A/N: It has come to my attention that if you missed chapter 4, or simply didn't notice the time overlap between chapters 4 and 5, you might have taken the same false impression from chapter 5 that Thomas did. The Carsons have not (yet) gotten up to any monkey business in Mrs. Carson's sitting room. It was only Thomas's assumption that was what was going on. Sorry to disappoint, but we never know what the future may hold...
As the day was shaping up, Carson considered the irritations surrounding the service of luncheon were about on par with what he should have expected. After ordering Andrew and Molesley to lay the table for four family members, Carson entered the dining room to discover that only Lord Grantham would be in attendance. Ladies Grantham and Mary had gone to the dowager for lunch, while Lady Edith wished to take her meal in the nursery with the children. Carson quickly took a tray to her himself.
In addition to having to contend with the irritation expressed by Mrs. Patmore when much of the fruit of her labors was returned unappreciated, Carson was left aghast by the explanation that he had been caught so off-guard because when the ladies had attempted to ring and give notification of their plans, no one had answered the bells. While somewhat understandable given the upheaval that had been rendered below stairs, this was certainly not the staff's finest hour.
Carson was sat in his pantry madly trying to focus on the numbers swimming across his ledger book. His accounts were already desperately behind, and he felt it crucial that he get this work done during what he perceived could be the only moment of calm within a growing storm of turmoil poised to revisit the house at any moment. But in spite of all attempts to address his attention to the task at hand, Carson's mind continued to return to a single inundating thought: his wife.
It had been a decidedly emotional and confusing day, and Carson could have wanted nothing more in those moments than to simply sit and discuss its many developments with the only person with whom he would ever consider having such a conversation. For the previous hour, he had actively worked to avoid her, not wishing to frustrate her attempts to complete a growing list of tasks he knew more than rivaled his own. After decades of impassively working beside the woman, it seemed that he had been reduced to a pathetic mass of need within the course of a single unusual day.
"Mr. Carson," Andrew's voice ringing from the doorway tugged him from his gloomy preoccupation. "His lordship says the family is to take tea in the library at three o'clock. He asked specifically that you serve."
"Very good. Thank you, Andrew. Please inform Mrs. Patmore."
Carson turned to rest his eyes upon the ledger once again before giving in and slamming the book shut. Glancing at the wall clock, he noted that he had fifty-three minutes before his presence was required in the library. Fifty-three minutes.
"Mr. Carson," the object of his preoccupation called to him from the door as if on cue, "I know it unusual, but I wondered if you might have a few minutes to take a walk."
He smiled broadly at the clock on the wall before adopting a slightly less gleeful air to turn and face her.
"I think I might be able to spare a few minutes," he said.
"I have no idea who the man is, Mrs. Carson. I truly do not," Carson insisted. They had chosen to sit on a bench on the lawn, just far enough from the house so as not to be overheard. "I have tortured my brain trying to figure this out. All I know about him is that he is the groom's assistant. I don't believe I'd ever heard of the man before a few months ago."
"But, he clearly knows who you are. He knows about your time on the stage."
"Yes, it's bewildering, isn't it?"
"It is that," she said turning to face him. He looked over and noticed that she was forced to squint into the sun as she looked up at him. Standing, he placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her to slide down the bench to the spot he had just occupied.
"I wouldn't even think the man was anywhere near old enough to have been born during my time on the stage," Carson said dropping to sit on the other side of her.
She stared up at him with raised eyebrows, her lips pursing comically.
"Now, don't start that. He's nowhere near old enough for that either," Carson said. He reddened as he realized the direction that this conversation seemed to be taking. "Not that there is any chance...there was no...I wasn't..."
"It's alright, Mr. Carson," she said giving his arm a playful squeeze, "the situation requires an explanation, but I wasn't given to assume that was it."
He wasn't sure quite how he felt about that comment. He checked his pocket watch and noted that it was now half two. He would have to go in fifteen minutes.
"I wonder if Mr. Grigg might know anything about this," she pondered.
"Grigg?" he asked with a start. This was something he hadn't considered. He had heard stories of Grigg using his name to get work after they parted. And he suspected the scoundrel had used his name to avoid certain complications with his...women even before that.
"It's possible he might," he sighed.
"Mrs. Crawley might still know how to get in touch with him. Perhaps I should..."
