Conversations with the Man Upstairs

by BorneToFlow

Mrs Hughes struggles with the idea of becoming a property magnate with Mr Carson. Mrs Patmore lends some friendly and timely advice. Consistent with my particular headcanon. I need to account for Elsie turning down the option to buy the property, given that she harbours no fiscal/sisterly burdens in my version of who Elsie is. Some canon dialogue will be rejigged to suit my S5 aims

10. Ch 10—Democratically Scandalous (Pti)

Conversations with the Man Upstairs. Chapter 10—Democratically Scandalous (Pt. i.)

A/N: The delay in updating, as you may well have guessed, is because work is now back in full swing for me. Throw in my child's dance/high school auditions processes, a wedding, and an Irish funeral and wake and I am afraid time has run away from me! BUT, I will continue to do what I can. This chapter is quite long and it is taking me a while to finish. As such, I have decided to publish it in two parts with the hope that it will push me through the home straight of it a little more hastily.

I have also wondered whether a few of 'my darlings' herein ought to have been killed off before publishing it. However, areas of dialogue in this do allow me to build a background character and story world that will eventually beef up my yet-to-be-published post-retirement adventures with Chelsie and Co.—so I will leave the sections in. Hopefully, the story rollicks along well enough with all of these ideas left in there. I have also left them in because I think Mrs Patmore's story arc and emotional wellbeing deserves a proper and respectful seeing to. I hope you enjoy it.

We are still a little way off from the proposal scene, but after this mega 2-part chapter, I think I might be able to time hop a little more away from these three to four intensive days for Chelsie set in early December 1925-ish (I have now decided!).

*Punctuated and italicised dialogue is drawn from JF S.5. canon.

oOOo

Time: Tuesday, December 1st 1925. 9:30 am

Mrs Patmore walks with greater leisure than she has been able to do in recent memory—down the short distance of the hallway from Mrs Hughes' sitting room towards the main archway entrance of the kitchen, having just returned the store cupboard key to that lady's unattended desk. The family set off well over an hour ago; all have been fed and watered; and, with so many of the remaining house staff away to Brancaster, any meals for the next week will be small and simple. In fact, once Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson are content with the beginnings of the deep cleaning of items about the house that do not get a regular seeing to, no doubt many of the hall boys, scullery maids and younger housekeeping staff will be sent off to visit their families before Christmas arrives with all of its flurrying busy-ness. The only consideration running through Beryl's head at the moment is her plans for a small dinner tonight for the remaining upper staff in the house. A soiree…of sorts—ha! A right-regular society madam I am! And Beryl is rather pleased with her menu selections, which will include at least one favourite for each of the people she hopes will be able to share the table…Now…to convince Mr Carson of the value of it all, she muses as she enters the kitchen and onto the beginnings of a conversation.

"So, Daisy, what are you working at while they're away?" Joseph Molesley asks with genuine interest and some small hope that he may be of assistance with the girl's studies.

"I haven't decided yet."

"You don't sound very keen," Joseph responds with a quizzically furrowed brow. To him, several days free of the family with ample extra time to be reading and contemplating history, life, the universe and…well…everything, really, and not worrying over which foot he may put wrong next in front of other people, is Joseph's idea of utter bliss.

"To be honest, sometimes I'm not sure I should go on with it. I mean, what am I trying to prove?"

Gawd! And my Old Man always says I vacillate too much about everything in life! Joseph silently muses, Daisy blows so hot and cold it's a wonder the ovens don't go out whenever she's near!... Hey! Not bad that line…I should remember that one.

"Lord above! We're not having another crisis, are we?" Mrs Patmore grouses, feeling thoroughly tired of hearing everyone else's woes after, yet again, having to chase about trying to call the merry jig between the Housekeeper and the Butler into some sort of order while also dealing with her own heated physical changes overnight. All of it is making her feel simultaneously a little sluggish and bit peevish. A peevish slug—Lord above!

"No...But the more I think about it, the more I wonder how realistic are my plans. Wouldn't it make more sense now to get on with my life?"

"Uuurgh!" is all Mrs Patmore can muster before she turns about and makes a split-second decision to go see how The Other Half ruddy well lives for a change.

oOOo

Mrs Hughes sweeps into the main library—austere and brilliant—a strange combination of the Goddesses Nike and Hestia. As in a chariot borne forth by the northern winds of Boreas, her underlings proclaim her glorious return with a simultaneous flourish, flick and lofting of white sheets that float down dreamily to cover her domestic sphere with a drift of winter cleansing.

Gawd…is all that Mrs Patmore can think as she quietly traipses through the main library door to watch the unfolding spectacle, gazing with undiminished awe, even after all of these years, at the Abbey's upper levels. And she hath returned, Beryl thinks proudly, for Mrs Hughes certainly cuts an impressive figure when she is ably directing and controlling all of her minions inside such very grand apartments.

"Mrs Patmore, what are you doing in here?" said housekeeper states with a general air of brightness that Mrs Patmore has not seen in her for possibly close to two weeks.

"Oh, I came up for a bit of air. It's nice to get your head above ground for five minutes." Beryl replies as she gazes up at the lofty and ornate ceilings above her as she continues to ponder inwardly: Leave the heat of the kitchen…and the trials of Loves Labours…well…perhaps not 'lost'…but at least caught up somewhere in a hedge maze. Bah!… getting silly and sentimental AND waxing ruddy lyrical now—ye daft apeth, Beryl Ann Patmore! Still, the last few times that Beryl has been called to His Lordship's lofty presence in the library, she has either been so self-consciously nervous or has been in tears upon entering or leaving the space due to her own trials of health and other familial concerns, that it has, to Beryl's mind, always seemed as if she is climbing out of the trenches and entering a warzone in a foreign land. It is a blessed relief right now to just be able to have the time to breathe…and look about at the sheer beauty of it all. She sighs deeply. "Anyway, Mrs Hughes, I am glad to see you looking so well rested today," she manages to say without the maids overhearing the implicit enquiry about Mrs Hughes less than steady presentation to the world yesterday.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Patmore. I did rest rather better last night, all things considered." Elsie has yet to fully register why she should actually be feeling so much better today, given that her knowledge of Mr Carson's state of mind and heart since her harsh rejection of a possible future together with him is still rather limited and confused. It is quite a wonder what a decent night's sleep can do, though, she considers.

"And I suppose I would like to extend an invitation of sorts to you, Mrs Hughes."

"Oh?"

"Yes,…you see, we won't have so many of us in the servant's hall tonight, what with all the young'uns heading off to their parent's after the day's work…so I thought that maybe we could do things a bit differently—share dinner, just a few of us, at the round table in the kitchen…something as little less…formal…I was thinking."

