Ten:
The Many Shades of Grey
Elsie was silent at dinner and did not come to his pantry afterward. Charles found himself hovering outside her parlor, but he did not go in. He did not dare disturb her, not now, not after…
He had finished locking up and was about to go upstairs for the night when he ran into Her Ladyship coming into the downstairs. "M'lady…"
Lady Grantham tightened the shawl around her shoulders – he noted that she was in a (for the upstairs family) very sensible dressing gown beneath the shawl – and said, "Mr. Carson, you and I need to have a little chat."
"M'lady?" he questioned quietly.
"Maybe you can make a pot of tea and we can talk," she said.
"Yes, m'lady, of course – does His Lordship know that you're down here?" he asked, concerned.
A smile twitched at Lady Grantham's lips. "Who do you think sent me?" she teased with no small amount of mirth in her tone. "I dare say that you've lost your touch, Charles."
He frowned, then bowed a little, gesturing that she should follow him into the kitchen. The oven was still hot to the touch – it was never allowed to go out, that fire – so it only took a bare scant few minutes to get a kettle of water on. "M'lady, if this is to do with –"
"It's to do with many things, Mr. Carson… many things of a delicate nature," Her Ladyship said, "and that is why I waited until you were the only one left awake."
"Mrs. Hughes –"
"Mrs. Hughes has been in your apartments since dinner," Her Ladyship said softly. "We've had much to discuss."
He froze then, his heart beating a panicked tattoo in his chest. "Please tell me you are not sending her away," Charles breathed, feeling light headed, dizzy, scared to death.
"Absolutely not!" Her Ladyship said with more force than was absolutely necessary.
"Oh, thank god for that," he exhaled weakly.
"However… she has asked me to speak to you on her behalf," Her Ladyship said, "because you are less likely to fight me than you are to fight her."
"I don't want to fight her –"
Her Ladyship held up a hand. "Brew the tea, Carson," she ordered firmly. "And then we will talk. His Lordship and I have seen to many details on Mrs. Hughes's behalf tonight; it is no trouble at all to soothe your ruffled feathers."
"My feathers are not ruffled," he huffed indignantly, then added a hasty, "m'lady."
Once the tea was made and he had secured a few biscuits to lay out with the tea, he sat down at the table with Her Ladyship. She took her steaming mug (for Charles was loathe to bring out the good china at this hour and face Mrs. Patmore's wrath in the morning) in hand and took a sip. "Mr. Carson, I know you love Mrs. Hughes greatly," she said softly. "And that is why I am here. She fears that you will not want to continue on with the wedding with all that has happened."
"I do not understand, m'lady, why you are to be her ambassador in this matter –"
"Lady Frye is her granddaughter," Her Ladyship said, cutting straight to the point. "Which makes Lord Campbell her grandson. And as we all well know, your precious rules of propriety would keep her from ever coming into contact with them, as she is well below their station."
His jaw dropped. "That would make Nanny McCabe –"
"The wife of Sir Anthony McCabe, yes," Her Ladyship said very quietly. "Is it any wonder the woman ran away and went into service with the things we've heard about that man?"
"He is a cad – a disrespectful man," he huffed. "What he has done to his wife –"
Her Ladyship gently laid her hand on his forearm. "Mr. Carson," she said softly, "it is not our place to judge him. Or her. But it is our place to bring her out from belowstairs so she might see her children again. Don't you think? Especially since we're all to go to London for Lord Campbell's wedding."
He paused. "M'lady…"
"We have invited Mr. and Mrs. Hughes for luncheon on Sunday, after church," she said. "They have already accepted the invitation and are glad to see Lady Frye." There was a quiet pause. "Seeing as how they are your fiancee's family, I have taken the liberty of asking Mr. Barrow to serve and you and Mrs. Hughes will, of course, take luncheon with the Family."
"M'lady, that is not appropria-"
"No, it is not," she agreed. "But this is a new world, Carson, and the world does not play by our rules, does it?"