"No. Absolutely not."
"But, if we want to know..."
"If you want to know the truth, you don't go looking for it from Charlie Grigg," Carson sneered. "We have enough troubles without inviting more by seeking out that man."
At precisely three o'clock, Carson pushed through the door of the library carrying a tray laden with the tea service. Molesley straggled slightly behind carrying a second tray full of sandwiches and biscuits. With a nod to each of the four family members who were already seated on the sofas, Carson crossed to the table and began to pour.
"Molesley, please close the door on your way out." Lord Grantham commanded. "Carson, I'd like you to stay. This involves you too."
Molesley quite literally fled from the room. Carson fought to maintain an impassive expression, as a hard ball of anxious confusion settled in his chest. His battle was not quite successful.
"Yes, m'lord," he intoned with raised eyebrows before taking up a position close to the door.
Lord Grantham crossed to stand quietly before the fireplace for several moments, pulling at a glass of whisky as if chasing for fortification at the bottom.
"Papa, what is this all about?" Lady Mary finally broke the silence that had overtaken the room.
"I received a message just after luncheon today from Harold Smythe," Lord Grantham began.
"Who?" Lady Mary asked. Carson defeated the urge to roll his eyes.
"Harold?" Lady Edith burst from her seat, seemingly with a new-found enthusiasm for life. "What has he said, Papa?"
"Perhaps you should see for yourself," he said, passing her a folded sheet of paper with one hand while sipping his drink from the other.
Lady Edith fairly snatched the paper from her father's hand before running back to bounce into her place on the sofa like a schoolgirl. Lord Grantham continued to nurse his drink, while Carson watched Lady Edith and stood by for the inevitable explosion of heartbreak. He didn't have long to wait. She had barely begun her perusal of the letter before she twisted the paper in her hands, released a wail, and collapsed into a coiled heap of tears.
Lady Grantham reached across and delicately plucked the note from her daughter's fists and smoothed the paper across her lap as she took in its contents.
"A thousand pounds?" Lady Grantham exclaimed, passing the letter on to Lady Mary. "That's just ridiculous."
Lady Mary's eyebrows rose higher by degrees as she quickly scanned the missive.
"I'm supposed to be interviewing candidates tomorrow," Lady Mary said. "I should think that we're going to have a rather difficult time hiring staff after word of this gets out."
"Mary, that's enough," Lady Grantham breathed.
"Well, obviously the allegations in this letter are absurd," Lord Grantham said with a flourish of his hand, "but it seems that Mr. Smythe has proven quite capable of doing significant damage with his false accusations. The question now is how we are to manage him."
"Yes, well," Lady Grantham began cautiously, "perhaps not all of the allegations are quite as absurd as they might first appear."
Lord Grantham eyed his wife as if she had just told him that the King had eloped with an American prostitute.
"Are you actually suggesting that you had a role in this woman's murder?" Lord Grantham demanded.
Oh, good Lord. This situation had gotten entirely out of hand.
"No, of course not," Lady Grantham laughed. "I simply helped Edith remove the body from the house."
"You what?" Lady Mary gasped.
Edith's sobs grew louder. Lord Grantham looked wildly about the room as if searching for cover before finally moving to stand rigidly in front of the windows.
"And what was Carson's part in all of this?" Lord Grantham addressed his question to the countryside. "He is mentioned by name in this letter."
Lady Mary turned to Carson, who raised his hands in surrender and began to shake his head as a cold panic descended over his body.
"Absolutely none," Lady Grantham said. "Really Robert, do you think I would call on Carson to help move a body? It's Carson."
"Just what does that mean?" Lady Mary asked.
For the second time in a day, Carson briefly wondered if he might be about to collapse.
"I would just never...Mary, it's Carson we're talking about," Lady Grantham explained. "If I needed help from below stairs to move a body, I would more likely call on Mrs. Carson."
Just what does that mean? Carson wondered.
"When precisely did all of this body moving take place?" Lord Grantham asked tightly.
Lady Grantham shifted in her seat and looked vaguely off to her right as if searching for the memory.
"It was the evening you and Mary took the children on a walk down to the folly after dinner," she said.
"I remember. Edith was in the nursery when we returned," Lady Mary said turning to her sister. "You told me that Nanny had just gone downstairs for a headache powder."