"Well, that sounds like a novel idea. Why indeed not?"

"So, will you extend the invitation to Mr Carson, then?"

"What? You mean—drag him along kicking and screaming?"

"Well…I suppose so…if that is what it takes," Beryl states pragmatically and smiles at Mrs Hughes lightly, imagining the strange logistics involved if that version of events were to be taken literally.

"I'll see what I can do…"

"Good…thank you…I'll see to asking the others. Shall we make it 7 o'clock tonight…give the young ones plenty of time to get off on the trains and the like?"

"Right you are, Mrs Patmore. And is it just light sandwiches today for luncheon?"

"Aye, and some soup leftovers in a crock, so they may come and go as they are ready if you please."

"Good, good… I will just let them set their own twenty minutes to nip down for a bite when they are hungry."

"Ooo…don't let Mr Carson hear you say that…scandalous, Mrs Hughes…quite scandalous!"

"Quite," Mrs Hughes smiles back lightly with a glint of good-humoured friendliness edging its way back into their exchanges.

"What's this latest scandal I hear, Mrs Hughes?" Charles Carson asks gruffly as he glides purposefully towards them, somehow managing to quirk one brow in a curious manner while the other is raised with his requisite butler-ish disapproval and concern. Elsie turns her smile to him and just enjoys that particular vision of the man without giving it much conscious thought.

"Aaand… I think that is my cue to leave," Mrs Patmore states as she about-faces and heads out of the main library and across the great hall towards the green baize door. Elsie smiles lightly after her friend before turning to address Mr Carson.

"Och, it's nothing to fret about, Mr Carson," Mrs Hughes states and Charles immediately notices the slight relaxing of her brogue now that the family has left. "Just that the staff can set their own time to nip down for a bite to eat for lunch. Mrs Patmore intends to keep some platters stocked on the servant's hall table—nice and simple.

"Hmm…unorthodox…but hardly the greatest scandal the house has ever faced."

"Quite right," Mrs Hughes replies lightly "…Well, I must be off to see how the girls are faring with turning over the main bedrooms."

"Right you are, Mrs Hughes," and Carson watches her elegant figure waltz away from him with a satisfying clip of her heels on the parquetry, and he is far too enamoured by her more sprightly manner this morning to hear the latest of her quiet mumblings and plottings-away to herself.

"Hmm…I suppose we'll just wait until tonight for the full scandal to manifest…"

oOOo

Time: 7:00pm. At the kitchenmaids dinner table

"Oh, this is very nice, Mrs Patmore. Quite a treat."

"Well, the cat's away, so we mice might as well play a little," she states blithely in reply to Mrs Hughes. Then Beryl sees the gruff discomfort in Mr Carson's demeanour as he follows the housekeeper into the kitchen alcove proper and she figures it was really the best that she could hope for from the man at this stage of the game. Still, Beryl is more than pleased that Mrs Hughes did actually manage to broach any subject with him at all today. Thank Goodness for small mercies, she figures.

"Who have you invited?" Mrs Hughes inquires.

"Oh, just us, Mr Bates, Mr Molesley and Daisy."

"Daisy? ...To wait on us, I assume?" comes Mr Carson inevitable disapproving vocalisation about the night's proceedings. Mrs Patmore sees the requisite eye roll she has come to expect from Mrs Hughes whenever Mr Carson gets so uppity about the way things 'should be done', but Beryl chooses to remain blissfully ignorant of anything untoward actually occurring tonight. Mostly, she is well pleased to see Elsie back on form again. It could still prove to be a pleasant enough night…if Mr Bates can stop being so…so bleedin' eggbound and brooding about their Anna for just one moment…still…it can't be pleasant times at all for the man right now. But blithe is how Mrs Patmore chooses to remain with all of this motley crew she has assembled when she replies to Mr Carson's disapproval.

"To wait on us… and eat with us, Mr Carson. And If that though is too…democratically overpowering…you can share what I've made for the housemaids. It is your choice."

Mrs Hughes instinctively checks on Mr Carson's equilibrium after such blunt effrontery from their little kitchen pepper-pot, but Elsie cannot help but smile at both of her friends. And truth to tell, she finds that on another front, she is quietly and, strangely, almost gleeful about the thought of the young maids likely giggling and squealing about like a children's table on Christmas day, and no doubt secretly playing at sitting in Mr Carson's generally highly off-limits dining chair at the head of the large servant's hall table while the big cat himself is away. Still, she resolves to try to enjoy the mixed company here tonight in the warm kitchen, in recognition of the gift that Mrs Patmore is trying to share with all of them by arranging this little soiree. It would be a nice way to live, really…like this…relaxed…and with friends as close as family…

Elsie straightens some non-existent creases on her grey skirt and hopes that she looks tidy enough for the event. She has not exactly felt ebullient all day. But by turns, she has at least felt competent once more…and in some strange ways that she has not fully put a finger on yet, she has felt cared for. Yes, there have been some little things that have briefly unsettled her, but then they have also made her smile quite inexplicably on the inside. Things like Thomas actually wishing her a fond farewell, and Miss Baxter being thankful once again for all of Elsie's help these last days with the Ladies' packing and some mending. And then…there was the way she found her chatelaine this morning, coiled so very neatly in a spiral on her side dresser this morning. It settled her somehow. And later, finding Mr Carson's perplexing, but oft-times still a quite upsetting letter to her, all neatly locked away inside the top drawer of her desk. The letter—she can only thank Beryl for secreting away from prying eyes for her. And she does have vague memories of her friend helping her out of her tiresome old corset and into her nightgown last night when she was too utterly exhausted to manage it on her own—but… the placement of chatelaine?—it just does not seem to be Beryl's…style…And then, of course, the croquants…She does know that only Charles Carson could possibly have brought them back from York and placed them silently in her much cherished little crystal dish. For, Mr Bates knows nothing of her favouring them so, and besides, he surely would have no mind at all to purchase such a thing at the moment, even if she had asked him to do so explicitly. So, it must have been Charles…and...since when has he ever been 'Charles' to you, you daft Gloik! But Elsie can only wonder at what sort of peace offering it is that he is aiming at with them. Yes, they are in the midst of their most painful disagreement ever, but it is not bitter at all—she most surely knows that it is not that on his part, his letter did at least make that clear. Still, she hardly feels that her Charles need explain himself or do anything to make amends with her after she saw that deep hurt in his eyes that she knows she purposefully risked putting there—that she did end up putting there. The thought of that moment makes her swallow down hard on the lump of shame and guilt that is still stuck inside her throat. And why would he ever be 'My Charles'? she cannot help but despair…But, as his letter also made clear, theirs is as dear a friendship as she has ever had as well, and she is grateful to him for taking the time to think of her when he obviously had other, far more urgent business to attend to in York yesterday. She cannot help but wonder what it was he needed to race off to the city for, or if he will ever see fit to share a confidence with her about such things ever again, after all that she has done to him to break his faith in her…A silver frame won't get you out of this one this time, Elsie Mae Hughes. She hopes beyond hope that he will trust her again, but she does accept that it will likely take some time. At least I can share the croquants with him—as ever…if he'll have them…I know he favours the Scottish milk caramel ones the most…(It is why she always buys them whenever she must go into York herself and has the chance to do so).

