She bit her lip, whispering softly.
"Well then she didn't know what she was missing out on."
"She missed out on nothing; just someone daft and stupid and not worth the effort, just another mouth to feed."
Beryl paused, feeling the raw emotion ride through Daisy's thin frame as she cried.
"Well then her trash is my greatest of treasures." Beryl remarked, her own eyes filling with tears. "Oh Daisy love, don't say such things about yourself. Do you know what that does…" she stopped herself, afraid to say what she wanted.
Daisy was so guarded and who could blame her for it. She was a girl who'd been beaten, starved and abandoned at the age of nine, on the weekend of mothering Sunday. Of course it wasn't easy for her to love or emote, no matter how loving she was. None of that changed how Beryl felt of Daisy and how she always had. She didn't want to risk being yelled at, not on Mothering Sunday, a day where she'd always gone unacknowledged but felt so worthy.
"Do you know what that does to a mother's heart?" She asked her eyes overwhelmed with tears she couldn't hold back.
After all this time she'd said it and no matter the reception, it felt good to confess. Beryl felt she'd been a mother from the time she took Daisy home, cleaned her injuries and rocked her to sleep in the hope of one day healing her wounds.
"A mother's heart?" Daisy sniffled curiously.
"Oh my love, my love." Beryl paused as Daisy tilted her head. She was always generous with her, even when she'd been stern, but Daisy could never recall Beryl calling her my love this many times in one day. Beryl said not another word and took Daisy back in her arms, kissing her cheek. "Not a day has ever gone by where I didn't feel that for you. Because that's what a mother does. From the moment I saw, you the moment I took you in my arms, I adopted you in my heart."