Conversations with the Man Upstairs—Ch.11. Democratically Scandalous (Pt. ii.).
oOOo
Time: Still at the Kitchenmaids' Dinner Table—The Dessert Course. Tuesday, December 1st 1925
"Oh, Mrs Patmore!' Daisy pipes up as soon as she sees her mentor seated and looking more her usual self again. Daisy is so relieved at the sight of it that she cannot help but blurt out the latest exciting piece of knowledge she has learnt while the three upper staff were off 'sorting' the rest of the meal. "You'll never guess what else happened in South Africa with Mr Bates!"
"Daisy, now, do you think maybe we ought to move on to different topics?' Mrs Hughes gently but explicitly nudges, her brow furrowed.
"Oh but, Mrs Hughes, it's such another adventure and it even involves someone else from Downton and I never even knew it!" Daisy is quite imperturbable.
Mrs Hughes looks plaintively at Mr Carson, knowing that he can put a stop to this line of conversation with just one clear word, but it is Beryl who cuts in instead, even though Mr Bates is looking more than uncomfortable at the thought of possibly upsetting Mrs Patmore again.
"Oh!…well then. Please, Mr Bates, do tell us."
"Are you sure, Mrs Patmore?"
"Of course! It's been fun to know of how things were before we even knew you…" Beryl replies and Elsie eyes her closely but she is astounded, once again, at her friend's good cheer and sheer resilience. "And besides…Daisy has piqued my interest now…who else from Downton could have had anything to do with your time in South Africa… I am quite intrigued."
"Well," Mr Carson offers, "It would have to be Dr Clarkson, or Major Clarkson, would it not?"
Mrs Hughes eyebrows creep up curiously. For, although she knew the good doctor left the Cottage Hospital for several years to serve in the South Africa campaigns, after reports came back of the poor condition of the troops that Her Majesty sent over, and the conditions in the concentration camps for the Boer women and children, she never considered that a connection might have been made between Mr Bates and Dr Clarkson in the field, or even the Doctor and His Lordship for that matter. She figured they would have most likely been deployed to different arenas. But it seems that men-of-war never actively advertise their pasts in any way. But then again, most men in any situation do not speak of their pasts at all—ever—at least not when in mixed company…not unless they are expressly needled into doing so. Mrs Hughes well knows what it took to get Mr Carson to open up to her even just a little about Mr Griggs, or his Alice. No wonder men are all so ruddy difficult to understand all of the time! But Elsie has to admit to herself that she really does want to hear this latest tale from Mr Bates too.
"Tell us it all, Mr Bates, please." Daisy pleads.
"Well…all right…if you all really want to hear it…" he views the nods of assent and continues with his tale, talking more tonight about himself then he has ever done before, truth be told. "Well…it was really just during aftermath the Battle–trying to bring it all to some sort of order again. And by that stage, the shot I took in the leg was hurting like billy-o, I can tell you! And I couldn't really go on after that long wait enforced by the Generals before we were allowed to track after the remaining Boers—I could barely even stand up, let alone walk or ride. And so, unfortunately, I had to leave His Lordship's side by then…and he insisted–ordered–that I go to Colonel Kekevich's closest medical tent behind the rise we had held anyway. And His Lordship went on and finally rode out with the remaining men to round up the fleeing Boers…and I am afraid I actually only saw His Lordship on a couple of odd occasions at the barracks after that—once we had both returned to England— I was sent back before him, you see…And I am afraid when we were in each other's presence, it was never so as to actually speak— never seeing each other outside of standard marching manoeuvres when on the parade grounds…and …well…a man at in peacetime does not require a batman anymore, I am afraid—So I was just one of the regulars again. So really, I only properly met with his Lordship again once I arrived below stairs here, close to ten years later…"
"Well I never," Beryl interjects. "That hardly seems fair!"
"Hmmm...Perhaps not, Mrs Patmore…but it is the way of the army, and we all accept it… And besides, it is not as if His Lordship never acknowledged me with at least a slight glance and a nod."
"Still seems strange, if you ask me!" Daisy adds in "…I mean you saved each other's lives!"