Still, whichever odd ways Elsie has been feeling throughout this wintery quietening down day at the Abbey, at least she has not felt so thoroughly buffeted about as she has done across the previous few days. And so, when she dressed for dinner tonight, she decided that she would just continue to take whatever the day has to offer her with an air of open gratitude. She tidied herself with care, taking some small pleasure in the relaxing process of intricately braiding her hair into many smaller plaits before coiling them all together and tucking and pinning them up neatly at the nape of her neck. And then she dressed quite humbly—as if in deference to her very good friends' kind efforts today.

"Is everything settled?" Mrs Hughes decides to open the conversation as they are beginning to be seated, even though the topic is unavoidably a fraught one for the man seated directly to her right. Mr Carson flicks his eyes up quickly and peers at her across the round table.

"What's this?

"I'm, sorry, I assumed you already knew, Mr Carson, Mr Murray's going to Holloway in London tomorrow— to see Anna—and he's got permission for Mr Bates to be present." She is somewhat confused that Mr Carson is outside of this particular loop given his travels to York with Mr Bates yesterday, but the conversation flows on and she puts it down to a momentary lapse of memory as Mr Carson's structured mind struggles with the…well…the sheer and blinding democracy of this particular dining experience.

"I'll be gone most of the day. I hope to speak to him again afterwards," Mr Bates informs them all generally and with the hopes that the line of questioning will be promptly dropped. Mr Carson's offering of the evening's Grace cannot come soon enough for John, for he hates to speak to anybody of his personal business—aside from with Anna—ever. And even though this evening is a different kind of setting, and he knows that all here mean the very best for himself and for Mrs Bates, he would still rather not speak on the matter at all. It is like an ex-prisoner's jinx to risk doing so, especially when all is still so very uncertain for his Anna.

Mr Carson gruffles lightly to compose himself a little before he responds, "Of course." His mind is actually reeling more than a little, for Mrs Hughes…Mrs Hughes...Elsie…she just looks so…so...s-soft. And she is not even wearing a favourite outfit…well…at least not a favourite in his eyes. Since when have I had favourites? he wonders…like the black satin and orange brocade…she bought that years ago!…and yet I have always loved it…But tonight, the somewhat voluminous light beige silken blouse is not truly the best colour for her complexion, nor is it the best cut on her figure, not to his mind, anyway…not when anything from powder to cornflower, and even to navy blues, or her lighter floral print on a lemon yellow summer blouse all seem to become her so much better and make her face and eyes just shine, at least in Charles' eyes… And…her…her figure! What of it?! What on Earth are you thinking of, Charles Ernest Carson?! He admonishes himself soundly. But still, he cannot help but notice that tonight Mrs Hughes' cheeks are clear and fuller than the last two days have shown them—At least she seems to have slept well last night—and her lively eyes are catching the candlelight and her hair is very tidy—very tidy, indeed—as if she has taken even more care with it than usual—and…and she is feminine…and homely—perhaps…yes…but in the sweetest possible way…like a cream caramel—and…and… She is also seated opposite him, as Lady Grantham sits always opposite His Lordship…As…as my Elsie would be if she were…were…my…my wife…Charles stifles a slightly shuddering breath at the heady thought of it, but Mrs Hughes is looking sympathetically towards Mr Bates to respond to him and has thankfully has not registered Mr Carson staring at her with such palpable longing in his eyes.

"Don't worry. We'll expect you when we see you, Mr Bates."

"Ah! Here's Mr Molesley," Mrs Patmore chimes in to lighten the tone a little and redirect the evening proceedings like a real hostess, "Now, we can begin."

oOOo

For his part, Charles Carson is glad of the routine aspects of even this very unusual dining experience to help occupy his mind and to stop him gazing, completely lovelorn, at the fine and graceful lady seated opposite him—possibly embarrassing both of them completely and in very short order. He rises to pour the first round of wines for everyone—expertly chosen to compliment Mrs Patmore's fine efforts with the food tonight. As ever, for he cannot seem to be anything but a butler in this house. Mr Bates, of course, abstains, and Mrs Patmore to his left, looks as gleeful as ever to partake of a fine drop on a special occasion, and Charles does suppose that this is a sort of special occasion— if only for its differences from the norm. For Mr Molesley, he surreptitiously leaves a whisker off a full pour, lest the man should over-indulge, and he does the same for Daisy, whom he still struggles to believe has turned 26 this year, but has likely never even had a half-shandy in the lady's parlour at the Grantham Arms. In his eyes, she still looks not much more than the 12-year-old frightened little mousey girl who used to set the fires each morning—the same young lass whom he escorted as best he could on that horrid, horrid day to the most heart-breaking wedding ceremony he has ever known at the Abbey. But she is a lovely young woman now—if still a little dizzy, and she too is deserving of a quality glass of wine to share at a dinner that Mrs Patmore has seen fit to cook especially for them all. He knows he is indebted to Beryl at the moment…But Daisy?…still…huph…anyway… Charles ponders as he carefully pours the second to last glass of merlot, before his own… And…for you, my sweetest love…I do hope that you enjoy it…his eyes try to tell Mrs Hughes.

"Thank you, Mr Carson," Elsie smiles up at him, demurely.

"Well, Mr Carson," Mrs Patmore prompts, "If you would like to do the honours."

"Of course, Mrs Patmore…" He clears his throat lightly as he seats himself and then he begins. "Lord, we thank you for this lovely meal that has been so generously arranged and prepared by Mrs Patmore to be shared by those so gratefully gathered here tonight. May all who may be feeling life's many and varied struggles most keenly at the moment, soon find themselves similarly rejuvenated amongst such convivial company. We thank you for the blessing of this table, dear Lord. Amen."

"Amen" comes the immediate and unanimous response from the now slightly less motley crew.

