A/N Thanks for the reviews. I am still getting used to the site but I hope to roll this one out pretty quickly.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters, never did, never will:(
Carson cannot think of these lads' names to save his life. He should know them from all the times they brought soldiers up to Downton from the hospital.
Blast, he used to be so good with names before the war. During the war, you stopped learning people's (young men's) names so the news of their deaths didn't have the same impact. You stopped looking people in eye because making any connection was just an invitation to pain.
Upon reaching the hospital, Carson instructed the still unnamed ambulance staff to take Mr. Crawley to a private room. When they started sputtering about proper procedure and insisted they should take "the body" directly to the morgue, Mr. Carson drew himself to his full height. He quickly glowered them into acquiescence. He'd been prepared to verbally berate them and remind them of the Crawley family's patronage of this particular hospital where they were currently employed, but it proved unnecessary. Lord, what's wrong with young people these days? No backbone. Where's the challenge in intimidating cowards?
Once they had settled Mr. Crawley in a room meeting Carson's approval, he set about rearranging the furniture so that both Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley would be able to sit next to the bed at the same time. He didn't have time to secure flowers from the hospital garden, but he was able to adjust the curtains in the room so the light was soft and warm. With his eyes closed, Mr. Crawley did truly look like he was sleeping.
…but for the blood, he thought once more.
Banishing this morbid thought, Carson stepped back into the hallway and hailed a nurse as she hurried by him. She quickly told him where he could find Dr. Clarkson.
Dr. Clarkson looked up expectantly as Carson rounded the corner. He looked older than Mr. Carson had ever seen him look, even during the war.
The doctor stood from his chair in the hall where he sat next to Anna, who was red eyed, but calm.
God Bless that girl. Solid and steady, come what may. Mrs. Hughes was justly proud of her.
Dr. Clarkson shook his head, "They don't know yet. His Lordship hasn't been able to find the words. He sent Anna out ten minutes ago, but I don't think he's been able to tell them yet. I think he was waiting for you, Mr. Carson."
Carson raised his not inconsiderable eyebrows at this information. He had thought he would be bringing her comfort. He had certainly not thought that he would be the messenger, the instrument that caused her pain. He had not thought he would have to bear witness to the first, raw moments of her mourning. He resented His Lordship for asking this of him. Almost in the same instant, he accepted that it was His Lordship's right to ask anything of him; even this. If he, a mere butler, was mortified at bringing her such painful news, how much worse must it be for a father?
He drew in a deep breath, held it for 5 seconds and then exhaled forcefully, through is mouth. He tipped a sad smile to Dr. Clarkson who would undoubtedly recognize the stress reducing technique the doctor had taught Carson after he'd run himself into a health crisis near the beginning of the war.
"Please wait here, both of you. You may be needed shortly."
I live to serve, he reminded himself as he reached for the door handle with one hand and knocked gently with the other.
CE-
The beatific smile she gave him as he peeked around the opening door made him feel like icicles were being driven simultaneously into his temple and his heart. His chest tightened and his head pounded. He wanted to slam the door, run down the hall, down the stairs and out into the village. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
But years of training kicked in as he returned her smile and stepped into the room. Mrs. Crawley sat in a chair to the left of the bed, talking about…well, Carson was never really sure what she was talking about on any given occasion. Right now, he couldn't be bothered to listen. His Lordship sat on right side of the bed, cradling a sleeping (fatherless) child in his arms. His face was impossible to read. He was trying to hide his pain from his daughter.
The birth (or maybe Mrs. Crawley) must have really worn her out, thought Carson. On any other day, she would have seen right through her father. She knew him too well. At least she knew her father at all.
"Goodness, Carson! You are the last person I expected to see today."
"I found I had an errand in the village and I would be badly abused downstairs if I neglected to pay my respects." It was close enough to the truth that he hoped he could pass it off in the short term. Not that she would have noticed the tell-tale eye shift that always gave him away. She only had eyes for her child.
"I am so glad you have not neglected me, Carson." She looked back from the baby in her father's arms and winked at him as he felt another icicle driven into his head.
"Mama will be upset that you saw the baby before she did, Carson. So perhaps we should not tell her. Apparently, she, Gran and Edith are all too tired from the return trip to visit me here," she remarked teasingly as she reached out to take the child from Lord Grantham.
"So, they'll just have to wait to see the baby. But, you are here and I would like to introduce you to the next generation of the Crawley dynasty. How many does that make for you, Carson? Four?"
He answered automatically, "Five, m'lady. Your great grandmother was still residing at Downton when I arrived. Not that I had occasion to wait on her. I was just a hall boy back then. She did throw a pillow at me once when she caught me dawdling in one of the upstairs rooms. As I recall, I was staring at a painting when she walked in on me." God, he was rambling. He looked to His Lordship for help, but Lord Grantham was suddenly preoccupied with the water glass on the table next to him. Carson's faint hope that His Lordship was waiting to deliver the tragic news until he knew Carson was back with Mr. Matthew flickered and died.
"Not one of the nudes, I hope!" She laughed down at the baby as it stirred. She placed her finger next to his tiny hand and teased him to grab it.
She was in such a playful mood, Carson's heart was breaking. She was relaxed, natural and happy. He understood from whence this new ease came. She had produced an heir! The strain of this familial obligation had always weighed heavily on her, even when she was a child, making her seem cold and severe to anyone who didn't understand her.
But this was their Mary; his, Mr. Crawley's and Lady Sybil's. Now he was the only one left who truly saw her for who she was and who never demanded anything from her. Family and the continuation of tradition were as important to her they were to Carson. Perhaps that is why they always seemed to understand one another. If you've never been truly dedicated to anything, you can't understand someone who is.
Her successful chapter in the continuation of the family story was well begun. She was free to just be Mary Crawley, mother and wife. And someday, she would be Countess of Grantham. Or so she thought.
And now, he would be the one to destroy all that.
She mistook the pained look on his face for embarrassment.
"Never mind, Carson," she laughed.
"You were only a boy. I suppose we shall have to forgive you.
"Now, please, come over here and meet my son, or I shall throw a pillow at you."
TBC- soon.