"Quite," John replies and just quirks an odd smile and stays fairly silent. He does not expect that Daisy will ever understand that, in some ways, the distance forced between himself and His Lordship made the return to peacetime works somewhat easier and less emotionally fraught for John, and maybe for His Lordship too. Ultimately, John Bates has never personally found it prudent to dwell upon hefty matters for too long. In his experience, it has only ever led to even greater pain, trouble and strife.
"Well, truth to tell, now that we are speaking of it…I have Colonel Kekewich, himself, to thank for my even having the opportunity to become valet here…as it stands…And well,…I suppose the truth must out…it was all actually well after I went to ground for what the first Mrs Bates did within the regiment…after I got back to England…"
Daisy and Mr Molesley are all agog, never having been quite astute enough to pick up on all of the pieces of gossip that fly about the servant's hall. However, all three of the upper staff are well versed in the sorry tale of John Bates' time in Military Prison in York because of his ex-wife's imprudence and dishonest shenanigans, and how it all in some way lead to Mr Bates' false conviction for the supposed murder of that same woman.
"So," Bates continues, "I was actually sent back to England a while before Lord Grantham would have fully completed all of his duties in the field in the Transvaal— when the peace treaties were being finalised and what with the mopping up and coordinating the shipping out of all the troupes and the like… But, it was a bit later than that again, actually… when his Lordship would have been back on the estate and…I was still living in the barracks in North Riding…and I think Colonel Kekewich …well…he always just seemed to keep an eye out for me...for some reason… I think he must have recalled the events of Rooiwal…and, as I said, he was not so far from the ranks of the common man back home…so…perhaps he felt for all of us lads…in some way. But, whatever the reason… I think he must have always known that it was Vera who stole the regimental silver, and not actually me…But…what else could I do?... Even then I would not have a lady go to jail if I…" John swallows hard as thoughts of his Anna suffering tonight in a cell assail him with full force, "…if I…if…if there was anything I could possibly do to prevent it…chrrrm…" he clears his throat and sips at his water before he can continue.
"Well…anyway…I will maintain it to this day, the Major-General, as Colonel Kekewich became after Rooiwal…he was a true man's man…Lord Grantham and I would have followed him to the ends of the Earth…" And John finishes this portion of his tale quite regretfully, " …and I only wish that things had ended better for him at the start of the last war…for…he never even made it to the continent…and…and I cannot help but think he was ill-used in the end by the Regimental powers that be…but…huuhgh…I guess we shall never know… And, it is another story for a different time, to be sure… But still, the Major General kept all of that sorry saga about Vera from His Lordship…probably said I decided to leave the army—if His Lordship ever did enquire after me at that time, for he never knew about it before it all came to sorry light here in Downton…And…and anyway, Kekewich—he is the one who saw me straight again… Got me back on my feet when I got out of the brig. And…and I was more than a little… unwise in my actions at that time, I am ashamed to admit …but he set me straight again…and…well…truth to tell… he is the reason why I still do not drink to this day… And…you see…he eventually set me up to take on the valet role here when it came up in such a hurry for His Lordship. He spoke with his Lordship,…and…well, I just would not be here now if it weren't for the Major General— truly. …And…in point of fact…I would not be here if it weren't for, not only His Lordship not leaving me behind out in the field that day at Rooiwal, as you all now know already…but for Major Clarkson as well…
"Really?!" Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore cannot help but interject.
"It's true!" Daisy offers… all excited again, even if Mr Bates' tale about his time back in the barracks and in the brig and with his first wife (whom Daisy never really saw or understood) has left her somewhat confused again.
"Well, tell them what happened, Mr Bates," Mr Molesley cannot help but prompt. For, despite his passive and almost pacifist nature, Joseph too can appreciate a Boys Own Adventure as much as the next lad when it is well told and a real part of the nation's history.
"Well…like I said, I suppose I can only hazard a guess that Colonel Kekewich had seen most of His Lordship's, and by extension, my own works in the field that morning in Rooiwal. And afterwards…after His Lordship was well gone and trailing after the remaining Boers as they fled for the nearest hills to try to regroup without Potgeiter and Kemp…Well, what happened next—none of us behind that hill were expecting it…because we ended up getting shelled." The ladies all audibly draw in a sharp breath.