And as hostess for the evening, Beryl Patmore soon gets them started on a great shuffling about of shared platters of hearty foods, "Mr Carson, would you please pass the buttered parsnips."

oOOo

Dinner conversation actually falls into a natural and considerably relaxed pattern soon after everyone's plates are adequately filled. Although, it is at times surprising who is interested in spending time traversing at greater depth the varied subjects that arise. Mr Molesley quite inadvertently draws Mr Carson into a very interesting debate, along with a wide-eyed and ever-so-grown-up-feeling Daisy Mason, about the sad fate of the very young 'Nine Days Queen'.

"Well, it just seems to me that Lady Jane Grey was very ill-used by all those men around her. I mean, she weren't much older than I was when I started here at the Abbey…How scared must she have been when they went and chopped off her head." Daisy says with her newly discovered stridency, but she does demur a little when she belatedly realises that might be a harsh avenue of conversation with Mr Bates at the table and his wife possibly facing a not dissimilar fate. However, Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes have already ably commandeered Mr Bates attention and have managed to divert his concerns from his wife for the evening by having him relate some anecdotes of his time in the military and when serving as Batman to His Lordship. It happens to be one area of his own and His Lordship's life that John Bates need not keep entirely secret from others.

"Hmm…true," Mr Molesley inadvertently deflects Daisy's potential faux pas, "but it is important to look at the much bigger picture, Daisy, and ask if it could have really ended up any other way?"

"Yes, as sad as the circumstances of her young death were, " Mr Carson joins in "…and indeed, as unjust as it all sounds to us now, it is important to remember that Lady Jane Grey was a very learned young woman for that age, well-schooled in a humanistic education, able to read and speak in many languages, and though she was apparently reluctant to take on the Crown, it was a legitimate claim by the law of the day, instantiated by the former King Henry VIII, that King Edward VI should be able to name her as his successor, and not his father's firstborn daughter."

"Quite right, Mr Carson," Joseph is very much warming to the subject now,

"But it just seems so unfair, that almost all of the Privy Council changed their mind about Lady Grey so very quickly to support Bloody Mary." Daisy suddenly blanches white in front of Mr Carson for having uttered a word that might be deemed cursing at the dinner table and fidgets sweatily with her napkin beneath the tablecloth. However, Mr Carson seems quite nonplussed by the word's usage in reference to this part of history as he is already well invested in this pleasurable conversational pursuit, even if it is to be in conjunction with Mr Molesley who, strangely, does continue to surprise Charles with the depth of his knowledge of the Tudor reign.

"Well, you must remember," Joseph offers, "it was a time of some of the greatest upheaval in the history of Great Britain, and Western Europe, really. You see, the Reformed Church was still trying to establish itself. Lady Jane Grey was only just born when King Henry VIII brought England in line with the broader Protestant movement and established himself as head of the Church of England …everything was very much in flux throughout all of Lady Jane's childhood…. I mean, even the Abbey here was built upon the ruins of Cromwell's Dissolution of the Monasteries under King Henry VIII." Carson nods in agreeance at this statement. The underlying structures of the Abbey still fascinate Charles on a daily basis as he traverses the quiet vaults of the former monastery that form his dominion over His Lordship's own wine cellar. The not so distant ruins of the Byland, Rievaulx, and Fountains Abbeys show how easily Charles' own life might not have been spent in service to the fine house that Downton Abbey became in the centuries after the Reformation. As Mr Carson muses away, Joseph continues enthusiastically, "And many, many people, both with political power and the average person working the fields, still did not believe that we should leave the Roman Church at all. In fact, when you think on it, it could as easily be that we would all be French-speaking Catholics sitting here at this table today, as not."

"Hmm…that is difficult to imagine, indeed," Mr Carson grumbles out.

"Well, it seems to me that people ought to stick more closely to defend their true beliefs than to change their minds so willy-nilly about Lady Grey's right to the throne." Daisy spouts out and then reddens rapidly as she recognises her own levels of personal flippancy when it comes to that particular admonition.

"True enough, Daisy," Mr Carson offers, "but we are all of us impacted by events far outside of our personal ability to change them, and though it is no excuse for inconstancy, keep in mind that the Lord's Privy Council was not, and even to this day, still is not above playing intricate political games, I am afraid to say. Mary the First of Scotland may well have appeared to offer greater stability for the nation at that stage, and Lady Grey did continue to pose a threat to Mary's reign if she remained living, as brutish as that sounds…But ultimately, King Henry's legacy of entrusting many of the lands of the Roman Catholic church to the nobility from the Dissolution of the Monasteries was always going to play a deciding factor in where people's allegiances would ultimately fall." Daisy just stares at Mr Carson, trying to piece together such disparate motivations for the declarations of faith and property that have shaped the land she lives it. It somewhat baffles her. "But, if it is any consolation, Daisy," Charles continues, "Lady Jane Grey purportedly showed much grace and a great stoicism of strong conviction when she did…well...finally meet her fate. Her legacy has arguably played its own part in the England we a blessed enough to live in today…"

"Indeed," Joseph provides enthusiastically, "from all accounts, Lady Jane Grey was subsequently held up as a martyr of sorts, and likely helped Queen Elizabeth garner even broader support to formally establish the Church of England and the true beginnings of the British nation."

Daisy looks between Mr Carson and Mr Molesely, all agog for never having realised how much these men have read and thought about the history of the world they live in. They make it all seem so very alive to her, rather than just a sad litany of the statistics of the deaths, and seemingly brutal injustices inflicted upon the young and the innocent. The picture really is so much bigger and more intricate than Daisy ever imagined.

"Agreed," Mr Carson concurs, "there is much to learn from Lady Grey and the small but important part she had to play in getting us all to the place we live in today. One could argue that her young life had a profound ongoing impact, for think on the great years of stability we were eventually able to enjoy under the long reign of Queen Victoria. Now,... she was a most worthy Monarch.

"But she were dead not long after I was even born!

"Ha!... Quite,... I almost forgot, Daisy," Mr Carson shakes his head at the differences in their life experience through a mere accident of timing of their births, "but again, look at the legacy of the years of Queen Victoria's reign…see how it carries forth in some small ways to what we strive for today… for the constancy and commitment to family and the sovereignty of our nation, even if much has changed since the war…But…what it means to British is still strong and has grown from the works of the men and women, both leaders and willing workers alike, who have come before us."

