In this chapter: Thomas Barrow, Tom Branson, Sybbie Branson, Carson, Elsie Hughes/Carson, George Crawley, Dickie Grey, Isobel Grey, Beryl Patmore and Nanny. Much Chelsieness.
Wednesday, 28th April 1926
"So, Nanny, as arranged we'll take them out for an hour, and have them back in good time for luncheon. We'll be fine by ourselves, we don't need you or a maid to come with us."
"Very good, Lady Merton." Nanny Watkins wasn't as certain as Lady Merton that they didn't need staff to accompany them, but Nanny knew the Baroness had trained as a nurse and disagreeing with the heir's grandmother struck her as an unwise move for someone interested in continuing her employment with the family. "If you're sure then."
She then addressed her charges directly. "Now Master George and Miss Sybbie, you be good for your grandmama and auntie." She looked first at the little boy, then the little girl, as she instructed them. "Mind that you do what she tells you." The two nodded excitedly. They were all going out for a walk by the beck* with Dr Clarkson's new puppy, and the children were more than ready to start.
"Barrow, would you be able to arrange for the car to be parked by the garages?" asked Lord Merton. "The key's in there. I don't imagine Lady Grantham likes cars left higgledy piggledy in front of the house. I'm afraid I didn't think. I do love driving myself, but part of me still seems to think I have a chauffeur to park the car!"
"That's fine, Lord Merton," replied Barrow. "I can shift it." Truth be told, he would enjoy driving the Baron's Bentley. He didn't often get an opportunity to drive, but he could, and the Bentley was a chance he wouldn't pass up. Thomas would drive it with the utmost care.
Lord Merton doubled over to get closer to the children's level, and with excitement in eyes and voice, said, "Laddie's all set. Are you?" A mini chorus of "yes, Uncle Dickie!" confirmed their enthusiasm.
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"Mr Branson, may I ask that you drop us off at the Abbey instead of going back to the cottage?"
"Certainly, Mr Carson." Tom smiled, all the while keeping his eyes on the road. "Mr Stapley's diagnosis is reassuring, is it not?"
"Indeed." Carson was both relieved and very pleased. The veterinarian had determined that Lassie wasn't terribly injured, and was well on the mend, as Carson had hoped. "I'm keen to tell Mrs Carson as soon as possible, and Mr Stapley did say that short walks would help reduce Lassie's stiffness, so I thought the brief walk back to our cottage from the Abbey would be a good start."
The subject of their conversation was taking a nap, luxuriating on a blanket in the back seat of Tom's car. Lassie seemed to be very adaptable, thought Carson, taking all sorts of new experiences in her stride. Perhaps he could learn from her.
"Mr Carson, I want to say how pleased I am you're adopting Lassie. She's a very lucky dog. And thank you again for taking on the puppies."
"Please, don't thank me!" Carson shook his head, although Tom didn't see it. "You and I both know it's down to Mrs Carson. Apparently I'm powerless to resist her when she's fixed on a plan!"
"Your wife is a strong and determined woman, I'll grant you. Still, you did a marvellous job with them and I thank you. I know Henry, ah, Mr Talbot, does too." Tom corrected to the more formal appellation since he knew how Carson liked to observe the niceties of address. They had this unspoken agreement, he and Charles Carson. Mr Carson insisted on calling him Mr Branson to recognize his position in the family—he was no longer "Branson", without title, the chauffeur. Tom, for his part, was equally adamant that he would continue to refer to the former butler as he had when he was the Crawleys' driver. He knew this was a way he could show his respect for the man which the man himself would appreciate. Even if it wasn't strictly appropriate. All this, when in his heart Tom felt all this business of titles, proper forms of address and such was really quite ridiculous—however, he recognized that it mattered to others; it was part of the fabric of their lives. He was no longer the hot-headed revolutionary of his youth, and knew it was wise to pick his battles.
They had arrived at the garages now. As Tom turned off the engine, he looked towards his human passenger. Seeing this, Carson said, "Thank you for arranging the vetting, and … for involving us in all of this …" His voice drifted off for a moment before he collected himself. "You say Lassie's a lucky dog." Carson paused here, but didn't quite succeed in masking his emotion—his voice shook a little as he said, "I think we're the lucky ones."
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A light breeze ruffled the beck's grassy banks as the puppy walkers made their slow progress beside the babbling water. The children darted forward and back while the adults strolled more sedately, watching with amusement as Laddie eagerly explored, as far as his leash would allow. Though the day was dull, clouds covering the sun, the scene was bright with sun-yellow daffodils, purplish blue hyacinths and rainbow-hued tulips, nature's beauty ably assisted by the estate's gardeners. The trees bordering the banks were all budding or coming into leaf, fresh green softening the stark grey brown branches: ash and alder, downy birch and goat willow, to name a few.