"You mean the medical tents?" Mrs Hughes is aghast, for she knows that even in wartime the Geneva medical tents should never be targeted by any side in a conflict. "Unbelievable!"
"Well, whether it was intentional or not, I cannot really say. But, you see, another of the Boers Guerrilla tactics was to make small raids on a less than vigilant platoon after the flurry of a major battle was over…just small envoys of them…often without a clear leader…a cobbled together grouping of Boers made up of whoever managed to assemble after we might have routed them in other skirmishes and battles…These were the Bitterenders. And so, there must have been a rag-tag bunch of them hunkered down on the leeward side of another hillock… They often disguised their trenches so well that even a scouting party would not necessarily see them on a patrolling pass…and they were stealthy too…quiet…so, so quiet… And this group must have got their hands on at least one Pom-Pom at some point…but from where they were, they must have been shooting blind from beyond the next hillock…and so I have to think…I want to think that the medical tent must not have been their intended target…because…well, it wasn't always just the British soldiers that were treated in the field hospitals…I know for a fact that there were some Boer infantrymen under Major Clarkson's care—saw them there with my own eyes…"
"Well, Dr Clarkson would not let anyone suffer if he could help it…I do believe that," Beryl offers.
"True enough," Mr Carson concurs in a low rumble—remembering well the utter distress of the lonely tear streaked man he found hidden in the darkness, his normally impeccably neat bow tie unravelled and hanging limply about his neck as he swilled a double brandy down in the small library on the night of Lady Sybil's untimely death. And all Carson could do was to shakenly pour him another before he had to leave the room himself—lest he also openly blubber in front of another man.
" Yes,…well…"John continues, "I know it's true enough myself…for when we came under attack—this was hours and hours after the battle, mind—close to sundown—because well, for Major Clarkson to be assessing my minor injury he must have already spent the whole day tending to fellows in far worse condition than I... Anyway, he was just assessing the damage to my leg… deciding whether I would keep it or not…I…I remember him saying that he thought hey had got all the buckshot out of the wound…but that he couldn't be certain…and…and he said he thought it was good to keep…my leg…but that tetanus might be more the issue…and…and then…I remember when he doused the wound with antiseptic and…By Golly! I tell you— I must have screamed at least seven different names of the Holy Trinity and beyond when that hit me! It hurt like the blazes! Ha. But…that was just when the shelling started and as soon as Clarkson heard a shell whistling much too close for comfort he covered me with his own body… He…he could have–probably should have–tipped the gurney on its side and slid me off it and onto the floor…but it was all too quick when the shell hit… it was just outside the tent…and…and there was no time— and he just did what instinct told him too, I suppose…He literally jumped on top of me and covered my whole body with his own…and the tent was ripped open—equipment flying everywhere—trays of instruments and…and…oh!...oh, I…I remember now!… He…he must have pushed his nurse…there was a nurse next to him…I remember that now…she was helping to tend me…and he…he pushed her—pushed her to the ground —a rough shove…got her underneath the gurney…all in that same moment…and it worked….because I remember…I remember that same nurse—she tended me again…later…later…much, much later…she was saved as well! He got her out of the main blast path…and…but…but he took a heavy piece of shrapnel… right in the lower rib for his trouble…and that probably would have hit me square in the chest if he hadn't—taken me out… And sadly, he was another man I did not see again until I arrived in Downton all of those years later…I never… I never even got to thank him until then… And he finally…after I got to Downton…Dr Clarkson…Well, I was shocked to see the man again, truth to tell…but, he told me how another medic… I young fellow, how he had managed to clear the remains of the tent…organised it to some sort of working order again for all of us…got everyone hauled to cover… But now that I am asked to recall it, …I reckon that it was actually Major Clarkson's Scots accent still shouting the directions to everyone in amongst all of that chaos…I don't know…maybe I was slipping in and out of it by then…But it would not surprise me if he was doing all the shouting—even with the bottom half of a lung gone!"
This last fact garners a range of gasping, incredulous and bemused half murmured responses from John Bates' captivated audience.