At this statement, a small lull in the conversation between the members of the other half of the table draws everyone's eyes up to Mr Carson. In many ways, the statement summarises what the shared table tonight is all about— a cohort of willing workers who do what needs to be done and have, in their own small ways, contributed to the nation they are fortunate enough to live in today. Each person ponders the current state of the table in their own way. Daisy is thoughtful, but her mind is churning with the excitement of new ideas slowly starting to synthesise into a more cohesive understanding. Joseph is…truly relaxed and happy to be speaking into this space at all. In fact, he has barely touched his wine for he has felt very little need to artificially fortify his confidence in this arena. Beryl is just smiling proudly at her successful dinner plans, but mostly at her Daisy—for being able to reasonably hold her own with the depth of the conversation she has been able to capture some snippets of as she spoke with Mrs Hughes and Mr Bates. And Mrs Hughes is gazing with unavoidable admiration at the way that Mr Carson can bed down such comforting words about what life is all about. In her eyes and ears, there is a great poetry about the man that always shows him to be a great leader and caring fatherly figure to those whose lives he touches. He is most assuredly a man she would be most proud to call her husband.

…If only…

But particularly for John Bates, who maintains a small glint of almost boyish enthusiasm in the ex-soldier's eye from having related a few of the feats of derring-do that he and His Lordship got up to as comrades-in-arms against the Boers at the turn of the century, Mr Carson's words speak to him as a man who is still capable of affecting change in this life by drawing on his own characteristic traits of stoicism and valour. His years in the battlefield with the Lord's Lieutenant Colonel Robert Crawley were indeed some of the best of his entire life. His Lordship was a noble, just, and very astute military leader to work beneath. Sadly, John Bates seldom gets to feel anymore the same level of pride and purpose he felt when he was an active soldier on duty for the Realm.

Daisy, to her credit, picks up on the look in Mr Bates eye, and although she has rarely had recourse to speak directly with the man himself, it being more likely of a day for her to share kind words with his wife instead, she decides to risk asking a question that might, in different circumstances, be seen as terribly impertinent. However, she was so very young when Mr Bates first came to join them at the Abbey, and after understanding more and more of her own William's bravery as a Batman during wartime (for she now, finally, does think of her short-lived but devoted husband as 'her William')…and also knowing that Mrs Patmore is more able to speak on her nephew Archie's war experiences, now that the memorial business and her conflict with Mr Carson is all forgiven, Daisy does decide to risk a question with Mr Bates—for she is positively itching to know.

"Mr Bates, I hope you don't mind me asking, but I have always wanted to know what actually happened in South Africa when your leg was injured."

Mr Bates is momentarily taken aback, for he seldom even thinks on his affliction at all—not after all of these years when he is more than accustomed to dealing with his daily life with the slight impediment and low-level constant pain. And he rarely ever contemplates the particular circumstances of its infliction anymore. But, he has been oddly enjoying relating his stories to Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes about the comparatively settled days of his time in the army. Odd, …that my life since has often been far more fraught than out on the battlefield. It is always…so much easier to have a little more knowledge of the enemy. Even the Boer's guerrilla tactics could be pre-empted…at least to some degree. We somehow always managed in South Africa…which is more than I can boast nowadays, that much is certain… And John realises that his time in South Africa was where his proclivity towards great loyalty and valour was most clearly honed. And sadly, if his interlocuters prior to this point had left him any time at all to dwell upon what has happened in his life since, he would see how much he has had to compromise his ethics just to get through all of the accusations and severe ramifications of what Vera and that brute, Green, have thrown into his path. Still, …he was not always the man that he has had to become…at times…

"No Daisy,…I suppose I have never wanted to speak on such a matter, nor draw attention to it unnecessarily, but I guess it does not bother me so very much anymore." John Bates is a man of few words, but he does have a little of the gift of old Blarney from his mother's Irish heritage when he is disposed to use it. And tonight, he has felt listened to as a man who is not to be pitied (which is something he has always abhorred, and which, sadly, at the moment colours most people's interactions with him). So, he is currently of a mind to be loquacious, for it does take his mind off the endlessly useless cycle of being able to do absolutely nothing to help his Anna. "Well,... as it was, His Lordship and I had already seen many battles and skirmishes by the time this all happened. We were both there from 1899…and I would have been out in the field with him until the very last moment when the May peace treaties were being negotiated if it weren't for the Battle of Rooiwal. But…it is a wonder both of us weren't wounded sooner, now that I think on it…But, we worked well together, His Lordship and I, and…well…we lost a lot of men over time, but overall, he is an astute judge of what is needed when push truly comes to shove. He led some of the most successful battalions…and was able to adjust well to what the Boers were throwing at us…none of which was fully expected by any of us at the time. Their tactics had not really been seen before, you see...but… I was very fortunate to serve under His Lordship…and I am more than thankful now that I did not fair a lot worse than what I did…in the end…

Daisy and all around the table are listening in rapt silence, for unfolding before them all is one man's small part, and yet all of his personal investment, in a part of all of their shared national history. And thankfully, it is all told with a distance of enough years to imbue it all with a certain mythic quality that no one has yet able to imbue upon the dark days of the most recent war—where the losses for all gathered here tonight were so great. John settles in to fully spin his yarn.

"Well, it all happened on the 11th of April in '02…and it proved to be the last great Battle of the campaign…only minor skirmishes with a few pockets of guerrilla fighters who had yet to hear word that the war was officially over occurred after that point and before the signing of the treaty. But…at Rooiwal, it was a motley crew of us that dug in there, to say the very least. Remember, this is just after the crushing defeat of Lord Meuthen's troupes at Tweebosch…that was in early March…and we had many of the remaining but underprepared Imperial Yeomanry from that campaign reassembled with us at Rooiwal under Colonel Kekewich…Now he was a careful soldier. Crafty and wise…he dug us in at Rooiwal…must have been close to 3000 in that regiment…and Lord Grantham, he commanded one of the battalions out in the field…and…well, he trusted Kekewich, even though the man was a commoner…but Lord Kitchener had faith in the Colonel too…and Lord Grantham had had word on how Cecil Rhodes had so stymied Kekewich's decision making in the Siege of Kimberly. Lord Grantham could never abide that a man of true knowledge of what needs to be done in a field conflict should be bullied by one with far less competence but who thought himself far more important.

"Hmm…Rhodes was more self-interested in the fate of his mines, seems to be the case to me—he had no political power by then" Mr Moseley offers, and Charles sees Mrs Hughes concur with the statement about Mr Rhodes Prime Ministership of the Cape, which rightfully ended after he made a total hash in instigating the Jameson Raid that likely led to much of the later bloodshed. However, Charles Carson's views on Cecil Rhodes' place in imperial history remains…conflicted…to say the very least, and he does not want to open up another possible avenue of disagreement between himself and Mrs Hughes at this tenuous moment in their relationship. And so he decides to mask his general consternation and instead attends to Mr Bates increasingly fascinating story. He appreciates the insights it gives into the nature of his master at the Abbey. For, even though Carson had acted as His Lordships valet when they were both much younger men, and he has been Lord Grantham's righthand man for all of these many years since as the butler of Downton Abbey, there is still much that Charles has been unable to fully ascertain about the man.

