Four:
Candid Conversations

As tea drew to an end, Lady Grantham gestured for Carson to come closer. "Carson, you and I need to have a small chat," she said pointedly. "Will you join me in the alcove for a moment?"

His eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline. What on earth was she suggesting? He was happily engaged and supposedly, she was blissfully in love with His Lordship, though god only knew why…

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "Carson, no! I'm not going to seduce you – hasn't Mrs. Hughes done enough of that already?"

If only she knew, the smile would be right off her lovely face.

"Yes, m'lady," he said gravely, following her lead into the servant's alcove. "What do you wish to speak to me about, m'lady?"

"I'm worried about Mrs. Hughes," Lady Grantham said. "She's not been herself lately. I know that she's probably nervous about the forthcoming wedding and picking furnishings for your apartment, but that doesn't account for her behavior entirely."

"What apartment?" Charles said. "M'lady," he added hastily.

"It's meant to be a surprise – don't tell her I told you," Lady Grantham said, eyes sparkling with barely repressed mischief. He thought it was terribly American of her to hide a secret then reveal it at the worst possible time. "You'll be receiving the Grey Suite on the third floor, just beneath the attics, to live in after the wedding. Mrs. Hughes has been picking furniture out of storage all week to decorate with."

"M'lady, that is exceedingly gracious of you and His Lordship –"

"Mrs. Hughes, Carson… whatever will we do with Mrs. Hughes?" Lady Grantham said insistently, trying to redirect his attention. Unfortunately, it was redirecting it right back to where his focus had been for too long already, and he felt unnerved by it. "Has she been ill at all?"

"No, m'lady. Mrs. Hughes has secrets, just as anyone does," he said, trying not to give away that he knew the secret. "I'm not certain she would wish to be gossiped about, either, in such a way."

"I'm not gossiping, Carson – I'm merely worried about her. She seemed so sad earlier when she was caring for Marigold at naptime."

He blinked. "M'lady…"

"She loves you, Carson – any fool can see it," Lady Grantham said firmly. "But she doesn't very much care for herself, I think."

"M'lady, that is subjective at best," he pointed out in a gently stiff tone. "I will speak with Mrs. Hughes and ensure that she is quite all right."

"Carson, I think that she is enjoying her time in the nursery," Lady Grantham said with a small smile. "Maybe we shouldn't bring her back to earth just yet." She paused, then added, "Did you know she was so good with children, Carson?"

"No, m'lady, but the topic has never really arisen," he said aloud. Only in our darkest dreams, his heart sang.

Lady Grantham smiled more widely, then chuckled. "I'm sure it hasn't," she said. "Very well, Carson – since you won't play ball, I shall have to content myself with the fact that you and Mrs. Hughes are muddling through."

Muddling through? Bloody hell. "Lady Grantham, if there is one thing that Mrs. Hughes and I do not do, it is 'muddle through' anything," he said, straightening his spine.

"If you say so, Carson," Lady Grantham replied with a charming giggle.

He might forgive her in time, for casting aspersions on his romantic designs on his Elsie… but maybe not.


"Night night, loves," Elsie cooed softly, gently petting Marigold's hair. Try as she might to play fairly, the youngest charge in the nursery was her favorite. It had something to do with the fact that she needed the most reassurance and love of the three, probably. Or maybe she reminded Elsie a bit of herself in days long past, searching endlessly for a little bit of affection to tide her over.

Not to mention, Miss Sybbie was prone to screaming that she wanted 'Her Donk', and Master George wasn't really a very social chap. Marigold just wanted a cuddle and a kiss.

Suddenly, Elsie was very, very glad that she'd not had more than the one child. And that she'd never been forced to raise that one child. It was all very overwhelming – must be for those who did not have nursemaids and nannies at their beck and call.

She would have had to have left service, taking up a mantle of subservience to a man in order to survive. Marriage would have been her only option. And with it, the constant battle to keep food on the table and shoes on children's feet, and… god, help her, she was glad she had not trod that path. She was glad that even Charles Carson hadn't been able to sway her till well after her childbearing days were over. She was glad that she had been ambitious and risen through the ranks, attaining for herself a status and stature that had nothing to do with her value as a woman. She was a general, commanding her troops and making sure that life was maintained and orderly, even though the world changed around them with abrupt alacrity.

She was glad she had chosen to give the bairn away. It sounded coarse and callous even to her ears, but it was the truth, selfish as it might be.