"And all the while Kekewich must have got some remaining troupes together to overrun these rogue Boers…captured back the Pom-Pom and a couple of field guns that they must have won off our side at some point… Thank God he managed that pretty quickly…for all of us…And so somehow the makeshift triage got reset by Clarkson and this other young medic. Apparently…Kekewich must have ordered it to be reset in a stronger, more sheltered area…and …and so Major Clarkson …he told me once, years ago now, …that this young chap under his command…he stepped up and got us all to safety…and he was the one that finished cleaning up my leg and bandaging it and apparently he even innovated some sort of tube or the like into Major Clarkson's side- where all of his rib had been shattered with that piece of shrapnel. And this young lad cleaned the good doctor up too—got all of the fragments out that he could and then stitched Major Clarkson all back up again. And from what I understand, while I was being shipped back to England – my leg…well we all know that I didn't have to lose it, of course, …but Major Clarkson stayed on. ...He was back on his feet as quick as he could be, from all accounts I've heard…His Lordship has confirmed as much to me in the years since, garnered from the news he managed to hear as he stayed on well past the May signings of the treaties…I was shipped out just after that... And His Lordship was apparently keen to arrange for Dr Clarkson to return to Downton as soon as His Lordship was shipped out himself, but Major Clarkson flat refused…and well…strange as it is, the Doctor does outrank His Lordship, at least in the medical corps… And so, the Major stayed on. And from what I gather Dr Clarkson had a strong hand in ensuring the conditions for the POWs and the remaining Boers in the camps were improved even more…stayed on until at least the Christmas of '02 before he was finally ordered by the high command to return home and properly recuperate."
"Well I never," breathes out Mrs Patmore, quite in awe of it all, and inadvertently speaking for all around the table who have listened once again in rapt silence to the courage all of these few men who live so close to them in Downton—stories they could never have really known or understood if it were not for the blessing of this table tonight having opened up the space to speak on such matters. "By 'eck…it's a wonder that the whole lot of you didn't come home to Downton with a set of Victoria Crosses!"
"I quite agree," Mrs Hughes pipes in… "you All of you deserve them…I have never heard of such selflessness and courage."
"Well…I don't know about that, Mrs Hughes," Bates demurs, somewhat bashfully.
"And if I may also say, it also seems to me that you, Mr Bates, have more lives than the proverbial cat!"
"Here, here!" Beryl and Joseph Molesley concur with Mrs Hughes while Daisy smiles broadly at all of the goodwill and excitement about her.
Mr Carson just peers around the table with an air of barely constrained pride for this demonstration of what is best about the good men of Downton…the men that he tried to play his own small part to support while many of them were working away from home during the both of the Boer Wars and the Great War. The same men that he had the privilege to appropriately honour when Carson worked with the village council and the memorial committee to arrange their simple cenotaph on the green. But, really, no form of memorial will ever be enough. And then Carson's face, by turns, displays a deep sense of humility, above all else. And it is this expression which Elsie cannot help but notice as she gazes between Mr Bates and Mr Carson. And Elsie thinks that it is perhaps the most becoming visage any man could ever actually present to the world.
"Well," John Bates cannot help but huff out a small laugh at Mrs Hughes previous turn of phrase, "I must admit, Mrs Hughes, that in the telling of it, I realise that I've likely not enough fingers on my hands to do the counting!— But I am very well aware of just how many people I truly do owe my life to…and not just in South Africa…even Mr Murray— I owe him so very much too… And, I can safely say that His Lordship has saved my skin far more times than I ever did his… For it is true, that if I did achieve anything over there that other men saw as worthy, then I have most surely been repaid tenfold by the support of His Lordship through all of Anna's and my subsequent trials and misfortunes…" He stalls for a while and swallows heavily, "But you know…I would like to think that what I would honour most in the men I have been fortunate enough to have come to my aid…is…is that they have not judged me too harshly for my many mistakes since that time…and that they just did what needed to be done in those moments when action was required…" John can feel himself welling up and he swallows hard again to control the emotion before he rasps out his last thought. "…and I don't think I will ever have the time left in this life to return all of their favours in full."
Not one person at the table ever likes to see a grown man cry, and all of them have at least some inkling of how helpless and distressed Mr Bates has been these last weeks and months with Anna so unfairly accused. So, no matter how justified John Bates may be in shedding a tear or two amongst friends, each dinner party member politely averts to their eyes by either fiddling with wineglass stems or their napkins, or by smoothing over the non-existent creases on their skirts or trousers, so as to give Mr Bates some time to compose himself.