"Well, working to our benefit, was the fact that it seemed that the Boer guerrillas, under Potgieter and Kemp, thought the area to be only lightly held by British troupes, and so they tried to overrun our position early that morning—charging us on horseback and shooting fast from the saddle. No one handles shooting from the saddle quite like the Boers on a rampage…" John still shakes his head in disbelief at his enemy's skills. "And they took out a good score of our mounted men from the small picket of about 40 that Lord Grantham had spiked out into the field with…leading from the front…as always…and in that first volley, Lord Grantham's mount was one of those taken out. We were on a small rise and the horse fell downwards and trapped His Lordship's leg and he was fully exposed to the ongoing fire…and the yeomanry further back…well they were still spooked from their recent routing at Tweebosch and they started to flee when they saw the heavy losses at the front picket…and I suppose…I do suppose that they thought their mounts were not up to the mark…which they most surely were not."

Daisy looks positively mortified at this news, that the British forces could have been so poorly acquitted and resourced…and…and that all those pretty horses were shot down anyway. Mr Bates tries to deflect, perhaps unsuccessfully, for he has never truly been one to pull his punches with any great ease once they have been thrown.

"Believe me, Daisy, you don't really want to know just how many mounts we lost in South Africa…they were none of them truly up to the mark…the yeomanry's own were shipped over and they were normally just plain and unprepared field working beasts…common nags…and the conditions in the Transvaal…well… put it this way, Lord Grantham rarely bothered to name the mounts he had, for they were ill fit to survive any conditions out there for very long…and he had his pick of the best of them."

No, John's candour really has not helped, for certainly every lady at the table is either slack-jawed or grim mouthed at the news, as is the ever-sensitive Mr Molesley. And even Charles Carson, with his own affinity and respect for animals as important and as noble as even the lowliest workhorse, shows a visage of being most perturbed. John realises that he has stepped into a realm where the innocence of these particular victims of war far outstrips that of even the finest soldier, and so people's responses always tend towards being more aghast about the loss of livestock than they are capable of when the horrors of injury and death to the men themselves are even alluded to. John realises he should change gears for all of their benefits, and so returns to the action of the story, doctoring somewhat the actual truth of the bloody horrors that he faced that day.

"Well…there we were, under ceaseless fire and His Lordship utterly exposed and trapped…and the only way I could see to free him, for the horse was a dead weight on him and sliding slightly down the hillock, was to jump down from Bat horse I was on and to grab the reins of Lord Grantham's horse and try to get mounted again so that my horse could help drag the dead weight of him… Only, my bat horse had spooked and reared and ripped my own reins from my hand. And so I was left standing in full view of the oncoming Boers to try to lift the horse away enough for His Lordship to be able to scramble out from underneath. So, I got the reins twisted up my arm and I grabbed the nut of the saddle and just pulled backwards up the hill as hard as I could. And I don't even know where I found the strength for it all, for I couldn't remember the last truly decent meal I'd had…and Batmen usually fare even a little better than the common foot-soldier…and it was so hot…and dusty…so heavy…so heavy…but…it is strange what you can manage when everything is so…frantic…I suppose... Anyway, it was enough, Lord Grantham managed to drag himself out from under the horse and I pulled him over and around the beast for some sort of cover while I took up his rifle and got a couple of rounds off before reloading and handing it on to him, once he was in better position…and then I scrambled off, his fire must have provided me with enough cover, because I was in the open again, but somehow managed to not get hit— I was off after my spooked Bat horse.

"She was skittish and circling madly and I somehow managed to grab onto her loose reins and drag her back to Lord Grantham—whose leg was still dead and he couldn't much move. And I had to drag the horse down on its front knees so I could hoist His Lordship astride…and as soon as he was up, and I was ready to run and follow behind him, but…but he grabbed me up by the back of my collar or my bullet holster or the like, and he hoisted me up—one-handed—over the front packs of the saddle in front of him—on my belly. And…and I remember the nut of the saddle crushing into my kidney—I reckon it was…and I hadn't even registered that I was hobbling and bleeding too, but Lord Grantham had…I must have taken a shot, just below the knee, and I had not even noticed–must have been when I was trying to drag the horse off His Lordship…didn't even feel it…strange...Anyway, then His Lordship wheeled that spindly little nag around as quick as you like and galloped to catch up with the bulk of the yeomanry- who were still intent on a stampeding retreat. And he drove that horse as hard as any I have ever seen driven…over a mile, I reckon it was before we caught up to the yeomen…and I was busy trying to reload and cover for us, I somehow managed to shoot out a-ways behind us, taking out a couple of Boer riders—more is the wonder because I was bouncing about like billy-o! And I was reloading when Lord Grantham got that nag around and flanked his troupes and wheeled around on them, grabbing the rifle from me and shooting out over the tops yeomanry's heads towards the oncoming Boers— just to bring them all about to heel. And, blazes!—I have NEVER heard such fire in his belly as I did that day…I can't even accurately remember what he yelled to bring those unschooled men to order…something akin to what Henry the 5th did at Agincourt–I wouldn't wonder!…"

John actually scoffs a small and most uncommon laugh for him, "And I can't really say who was foaming more at the mouth after that rough ride and tirade: me, His Lordship or our mount!…but whatever it was that he shouted at those men, they heard him…they heard him…and it worked…Because the few men from the picket that made it back with us— they were already shooting cover fire from astride what remained of their mounts…and… I think maybe those men had seen enough…seen enough of what had happened when his Lordship picked me up…and...and I think…I think those men at least knew that his Lordship was a man worthy of following— a man who would not run away and leave his men to just die—that he would ride with them to the very last…And so he had the few with him, and whatever else he bellowed to those scared young men—it grabbed them, and he rode their lines and set them all to order again…and… somehow,… somehow I garnered an extra rifle and some shot on a pass through the lines…and I'd managed to adjust and climb on behind his Lordship so I could load more for him easily…and before I knew it… it was enough…it was enough…Thank God!…We had them all with us…and Kekewich must have seen it too…and he held the hill with only six field guns and two Pom-Poms for heavy artillery, but in total, we did have almost double the men on the ground that day compared to the Boers — and most of ours were still mounted, however ragtag and inexperienced they all were. So, the men that were dug in provided us enough cover and…and before I knew it—we were off again— Lord Grantham had the men still with him from the picket each take a unit and we charged, with enough columns to be able to flank and easily rout the 200 or so riders that were the Boers advance party that we still faced… And Lord Grantham himself led the charge back down the hill–straight down the middle towards the bulk of their men, who were under some cover, but not holding high ground like we were with Kekewich…and it was enough…just…and the rest…well…well, it was just a flurry of action that I cannot even remember clearly to this day…Sounds…sounds that I…I don't much care to remember…and men I never wanted to see fall…but…but His Lordship— he broke through—fired each barrel faster than I could keep up with the reloading of his second rifle, and somehow he shouted louder than all of that gunfire for his men to hear where the units should ride to next…and somehow...somehow—when the bulk of the Boers were finally let loose onto the field…we had them…we had them anyway…each of our units made a focus on capturing one of the Boer Captains…and Lord Grantham himself, I would swear he took down Potgieter, himself.