Lady Edith responded with a wail.
"I believe at that point we had her tucked away in Edith's bedroom," Lady Grantham said.
"Edith's bedroom?" Lady Mary asked.
"Well, I wanted to put her in the linen closet, but Mrs. Hu...Mrs. Carson keeps it locked," Lady Grantham said. "We had to put her somewhere until the house was asleep so we could remove her."
"So then you stripped her body and drove her to Stokesley? Isn't that where you said the body was found, Papa?"
Lord Grantham, who had been seemingly engrossed in a tense study of the gardens, turned and gave a firm nod.
"No, no. When we left her she was fully clothed and leaned against that large wych elm about a mile outside the village," Lady Grantham said. "She was surrounded by a blanket of daffodils. It was really quite lovely."
"Daffodils?" Lady Mary asked incredulously. "Doesn't that seem a bit..."
"For God's sake, Cora. This isn't the American Middle West where you just drop a body in a gulch and it's swallowed into the annals of time."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. What exactly do you think goes on in the States, Robert?"
"I am beginning to wonder," he murmured, crossing to pour himself another measure of whisky.
"I can't even imagine what has been going on in my own home," Lady Mary said. "What is all this? Mysterious stable hands, blackmail schemes, dead nannies being smuggled out under cover of darkness. Just what else have the two of you been up to?"
"Might I remind you, Mary, that this was not the first body I have helped carry through this house?" Lady Grantham fairly hissed at her daughter.
Lady Mary was momentarily taken aback. She glanced cautiously up at Carson, as if she had forgotten he was in the room. She probably had; they probably all had. He saw a fragile vulnerability flash through her eyes for just a fraction of a second before the curtain of imperiousness fell.
"And might I remind you, Mama," Lady Mary spat out, "that the last time you helped carry a body through this house, Anna was carrying the other arm?"
Oh, good Lord. Was there no end to the indignities that girl had been asked to suffer?
"Well, I certainly didn't bring Anna into this. I don't entirely understand how the police came to believe she was responsible, but it seems it had something to do with this man Smythe. It wasn't through me."
"You certainly haven't done anything to set the record straight and see her released," Lady Mary said.
"Well, what was I to do? Phone the police and say 'release the maid, come get my daughter?'"
"Really Cora, this is madness," Lord Grantham said. "Anna and Bates have been good and loyal servants, friends to this family for years. We cannot just allow this to continue."
"The girl's innocent. Murray will prove that and she'll be released," Lady Grantham said, brushing a hand over her skirts as casually as if she were discussing plans for the next garden party.
Carson cringed. This simply could not be happening.
"And we're just to let her sit in jail until that happens? At what cost, Mama? Anna could be facing the gallows. Just how much do we expect people to sacrifice to satisfy our caprices?"
"Caprices? I don't understand you."
"Clearly. And you, Edith, what in the world were you thinking?" Lady Mary asked. "You are Lady Edith Crawley not the downtrodden antiheroine of some penny dreadful. If you wanted the nanny gone all you had to do was fire her. You certainly didn't need to kill the woman."
Lady Edith glared at her through wet red-rimmed eyes.
"Why must you always think the worst of me?" she mewled.
Lady Mary barked out an ironic laugh.
"Edith, really, you've killed a woman. I hardly think..."
"No, I have not," Lady Edith said, jumping to her feet. "I tell you, I did not kill her. I did not touch her. Well, at least until after she was already dead."
Carson realized with a start that he had long since abandoned an appropriate posture and was leaned against a bookcase scrubbing a hand over his face. He was even more startled when the thought occurred to him that he no longer cared.
"Now, Edith," Lady Grantham tutted. "There is no point in denying it now."
"Of course there is, Mama. There is every point. I did not kill that woman. You just assumed that I did."
"Well, what else was I to assume when I found you hovering over the woman like that?" Lady Grantham asked.
"Oh, I don't know, Mama, perhaps that your daughter is not a cold-blooded murderer."
"Well, if you didn't kill her, why the hell did you and your mother move the body?" Lord Grantham bellowed.
Lady Edith burst into tears, yet again, and flung herself face first onto the couch.
Carson ran a hand through his hair, shook his weary head, and whispered, "The groom's assistant."