Mr Molesley finally decides to be brave, and he broaches the heavy silence as best he can.
"But maybe…well…" Joseph stumbles a little, "maybe there are small things that…that we do…day-to-day…that…and…well they do not actually go unnoticed…by those…by those they are meant for… Or…or perhaps sometimes the debts we may owe to others, some of them are actually paid on to other people…in the long run…"
Most members of the dinner party look up a little quizzically at Mr Molesley. It would be easy to view his stumbling comment with a certain air perplexed dismissiveness—thinking of it as being just bumbling Mr Molesley's standard old practice of having a somewhat inept view of the world around him. But all present do wrestle with what he has said on some level or another, and they have to wonder if this idea is part of why they try to be as good as they can be to those around them—when they can be. And Mr Molesley, for his part, does have his eyes trained clearly on Mr Bates. The two men do understand each other at that moment. For, although Joseph may not know exactly how Bates managed to find the extra money on a valet's wage at the time, he does know that Mr Bates helped Joseph to clear his own debts when he was forced into digging ditches after young Master Crawley died. Joseph Molesley knows that John Bates saved him his face within the community back then…and for that he knows that he owes Mr Bates a large debt of gratitude, to say the very least.
"Well," Mr Carson decides to speak, after clearing his throat a little. He wants to at least try to offer a small snippet of his vast knowledge of Downton's history to possibly set the conversation on to a slightly lighter trajectory. "I am sure I speak for everyone when I say that we are certainly fortunate to have you all return to Downton in one piece in the end. And,… you may not be aware of it, but there was a certain little bat horse from Rooiwal who also made it back to Downton safe and sound, after the South Africa campaign."
"Really?!" Daisy pipes in, all wide-eyed and childlike again.
Mr Bates manages to quirk a smile at this. His Lordship did once tell him that he managed to bring that little nag that saved their skins in their last battle back with him when he shipped back home. He was glad to hear that she had a long and peaceful life here, providing a lineage of good farming horses for the estate. She certainly turned out to be of hardy stock!
"That's right, Daisy," Mr Carson continues, "And I just found out today from Mr Grout that the very first progeny of that stock mare just birthed her own last foal for the estate yesterday, mid-morning."
Daisy quickly works some figures in her head, and given what she has learnt from Mr Mason about such things on the farm she returns with the query, "Well, how does that work? Wouldn't she be very old for a horse to be having a baby?"
"Well, it is true, Jilly is getting on, but you see, that original bat horse, she took at least a season or two here before she was fit and well enough to foal successfully. So, Jilly would have been born in about the Spring of '05 or '06…and she would just be going on about 19 or 20 years old now, I'd say… But Mr Grout assures me she will be retired from all work once this new little one is weaned..."
"Sadly, I never got to see that little bat horse again, for I am afraid she had died well before I came to Downton in 1912," Bates muses with a tone of some regret in his voice.
"But…but didn't His Lordship ever name her?" Daisy asks.
"Well, His Lordship Christens all of the racing stock, but he has always left the naming of the workhorses to Mr Grout…or Mr Trevellin before him…and even my own father named the stock horses back when he ran the stables…and so Mr Grout just called that little mare 'Sweety'— as I remember it."
"Ha!" Bates cannot help but laugh, "Well I cannot say I ever saw her in that light back in South Africa, for the short time that I had her—what with her being all spindly and underweight and foaming at the mouth after Rooiwal!"
The group chuckles a little at that incongruity.
"Well, …I have to say that it actually seemed to suit her well enough, once she was under Mr Grout's care… from what I remember of her." Mr Carson offers. "Perhaps you ought to go see her newest granddaughter before you leave tomorrow, Mr Bates—see if you can spot the likenesses?"
"Oh! Could I see her too?" Daisy chimes in with girl-like enthusiasm.
"Well Daisy, you ought to go anyway, but I am afraid with my schedule down in London tomorrow, I just won't have the time to see her before the first train leaves. But maybe I will when I get back." Mr Bates replies.
"And has Mr Grout named the foal yet, Mr Carson?" Daisy turns to him, desperately wanting to know.