"And once his blue shirt was down…the rest of the Boers they…they just lost their focus…and I think they started taking in just how outnumbered they really were, and so it was their turn to turn tail and run...even though they had routed us enough during the mess of battle for them to be within 30 metres of our line by the end…but…they couldn't take us in the end…and …and we had enough men to trace them back and round them up…and Lord Grantham would have had us do it too. He would have…but..but, by the end of the fighting Generals Hamilton and Rawlinson had finally arrived, and Hamilton countermanded both Lord Grantham in the field adn Colonel Kekevich…And…because I would not wonder that Kekevich wanted us to pursue the Boers as fas as we could, too…but Hamilton thought the Boers might ambush us...they'd done as much before…So, we waited for a ridiculous 90 minutes or more before we set out after them…and at least…well we did end up regaining our artillery from Tweebosch…and …I suppose, in hindsight…it probably did save more than a few British lives that day by holding back on that the pursuit…but…still—And I swear it, I have never seen His Lordship rail so hard against himself so as to not flatten a superior officer as he did on that day in the field when those General's just waltzed in so very late in the piece and took control…Huuhgh...But…still…it…it is the way of the army…hmmm…"

Bates looks inward as he finally slows his heady narrative of that fateful yet glorious day and manages to unclench his jaw a little at the outrage he still feels for how things happened, but the same old sad bitterness ever remains. "…and…and sadly…as these things seem to go…and...it wasn't Lord Grantham who ended up with being a Companion to the Order of Bath…nor did he ever get a medal for distinguished service, as I have always thought he so rightfully deserved that day…not even a promotion…"

"Typical!"

Everyone turns quickly to Daisy at her loud outburst and Carson finally finds his voice after such a rollicking adventure had sent him, and by the looks of it, all others around the table, into a bit of a shell-shocked daze.

"Well, I cannot help but agree with that sentiment, Daisy. His Lordship should never have been overlooked for deployment in 1914 if this is what he showed of himself in the field in South Africa."

"Indeed," Bates offers, "Colonel Kekewich was re-deployed, even out of retirement, as were Lords Hamilton and Rawlinson—although their comparatively higher ranks made that a given…but I cannot help but think his Lordship could have changed the course of at least one battle during the Great War…if they'd have let him…"

"True," Mrs Hughes finally finds her voice and quietly helps to fill the heavy silence that had suddenly settled about the table after Mr Bates' last assertion, "…But we all know it was just as likely he would have come to an untimely end there, like any other man who went…perhaps…perhaps the blessing is that he did not go and that we are all still seated here?...One could think…" She trails off and looks down glassy-eyed at her rumpled napkin in her lap, thinking of her niece Moira's dear Alistair who went so early to the Somme and never came back, and how it changed all of her dear Becky's family's lives. Mr Carson cocks his head slightly to the left to swallow and take in the grief-stricken wisdom of the woman he loves, his eyes deep pools of sorrow for the weight of sacrifice that they all ultimately benefit from carrying…

"Indeed," is all he can murmur before his attention is drawn to Mrs Patmore, who also found herself stilled inside her own quiet but perplexing grief as Mr Bates and Mrs Hughes spoke.

"Well…it is certainly quite the tale, Mr Bates…and Mrs Hughes is perhaps right…we are lucky to still have the protection of His Lordship on the home front…Still…I…I cannot help but be…shocked…really…that so many of those yeomen turned and fled…I mean…Why?... Why would they do that?... What…what must it have been like to make them all do that?" and everyone knows that the raw mixture of shame and grief and confusion that Mrs Patmore carries about her Archie, is still just beneath the surface as she lifts her own napkin to dab discreetly at the corners of her eyes.

Joseph Molesley shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat and fidgets a little with the corner of his napkin, knowing he was not, and quite likely will never be, any of these sorts of men should the push truly come down to shove again—he who could not even bring himself to go to France at all when called upon. And Carson, although less noticeably and for different reasons, moves similarly, albeit with the intention of removing some invisible lint from his trouser seam. And of course, Mrs Hughes notices it all as she gazes, almost pitifully first towards Beryl and then towards Charles, knowing that the wounds of misunderstanding between both of her friends are still fresh and only now slowly healing.

And to his credit, John Bates pegs it all as well, and chastises himself internally for bringing all of this grief up again for all of those seated around him. Lord above, things never quite go right when I don't hold my tongue. But John Bates allowed this to start and in his mind, it is up to him to try to guide the mood back to the track that Mrs Patmore obviously wanted for this evenings dinner. He slowly casts his eye over each person present, knowing that, in particular, Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson have been somewhat out of sorts these last days, and he can see that Mrs Patmore is trying to cheer more than just his own sorry self by providing this shared dinner table tonight.

"Mrs Patmore," he begins gently, "please, believe me when I say that it is the most natural instinct in the world for a man to turn and run when he is faced with their own imminent death in such circumstances... Those men who retreated…they were at their absolute wits' end…tired and hungry and scared…and without regular and clear leadership…and really, it made more sense in that moment to do what they did…Ha…in fact, one could argue that the more foolhardy are those who would do otherwise!… For, most truly, all any man ever wants at such a time, is just to find a way back home—where he can be safe and warm…and well fed,…Mrs Patmore. That is all that those men were thinking of—not of shirking their responsibilities...their duties…they just wanted what…what we have here…right now…that is all…"

The table falls to silence once again until Mr Carson adds in a tone most serious and yet truly humbled, "And there is no shame in that…none whatsoever." Finally, Charles Carson realising what it was that His Lordship had meant when he said he understood Mrs Patmore's point of view about Archibald Philpott's right to be named on their local War Memorial. And thus, keeping a somewhat sheepish and downcast mournful eye away from Mrs Hughes steady gaze, Mr Carson surreptitiously slides a clean white handkerchief from his hip pocket and on to Mrs Patmore's lap beside him, finally and fully surrendering his long-held and somewhat ill-conceived position before squeezing gently at her hardy work-worn fingers. Beryl looks down at his hand and they both know they cannot meet each other's eyes right now, but she briefly and lightly squeezes his broad fingers in return.