She straightened up, groaning softly as her back clicked, each joint popping in rapid succession. Getting older was no laughing matter; she'd found that out the hard way. Elsie winced as muscles that were not used to lifting children tensed up, causing her more pain than usual. But she would not leave her post; until the new nanny arrived, she had appointed herself in charge of the nursery.

The door opened and she turned quickly, wincing again. "Be careful," Anna scolded softly. "Are they asleep, then? Lady Mary and Lady Edith will need me again in about an hour, but I thought I'd come relieve you so you can get your night clothes and things for the morning."

Elsie smiled and nodded. "That's very considerate, Anna – thank you."

"You're very good with them," Anna said. "I think it's all the mothering below stairs that's done it, you know. I think you would have been quite a good mum, Mrs. Hughes."

Maybe not so good as all that. Anna's faith was clearly misplaced. "Oh, I don't know – I never felt that children were my calling," Elsie murmured. "I'll just go up to the attics and get my things, then."

"I'll make up the nanny's bed," Anna said cheerfully, "and fluff the pillows for you, Mrs. Hughes. Lady Mary said how pleased she was that you and I had run of the nursery today, as she's unsure about nannies in general at the moment."

"Never let a nanny do what a maid and a housekeeper can do better," Elsie commented wryly. "Though, I do admit to being rather dismayed at being forced by circumstances beyond my control to give up custody of the storeroom keys."

Anna smiled, then giggled softly. "Mrs. Patmore and Daisy have had a field day," she teased.

Well, that sealed the deal: after this, there would be no more dallying in the nursery! God forbid the kitchen staff get complacent and entirely too pleased with themselves.

"Well, we must nip that in the bud, mustn't we?" Elsie said, retreating from the nursery with speed. She hurried around, getting her things together and making sure that the storing cupboard had not, in point of fact, been destroyed or razed to the ground in her absence. Mrs. Patmore, of course, watched her with suspicious, beady little eyes, but when Mrs. Hughes said nothing, the cagey looks ceased.

Elsie headed back downstairs to the nursery and relieved Anna, who was watching the children sleep their tired dreams. "Do you and Mr. Bates want children?" Elsie inquired.

Anna blinked, startled out of her intense concentration. "Of course," she said. "We've been trying."

Elsie smiled sadly. Of course Anna would say that – she wanted a bairn because she loved her husband. "Well, I hope it happens soon for you, Anna."

"What about you and Mr. Carson? The wedding is soon, but I'ven't seen either of you putting much effort into planning things –"

Elsie shrugged. "We just need a ring and the paper," she said softly. "Nothing else matters. Maybe even that doesn't matter, except to the Family. I'd be happy to live in sin, if it meant having him."

Anna smiled and nodded. "I can see that. Nothing will change while you and Mr. Carson are at the helm, Mrs. Hughes. And I think that's a good thing."

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," Elsie pointed out with a small smile. "I'll go change for bed, then, and then you may go for the evening. I'll stay with the children in the morning so you may do your duty for Lady Mary and Lady Edith."

It only took a few minutes to get settled, and then Elsie found herself alone with the children. She'd helped her sister take care of her children once upon a time, back when she had been spoiled, when the babe was growing in her belly, and she knew how to do it. She just hoped that it would be a peaceful night with no distractions. She had seen what bearing babes could do to a woman – her sister had gone stark mad with the birth of her last babe, and when the house had burned down around her family when she'd been away at the hospital… god, the thought of such grief and pain was enough to drive Elsie mad herself! But perhaps she was mad, just a bit, just a pinch, for going to the lake every year and threatening – however internally – to drown herself.

She preferred to think she was not mad.

Just… overwhelmed… at times.

She didn't know how long she sat in the rocking chair, slowly rocking back and forth in time to her jumbled thoughts, but she blinked herself back to wakefulness when the door to the nursery opened, admitting Charles and a wooden tray with the remnants of dessert and the leftover wine. He smiled and murmured, "I am glad that Mr. Branson and Miss Sybbie came back when he realized that America was not the bountiful opportunity he had wished."

Elsie smiled a bit ruefully, then nodded. "As am I," she agreed. "And I am pleased it hadn't taken much longer for him to realize it."

"As are we all," he agreed, setting the tray down on the small decorative table beside the rocking chair. He picked up the other armchair and moved it over to sit down beside her, then began to pour the wine. "I thought you might want to talk after a long day looking after the wee ones," he offered up with a small smile.