"Well not that I know of. He normally waits a time and sees what they are like…finds something that properly suits them. Maybe you could offer some suggestions."
"Oh! Could I? Because I already know what I would suggest!"
"Oh?' Mr Carson and all the others at the table are surprisingly interested in what Daisy might think a new working horse should be named.
"Oh yes! Surely we should call the foal 'Rooiwal'?…Or Rooey—for short."
This brings happy chuckle from most of the table mates tonight.
"That sounds like a plan, Daisy," Mr Bates offers. "I do hope that Mr Grout agrees with you. But now, speaking of my own plans for tomorrow, if you will please excuse me, I am afraid you have left me all talked out, and I really must go home to prepare for tomorrow."
"Of course, Mr Bates." Mr Carson offers as he folds his napkin onto his side plate and begins to rise. The rest of the table leisurely follows suit.
"Mrs Patmore, dinner has been quite lovely. Thank you…and thank you, everyone…for listening to this old warhorse chewing your ears off!" Mr Bates joshes lightly, for all of a sudden, he feels all bashful again. He is just not used to divulging so much information in one sitting about anything, and he is certainly not used to speaking his mind on any matters that are of personal import. Loose lips sink ships, John reminds himself once more of his hard learnt personal ethics and he prays that he has not said anything that might come back to haunt him.
"Goodnight, Mr Bates…it has certainly been most interesting to learn more about your time in South Africa…the history of it," Mr Molesley offers.
"Definitely," Daisy adds, "Thank you for telling it to us, Mr Bates, it were ever so excitin'!… But, I will say goodnight too because I really should clear all of these dishes and clean up the kitchen for Mrs Patmore, now."
"I'll help you, Daisy," Mr Molesley offers again, always keen to lend a hand when he can…and maybe he can even enjoy some further conversation side by side at the sink with Daisy—about all things historical. She is really quite a relaxing person for Joseph to speak with, all things considered, for they seem somewhat akin in their levels of innocent intensity about the world around them. "Good luck in London tomorrow, Mr Bates…and thank you for dinner also, Mrs Patmore." Mr Molesley reaches out to shake Mr Bates hand before he and Daisy collect the first lot of crystal ware and the dessert plates to carry back into the kitchen.
"I'll come and help too."
"No, you won't Mrs Patmore," Daisy directs her superior firmly, "You did all of this tonight. Mr Molesley and I can manage the rest of it just fine."
"Oh…well…right you are. And thank you…Well then,…and thank you all for coming tonight…I am glad you all enjoyed the evening."
"Indeed… absolutely," is the general chorus of responses to Mrs Patmore from the five.
"I'll see you off then, Mr Bates," Beryl offers. "And Mr Carson thank you for providing such lovely wines tonight…and now that I think on it, if it is not too sacrilegious…and if there is any left…I wouldn't mind using a little of that Vin Santo when the family returns to make a warm egg Sabayon to pour over some baked pears I think.
"Oh, I think that can be arranged—it sounds lovely. And I also thank you for a wonderful meal tonight, Mrs Patmore."
"It's been my pleasure, truly."
"Well, I'll come with you, Mrs Patmore, to see Mr Bates off. But, if you will just wait a moment, I have a small note for Anna, if they will let her take …Let me go and get it from my desk before you leave."
"Thank you, Mrs Hughes…I will certainly try." Mr Bates replies. "Right! I'm off then. Goodnight, Mr Carson." John offers Mr Carson his hand and the two men shake.
"I wish you the very best for tomorrow, Mr Bates… Do let Anna know that we are thinking of her."
"Thank you, Mr Carson, I will."