"Thank you, Mr Bates," Mrs Patmore's voice is thick with tears as she deflects the conversation away from the man she truly intends to address in this moment, so as to ensure she does not break down completely in front of everyone. "It means an awful lot for you to say as much…I…I think I will go see to our pudding now if you don't mind," she finishes on a whisper before shuffling quickly away from the table.

Mr Carson immediately rises to see Beryl off, and Mr Molesley and Mr Bates belatedly follow suit—the former from being somewhat dazed by the heady ranging of this conversation and the sudden variances of mood at the table. And with the latter, it is not from a lack of understanding of what has just transpired, but by virtue of the constant pain of his impediment, which is suddenly and most keenly felt once more—from the remembrance of it all.

"No, no Daisy, you stay here," Mrs Hughes quickly rises as well in order to cover for her friend, "I'll help Mrs Patmore with the clearing and the serving of the next course."

"Oh…oh...right… Yes, Mrs Hughes." Daisy looks up at her with worried confusion.

Charles briefly catches Mrs Hughes eyes to show his unmistakable gratitude and his heart feels full when he finally sees a smile fully light within his love's eyes —for the first time since they came into this latest horrible state of disagreement about their property ownership plans. His pulse flutters in his neck when he realises that he has somehow managed to do something right by both of his friends in this strange moment… And mainly, his blood surges because he feels a little safer in the knowledge that he has not stupidly lost his sweetest loves kind regard completely, or forever.

"Well," Mr Carson gruffles out to the remains of the table, where Mr Bates and Mr Molesley are both still awkwardly half-poised in a standing position and Daisy is looking up at Mr Carson for guidance, appearing somewhat frightened and agog. "Please, gentleman, be seated again… Daisy… And now,…allow me to top up our glasses with the remains of the wine and then please excuse me for a moment, as I have put aside a lovely sweet dessert wine from my own collection…a Vin Santo from the Chianti region," he continues with a false lightness and unnecessary detail as he finishes haltingly, "…that I think would suit the rhubarb crumble quite…quite splendidly tonight." He tugs at his grey waist coast hem and retreats briefly to his pantry to ease his mind a little and catch some clear air. Carson has seen his share of fraught situations in the upstairs dining room at Downton Abbey these many years, but never have his own emotions been so much called to bear upon any such a scenario. He cannot fathom how the family has generally maintained such a level of decorum in sometimes similar situations! Still, he is not sorry for having to feel such disequilibrium…it is clearly for the best. And he does truly hope that Beryl will be set to rights soon enough as well—with his Elsie's help.

oOOo

Elsie knows it is best to deflect and try to keep Beryl busy for the moment and so she quickly sets about collecting and setting the correct china for their dessert course while Mrs Patmore works to come back to a place where she is efficiently shuffling about the comfort and warmth of her own domain once more.

"Nohw…what else can I do for you, Mrs Patmore?" Mrs Hughes asks as she returns one last time from the round table in the alcove, where the three remaining diners remain sipping quietly at their drinks and gazing inwardly, consumed with their own thoughts and none of them such a sterling interlocutor as to be able to pick up a light weighted conversational thread that would normally be needed in such a situation at the dinner table. Besides, that role would usually fall to Mrs Hughes herself. In fact, as Mrs Hughes leaves on this last trip away from the table, she half winces at Daisy's latest blurted question to Mr Bates about what happened afterwards with his leg in South Africa, but Elsie will just have to face that imminent disaster when they all return for the dessert course. And, of course, she knows that Mr Carson has likely sought his own internal space to breathe freely for a while. However, she does not worry excessively that Charles will not be all right again in just a few moments—it is just his way. Beryl is her main concern right now as she treads softly, one last time, to stack all the main course dishes into the sink.

By her side and gazing into the blackness of the chilled window pane above the sink, Beryl finishes snuffling into Mr Carson's soft white handkerchief and sighs a deep sigh of gratitude for her friend's unspoken understanding of what it is she needs right now. Then Beryl pockets the handkerchief to clean and return to Mr Carson later and turns on the tap to rinse her hands before handling the dessert course.

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes." She states in a steadier voice than she thought she would manage as she dries her hands on a clean cloth, "Well, if you would be so good as to take down the sauce boat, it just needs filling with the custard on the back of the Aga and I will sort the crumble from the oven."

"Right you are. And dinner has been lovely tonight Beryl, truly…"

"Yes…well…I am pleased with how it has all turned out so far."

"Are you?...Are…you…going to be all right?" Elsie finishes cautiously.

"Yes…Elsie…I…I am…truly…and…" she looks at her friend closely, who seems to instinctively know just how to support her, even when Beryl knows how Elsie is struggling with so much herself right now. "…and I suppose I understand just how long it can take to…to finally understand different people's points of view…where their actions come from…sometimes…"

"So…you and Mr Carson…well, I mean…I know you had already forgiven him…but…'

"Yes, of course, I had…but now…I suppose…well, let's just say that I am very glad he is now fully on His Lordship's side with all of this…in the end…"

"Well…I am glad of it too…for Mr Carson is not a man who concedes ground very easily. I know that well enough myself, Beryl…after all of these years."

"And nor would you want a good man to do so, Elsie…I know that well enough about you,... after all of these years… And…just so you know…I don't underestimate the worth of the ground that he does end up giving when he is good and ready to do so…and neither should you…"Elsie is caught somewhere between an eye-roll and the expression of a stunned kipper and Beryl cannot help but chuckle out loud at the sight of her friend perhaps starting to realise that all is not yet lost when it comes to the land that lies between herself and the Great One. "Oh, now! Go on!… Get on with y' and take in that custard and I'll be right behind you with the pudding," the democratically overpowering nature of tonight's little soiree inspiring Beryl to take the risk of ordering Mrs Hughes about a little bit more than Mrs Patmore would ever normally dare.

oOOo

A/N: I have no idea what it may actually be like to be in the middle of a Second Boer War battlefield—I just did a little bit of research and made it all up. Historically, Kekewich, Potgeiter, Kemp, Rawlinson and Hamilton all took actions at Rooiwal that are similar to what I have described in this part of the chapter. Lord Lieutenant Colonel Crawley's actions are loosely based on those of one Lieutenant Carlos Hickie. Bates' actions- just had to fit in with all of the facts somehow!

To Edward Carson—I hope you are still out there somewhere on the edges of DAFF-land, and that I did this part of history some justice.

Various Chapter 10. (Pt. ii.) post-pudding conversations will follow this pt.i. when I can manage it. : )

Regards,

BTF.

oOOo