"Oh, I just… I look at them and I feel so sad that we didn't have that chance," Elsie said. "Not that we would have, I mean, but… when something is taken away before it can even begin, it makes you long for it a bit."

"Only a bit?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and passing over her wineglass.

"Maybe more than a bit," she said, smiling sadly. "I must admit to being conflicted," Elsie said. "God knows what would have happened if I hadn't…" She stopped short, barely restrained the words 'given away my daughter', reining them in through sheer force of will. Charles did not know; he did not need to know. She fell silent, sipping the wine and frowning at the lump of rosewater custard he passed over.

"Elsie," he said softly, "when… the incident occurred, were there consequences?"

It was innocent enough, his inquiry, his need for the truth. But below the surface, it was rife with all of the unanswered questions and pain that could break them apart completely. If she was not honest, if she lied to him, where would they stand then? Did he want to help her share her pain or was he still testing the waters?

Either way, she could not lie to him. Not her Charles.

"There was a bairn," she said very quietly, not meeting his worried gaze. "A little girl. She went to live with my cousin and his wife, as they could not have children of their own, and I did not care to take everything upon my own shoulders."

He was silent for a long time. She began to fret, then, inside, knowing that he was going to leave her now. That nothing would ever be the same between them. "Do you know of her now?" he asked.

"She is married, with two children," Elsie said. "She is happy. And, I think, that is all that matters. That she has a better life than I could have given her."

"And you came to Downton after?" he inquired gently.

"A couple years later," she said, honestly. The fire and her sister's mental breakdown had coincided with her early pregnancy, so it was easily enough explained away as they stayed with cousin Dicky and Emma, but after the baby, after she had settled Becky in at the care ward, she had needed to begin working again. So she had taken a position with a kind old woman… until Mrs. Browning had passed. And then, to Downton she had applied and been accepted. Her references were impeccable; even from the daughter of the man who had done her harm beneath the stairs. It had not been difficult.

Except on the days that were important. The anniversaries. Going to the wedding of her cousin's child and wondering if she had even done the right thing at all, letting her be brought up by her family. Maybe she would have been better off elsewhere, somewhere not so close…

Charles was still very quiet. "I am sorry," he said finally.

She picked at her custard and sighed. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back, then," she mumbled, balancing the custard bowl on her knees so she could take off her engagement ring.

He shook his head, curling her fingers closed around the ring. "No," Charles said gruffly, firmly. "I am sorry you've not had a good time of life or love, Miss Elsie Hughes. I am sorry that you've been wronged by the world and I am sorry that I could not save you."

"You didn't even know me," she said.

"Had I, things would be much different now," he pointed out gently. "I am not going to leave you because of the things in your past. Maybe… if I were younger, more inflexible, I would. But I have loved you for a damn sight longer than you might believe, Elsie, and I will not sacrifice you to the wolves now."

"But you'll have to look at me and live with the knowledge that –"

"No," he whispered. "I will look at you and I will see the woman I love. No more and no less. What happened to you is in the past. I assume the person who did this to you…"

"He's dead," she said bluntly.

"Good," Charles replied. "I would hate to follow in our Mr. Bates's footsteps and be brought up on a murder charge."

"You would kill a man?" she asked in alarm.

"Maybe not kill him," he amended, "but I would protect your honor, Mrs. Hughes, regardless of whether or not we would share a last name and a bed."

She felt a smile begin at the corners of her lips. "I've never had someone say something both so romantic and so utterly ridiculous to me before," Elsie admitted. "You must be in love, truly."

"I am," he agreed with a small smile as well. "With you, my darling woman."

She slid the ring back onto her finger and exhaled a sigh born of relief; the band was heavy and reassuring on her skin, and she was pleased that he had not dissolved their understanding after all. She also felt delight in the fact that, god willing, he would be so understanding in future… especially when he realized with sudden alacrity that she could not cook to save her life and that she was far better at mending than dusting.

But by then, he would be trapped and he would be hers. And he would have to live with it. With her.

They held hands, he in his livery and she in her nightdress and dressing gown, watching over the children until the clock struck eleven. Then he gave her a gentle kiss and bid her good evening, promising to return in the morning and rouse her before the children awakened and needed attention.

She slept fitfully, her dreams a tattered jumble of memories and fears that might come to pass, so when he came to her about five, she was awake and dressed already, facing him with tautly-pressed lips and tired bags beneath her eyes. Without a word, he drew her into his arms and held her, knowing that she was at loose ends.

And he loved her.

END PART FOUR