"No doubt, m'lady," he grumbled softly. "I will… support Mrs. Hughes in this folly, but I will not be pleased with it."
"I am not asking you to be pleased," Her Ladyship said firmly. "Just that it happens at all."
He nodded and frowned. "I would not like to hurt Elsie," he admitted. "Not ever. Not after all this."
"You won't," Lady Grantham assured him.
He met her in the Grey Suite Saturday evening; she had managed to avoid him all day, things needing done and hurts too fresh to mend. Charles came into the room with some of his things from his room, and he barely took notice of her putting away some of her things until she spoke very softly. "Charles, I know… that tomorrow is going to be… upsetting," she murmured.
He jumped, the door to the wardrobe clattering shut with a solid slamming noise. "God, Elsie, don't –"
She bit her lip, smiling a little at the thought that she still might have the same stealthy reflexes of her youth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said softly. "I was only putting away some of my things."
"I'm doing the same," he agreed. "It seems wasteful to do it the day we are wed, especially since we're to pack for London after the luncheon celebration."
"Charles," she said, "we need to –"
"Talk? Yes, let's talk," he muttered. "Let's talk about how humiliating and degrading it will be to the Crawley family to have two of their servants sitting at the table with them tomorrow."
Elsie swallowed hard, reflexively. "It won't be like that," she said very softly. "It won't be. Her Ladyship won't allow it."
"His Lordship –"
"His Lordship knows," she said, perhaps a little too sharply. "He knows my shame and he still made the offer to bring them here and allow us to sit at the table after church service like we are important members of his household, Charles. This is not a game, contrary to what you may believe. This is the only chance I will ever have to make things right again – and so what if I am nothing more than a housekeeper? I am still Elisabeth Hughes, and I have given more than I ever thought it was possible to give in service. I gave up my only child, my grandchildren… and I will not lose you, as well. I refuse, Charles Carson. I refuse to fail in this, now."
His shoulders slumped in something approximating defeat. "My god, Elsie, how could you be so stupid as to think you would ever lose me?" Charles asked. "Have I not stood at your side through all of this… mess? Have I not dried your tears and held you in the night when you needed comfort? I just… I object to tainting the house with –"
"I know," she whispered. "I know, it seems a fool's errand – but Lady Grantham has been insistent. I'm terrified, Charles. I'm afraid I will lose everything now. Including you. Especially you." She stepped around the bed and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "But I had to tell the truth and accept the consequences."
He turned and drew her close to him, holding her tightly in his grasp. She did not feel fear like she might once have done – no, she felt such ease, such comfort, now. The difference was that she loved him, her Charlie, whereas other men who might have touched her that way… she had not, did not, could not, would not.
He kissed her very gently upon the lips, then released her. "I should be getting back – if Thomas is to serve luncheon tomorrow, I'd best have things prepared ahead of time…"
"It's already been done," Elsie said softly, digging her fingertips into his forearm. "You said so earlier, remember? At dinner."
"Blast," he muttered, caught out in the white lie.
"If you don't want to be here with me, just say so," she whispered. "Don't lie about it."
"I want to be here, you daft woman," he hissed. "Therein lies the problem!" When she looked at him, clearly baffled, frustration rising within her, he added, "For land's sake, Elsie, it's not proper. Everything else can be falling down around my ears, but now I will bend to propriety for your sake, if no other reason presents itself."
She bit back an angry, semi-hysterical laugh. "You weren't saying that a few days ago when your tongue was between my legs, Charles Carson!" Her tone was far more accusing than it was meant to be. "I am an old woman, Charlie – no one cares about my virtue anymore. Her Ladyship even went so far as to suggest that the 'indiscretion' I was going to speak to her about included you! God help me, I wish it had included you! I wish that you had been the one who had fathered my girl, but if wishes were horses, Charlie – if wishes were horses…"
"I would not have forced you in a cupboard," he said stiffly, angrily.