As the beck, and the happy group of people plus puppy, meandered around a bend, Sybbie saw the little stone bridge ahead and cried, "Let's play the stick game!" **
Immediately she and George started looking for suitable twigs, and they were thrilled to find that Laddie liked carrying them in his mouth.
"That's enough sticks now, you two." Isobel halted the collection because the puppy's enthusiasm was larger than his mouth and the children had already gathered more than enough twigs. "Why don't you run along to the bridge and wait for us there?" Isobel smiled benevolently as she watched Sybbie and George dash ahead, then looked up to see Dickie beaming at her.
Curious, she asked, "What on earth is it?"
Dickie spread his arms wide as if to encompass the world. "I was just thinking about how sweet it is," he said, "to find love later in life."
Isobel raised her eyebrows and smiled encouragingly, but didn't speak. Dickie was more open and demonstrative than most men of his age and position, but still it was rare for him to speak of love. She didn't want to break the spell.
He reached for her hand and drew it close to his heart, checked where the children were, then continued, "I've never been so happy. The funny thing is, it seems so simple, really. I have a wife whom I love dearly, who loves me." Dickie paused to kiss Isobel's upturned, smiling lips. "I also have enchanting quasi grandchildren, and even an adorable part-time puppy." He raised his eyes, bright with delight, heavenwards and said, "It doesn't get better than this. I am so fortunate a man, I'm nearly bursting!" He softly squeezed Isobel's hand, raised it to his lips for a kiss, then let it go and started running to the bridge.
Isobel clasped the kissed hand to her lips, eyes dancing with joy as she watched her husband release his inner child. Laddie bounded gleefully beside him; soon they joined the children and the game started. George and Sybbie carefully selected twigs from Laddie's mouth stash then dropped them, on Uncle Dickie's command, on the upstream side of the bridge.
Seeing Dickie had the situation under control, Isobel dawdled. She, too, realized how lucky she was, and wanted to savour the feeling. When she reached the bridge, Dickie was ably refereeing the competition. "So it's two–two, this is the decider!"
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"Well, I'm very pleased to hear that news." Elsie reached down to scratch Lassie's head, even as she and Charlie exchanged relieved looks.
The news of the presence of the puppies' mother in the housekeeper's sitting room had spread like the Great Fire of London through the servant grapevine, and all available staff had stopped by to meet her. The Labrador mix delighted in the attention, handling the interest and sometimes raised voices with aplomb.
Mrs Patmore met Lassie, then had to return to overseeing lunch preparations in the kitchen, all the while planning a visit for the mother dog to see her patchy daughter again soon. Daisy had everything well in hand, it was clear, so the cook took a moment to contemplate, then headed for the refrigerator. She still wasn't completely comfortable with all these newfangled devices her ladyship kept introducing, but she would now—if pressed—admit to the utility of the "fridge." There was some leftover chicken in there she'd been wondering how to use.
Mr Barrow had just been to see the Carsons and to welcome their new charge, before going to check the dining table was set correctly for the upcoming meal. Carson was getting ready to leave, when they heard, "Lassie, come here!" The dog's ears pricked in apparent recognition and Carson shrugged as he rose and led the way to the kitchen, the source of the voice. He and Elsie stood back as their dog tentatively approached Mrs Patmore.
The plump and cheery cook was standing near her desk, left hand on her hip and the other holding what looked very like sliced chicken. She extended her right arm towards Lassie, who sat down in front of the cook, eyes intent on the special treat. The dog then looked up at her new master, who put his hand to his mouth in astonishment. After a moment, and a nudge from his wife, a bewildered Carson said, "Yes, Lassie." She edged closer to Mrs Patmore and caught the chicken in her mouth as the cook dropped it for her.
"I can see that Tio's going to have some competition for kitchen scraps, Mrs Patmore," remarked a laughing Elsie. Meanwhile, her husband looked at their dog with an expression that combined fondness and astonishment.
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"Isobel, why don't Laddie and I go and get the car while you take the children back to Nanny?" They were walking up the long gravel path towards the house, or at least the people were. Laddie preferred the softer and infinitely more interesting grass at the side of the drive. "We'll meet you out front with the car."
The couple, along with Dr Clarkson, were expected at the dower house for lunch, so they didn't want to dally, and Isobel readily agreed.
