A/N: Thank you everyone! And especially my Guest reviewers, because I never have a chance to reply to you personally. Some of you; Tori and LC; you've been with through all my stories, so thank you. This one is a little shorter but there was a natural breaking point. The next chapter will be longer.
In which Robert Crawley is a cowardly lion and Charles must take one for the team.
Chapter Four
"And so you see Carson, mother, that is; Lady Grantham feels that we might better spend the money some other way. Perhaps repainting Lecture Hall Two? After all, the copiers do work and I've always found them to be up to the job. There's no need to upgrade now if we can wait a few more years. Who knows what improvements might be made in that time?"
Charles nods his head; it won't matter what technological advancements are made, no doubt they'll still end up with an old model anyway. Not of course that he minds that; it took him long enough as it was to work out which buttons did what on the last lot of new copiers five years ago. Elsie mentioned last month that there are ones that will collate and staple the copies for you now. Even folding the pages if need be. The mere idea of it, of the number of options and buttons - although of course it would be a touch-screen wouldn't it? - had given him a small headache.
He does admire how easily his friend can adapt in this modern world, but that doesn't make him any more inclined to welcoming all these new-fangled contraptions into his working life. Or his personal life; he has the iPod that Elsie gifted him for Christmas a few years ago, the digital camera from Beryl and a reasonably sized television. And the laptop, but really that's for work more than anything. Elsie tried to sell him on that Kindle thing too but a line must be drawn somewhere. He'll stick to his good old paper books; she couldn't convince him that a small glass screen could ever beat the smell of time-aged pages or that 'new book' smell that wafts up the first time you open a cover.
"And is the Board in agreement with Lady Grantham?"
"They are. There was some discussion of course, it seems Mrs Crawley is surprisingly well informed about the problems some of the staff have been having, but in the end they voted in the majority."
"Very well, Sir. I'll let my Department Heads know."
Perhaps he should leave it until later, when the no doubt copious emails he'll receive in response can be ignored until tomorrow morning and then largely forgotten amongst the overnight junk mail.
"If you could, Carson. Is there anything else? Only I have another appointment at four."
"No, that's all, Sir." It's the first opportunity Charles has had to look at his watch since sitting down and he grimaces. He's been here almost an hour and a half and he still isn't entirely sure why the meeting was called at all. Most of what he's been told could just as easily have been placed in a memo and emailed to him.
"Oh, if you wouldn't mind Carson, could you let Professor Hughes know that her visit to Westminster won't be going ahead? The Board feels the students' time could be better spent in June focussing on their end of year exams. I have to say I do agree with them, it isn't as though it's even for one of her formal classes after all."
Robert Crawley keeps his eyes on his desk, shuffling about a small stack of papers and Charles knows this isn't some last minute request. Crawley had likely planned to ask this favour of him from the start; too afraid of the immediate backlash against him should he tell the Head of English in person. If he were feeling at all gracious Charles might admit that he can't blame him.
"Professor Carson?" The Dean does look up then, pinning him with narrowed eyes. "I trust you have no problem passing the message along?"
"No, of course not."
"Well then, good luck tomorrow." Charles turns and leaves, shuts the office door behind him with a definite click and for a moment considers leaning back against the thick mahogany like a heroine from a silent movie.
He rather feels like he is to be tied to a set of train tracks any moment now, sacrificed to the steam train that will be Elsie Hughes' ire.
"Goodness, whatever's the matter with you?" He looks across the reception room to where Beryl sits, waiting in the visitor's seats. "You look as though you've just been handed your marching orders!"
Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself together with a sharp tug to each sleeve of his cardigan, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt beneath until they lay just right. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more."
He leaves her looking both amused and a little concerned and heads back to his office. Maybe if he places it as a sort of personal footnote at the end of the copier email? The split focus of her anger might just save him.
And do we think Carson's right? Or being a bit naive?
Key:
Once more unto the breach: From Shakespeare's The Life of King Henry the Fifth.