"No," she agreed. "But you would have loved me, and you would have loved her…"
The anger in his stance suddenly dissipated, and he sat down on the bed, his shoulders slumping. "I do love her," he muttered, "as much as it pains me to admit it. I love your Anwen because she is a part of you, Elsie Hughes. And I would have loved to have been her father…"
She struggled to get up onto the bed and sit beside him, but once she had, she held his hand and whispered, "I've loved you from the day you gave me that silly look that means there's something desperately wrong but it's so scandalizing and titillating that someone must see it."
"The maid and the footman behind the root shed," he said with a small smile.
She nodded and smiled. "And you allowed me to be the one to break it up and take credit for finding them," she reminded him gently.
"They had to make you housekeeper after that display," he teased gently, tracing the lines on the inside of her palm with his fingertips. "I love you, Elsie Hughes."
"And I you, Charles Carson," she whispered. After a few minutes, she murmured, "Stay with me tonight, please? I cannot sleep without you anymore."
It barely took a moment for him to acquiesce to her wishes. A moment and a deep, sweet kiss that tasted of love, desire… of him.
The final reading of the banns was simple, plain, heard clearly through the church, and they waited for any protest against them. Elsie knew her cousin and his wife were in the congregation; she would know Emma's fashion sense anywhere. The woman was always trying the latest and greatest thing she could throw her husband's money at. When no protest was made, Elsie slipped her hand into the gentle confines of Charles's hand, smiling a little as his fingers curled reflexively around hers.
She did not listen to the sermon.
All she could do was feel.
"What do you mean I'm needed downstairs?" Anwen said. She was confused; Anna wasn't making any sense at all. Why would she be needed downstairs? Everyone had just gotten back from church, hadn't they? Oh god. God. She was getting the sack. What other reason could there possibly be?
"Just… trust me," Anna said softly. "Change your dress and go downstairs. Mr. Bates and I will watch the children. Her Ladyship has already asked us to – please, Nanny McCabe. We'll all get in trouble if you don't do it."
Anwen nodded stiffly and went into her tiny room. Change her dress? She barely had clothes to her name! The last nice dress that she owned was from 1914, and it was hardly – but what choice did she have? God, she had no choice. She slipped into the maroon day dress with its purple and yellow embroidered flowers and remembered such better times… Times that had not seen her so poorly or so frightened that she would be turned out on her ear again to find purchase on the streets. Times that had not seen her hiding from the man who would be determined to kill her.
Times when she had been oblivious to her humble birth. Times where champagne had flowed and she had been the belle of society –
But those times were long gone, and all she had left of them were her memories and a lingering sense of bitterness.
She hesitated for a moment before she decided to leave her hair such as it was; there was no use in changing it if she was getting the sack. She nodded to Anna and gave each of the children a kiss and a murmured, "Behave for Mr. and Mrs. Bates," before she went downstairs. She knew she wasn't meant to show her young charges affection of that type, but the children were very affectionate, and she didn't mind returning their kisses and hugs in kind.
She came down the back stairs to the servants' hall, and Mrs. Patmore gaped at her. "Blimey," she said, "you'd better get upstairs and into the sitting room, Nanny McCabe – why didn't Anna tell you where to go? Blasted girl – get on with you!"
Anwen's confusion grew and she took the steps up into the Great Hall quickly, to be met by Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. "Where on earth have you been?" Aunt Elsie asked, her brow furrowing. "We've been waiting – everyone has been waiting!"
"I didn't – what's going on?" Anwen stammered.
"What's going on is we're having luncheon," Mr. Carson said. She noticed then that he and Aunt Elsie were still dressed in their Sunday best clothes, and that Aunt Elsie was twisting her engagement ring around her finger again and again as if she were nervous.
But what did she have to be nervous about?
Anwen nodded and followed them into the sitting room. "Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, welcome," Lord Grantham greeted heartily. "And Lady McCabe –"
Upon that greeting, Anwen felt panic close its icy fist around her heart; she saw black spots in her vision, couldn't breathe, couldn't think – how could he possibly know? – and then, mercifully, the floor rose to meet her. Quite convenient, that.
END PART TEN