Thus, while Lady Merton accompanied George and Sybbie back through the front door, her husband and the black Lab puppy went around to the side of the enormous house. As they turned the corner they walked first through the cobblestoned kitchen courtyard, where the servants' entrance was. The garages—actually converted stables—were just beyond. Dickie could see his car had been parked safely out of harm's way by Barrow, and was heading towards it when the back door opened.
"Carson, good … oh my goodness, is it really?!" Lord Merton felt the puppy tug hard on his leash, and let it go, watching with amazement as Laddie raced over to an adult dog, a female, the spitting image of himself. The pup leaped up to touch muzzles with his mother then bounced around joyfully as she attempted to smell and lick him, whining with excitement. The Carsons and Lord Merton stood back and observed the touching reunion in silent glee.
Carson was relating the story of Lassie's arrival when Lady Merton appeared in the courtyard, accompanied by Mr Barrow. They'd come to see what was detaining Lord Merton, and arrived in time to hear him say, "Crikey, what a turn up!"
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Once the Mertons had driven off, Mr Barrow went back inside the Abbey, closing the back door behind him, and Elsie watched from the courtyard gate as Charlie started walking back to the cottage. Her normally stern professional countenance was softened by a gentling smile and love lighted her eyes. His stride was typically wide and deliberate, although a little slower than usual in deference to Lassie's bruising. The dog was on his left side and the leash hung loosely between them. She already knew how to walk at heel, thought Elsie.
All of a sudden she started running—hurrying really, her long skirt and corset didn't permit great speed—after her husband. She called as soon as she was close enough, "Charlie, wait!"
Carson stopped immediately and turned to look at Elsie. He then started back towards her, more briskly than he'd been departing, concern creasing his face. After checking to see that Lassie could keep up, he raised his eyes to see his wife waving her hand in a calming motion, and slackened his pace once more. Elsie smiled and patted the air again to assure him he needn't worry as she walked now to help close the gap.
Once they were in talking distance, Elsie said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She giggled, a touch embarrassed at the commotion she'd caused.
"So, there's not a problem, but something you want urgently to tell me?"
Charlie was frequently more patient with her than she deserved, Elsie thought, but it was one of the many reasons she loved him. "I feel a wee bit silly now."
Her sheepish grin and blush-tinted cheeks made his heart skip. He narrowed his eyes, trying to look severe but failing miserably—a spark of humour glinted beneath his prodigious brows.
Resting a hand on his shoulder, Elsie went on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then she decided to just come out with it. "I thought I would finish before lunch today, so I could walk home with you two now."
Charlie made a good show of considering that scandalous suggestion, then said, "Surely you're not considering shirking your duties, Mrs Hughes?"
"No, I certainly am not, Mr Carson." Elsie responded in the same spirit. "Indeed, it's my duties I'm thinking of," she countered pertly, "specifically my duty to ensure Miss Baxter is fully prepared to take over as housekeeper when the time comes."
"And how is this helping her?" asked Carson, playing along.
"By giving her an unexpected event to deal with." She fixed her amused blue eyes upon him, and continued. "As you know, senior staff must always expect the unexpected."
Charles Carson understood very well the importance of following the correct protocols in every situation. It had been his life's work, after all. "Am I to understand, then, that your decision to leave early is not on a whim, but rather is a result of your concern for Miss Baxter's training?"
"Indeed it is." Elsie pursed her lips, trying to conceal her smile. Then in a flash, she gave up her pretence and relaxed. "Och, the truth is, I had a sudden, inescapable urge to walk home with you and Lassie. It'll be our first walk home together: I want to be part of it."
Charlie's voice always deepened with emotion and now it was positively gravelly. "What a lovely sentiment." He stopped to clear his throat and then continued. "We—Lassie and I—will amuse ourselves by visiting the stables … I suspect she'll do fine with the horses but we may as well see … and then when you're ready we shall walk home together."
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Charles Carson offered his right elbow and happily tucked his wife's gloved hand into the crook of his arm. He then handed Lassie's leash to Elsie who, after a moment's surprise, smiled warmly and shepherded the dog around to her right side. The sun peeked through a gap in the clouds as the three proceeded down the driveway, gravel crunching softly beneath their feet. Every so often Lassie looked up, to check her people were safe, as the Carson family headed home.
THE END
… but there will, in due course, be an epilogue.
* "Beck" is a northern English word (possibly from old Norse) for stream, brook or creek.
** The game that Tom Branson played with Sybbie on the bridge in season/series 5, episode 7 became known as "poohsticks" after A.A. Milne wrote of it in The House at Pooh Corner (1928)