Presently the little alcove of the kitchenmaids dining table is vacated and only Mr Carson remains standing to survey the remains of this most unusual evening. Normally he would fall straight into stacking and straightening flatware and sugar dusters and clearing of the candlesticks or the like, but tonight, he knows that Mr Molesley and Daisy will ably handle all that is needed. Instead, he takes the time to just breathe in deeply to steady himself a little…and to think. He recognises the feeling within himself—it is deep gratitude. And he feels…content. Mostly. And the longer he breathes it all in, the more he recalls snippets of pleasures of the various pleasures of the evening. Little things. Like knowing he has properly made amends with Mrs Patmore…and the lovely food—including his favourite Yorkshire Puddings—No one can beat Mrs Patmore's Yorkshire Puddings—and…and the candlelight glowing in his Elsie's eyes…and her skin looking all golden—like it used to always appear—back when they were both so much younger—before the Abbey was electrified…So long ago…we've known each other for so very long… But, the more he breathes and muses, the more he feels that something about tonight is still missing—even though he actually enjoyed the whole democratically overpowering affair of it all—much more than he ever would have credited it. For, in truth, it did all feel something like…having a life of his own…just for a moment. And as he leans over to the centre of the table to blow out the two candles that sat in front of Elsie and himself on either side of the table tonight, the heat and wisping smoke of his dreams sting his eyes a little and he finds that he has to blink away some tears.
oOOo
"Mrs Hughes?" Mr Carson taps lightly at her sitting-room door to catch her before she goes to see Mr Bates off at the back door.
"Yes, Mr Carson," is her relaxed and instantaneous reply as she turns back towards the door from where she had been bent a little over her desk, retrieving the letter for Anna from one of the small alcove shelves above the blotter. Charles' heart catches as he sees her eyes looking so bright in the soft glow of the sconce lights.
By God, she is beautiful.
"Uuugh…" He feels like a tongue-tied schoolboy, "I…I was just wondering…you see…there was still some Vin-Vin Santo left in both our glasses…and…and I was just wondering if you might like to join me… in my pantry…if …if it is not too much trouble…and I thought we might…well…finish them off…" He trails off as his toes shuffle a little inside his shoes and lightly tries to clear the embarrassment from his throat.
After tonight, the pithy Mrs Hughes seems to have returned with full but velvet force. "Well, only if you are sure that is what you want, Mr Carrson."
"Of course it is!" he is inclined to be defensive, given his bumbling approach has been noted so swiftly and she has been completely disarmed him with that rolling of her "r's" around his name. "W-what I mean to say," he counters much more softly after taking a deep and steadying breath, "is…is that it has been a lovely evening, Mrs Hughes, and there is nothing I want more than for you to share a little nightcap with me, …if you please." Because he realises now that this is most assuredly the thing that is still missing from this atypical evening.
Now it is Mrs Hughes' turn to be a little disarmed by his gentlemanly manner and the intensity of his gaze upon her as his words finally strike home inside her heart. She looks down and fiddles a little self-consciously with the envelope in her hands and then turns her head up again to offer him a sweet but bashful little smile that makes Charles heart thud even faster.
"Well…when you put it that way, Mr Carson…how could I possibly refuse?" She thinks she can hear him audibly sigh with relief as she finishes quietly, but with more certainty, "Just let me give this to Mr Bates and see that Mrs Patmore and Daisy and Mr Molesley and the young lasses are all set—wish them a good night, and I will join you directly…" The action is beyond his conscious control, but Carson can feel his fingers tingling and fluttering lightly beside his thigh as he stands aside a little to usher Mrs Hughes past him and through her door. "Thank you…Mr Carson," she almost whispers on her way past his overwhelming warmth.
oOOo
Well, thank you again, Mrs Patmore, for a lovely evening…" John Bates says as he finishes buttoning his heavy winter overcoat and placing his Bowler hat on his head at the backdoor alcove, "Dinner was lovely—as ever. "
"You are most welcome, Mr Bates. I am glad you could enjoy it, what with all that's goin' on for you at the moment…"
"Well…I have to admit, I think it has actually done me some good to take a small amount of time off worrying about Anna…"
"Well, that was part of what I had hoped for. And here, I made a fresh batch of Shrewsbury Cakes today…" Beryl adds as she hands a couple of small brown paper bags over to Mr Bates, "and here are a few winter pears for Anna when you see her…because, well…I figure she might not be getting too much fresh food where…she is."
"And speaking of which Mr Bates," Mrs Hughes approaches them with her hand extended. "Here is the letter for Anna…nothing of too much import…and so I don't think that much will redacted from it…I just want her to know how much we are thinking of her and praying for her."
John feels himself welling up a little again.
"Thank you for that, Mrs Patmore…Mrs Hughes…" He rasps out in a low tone. "I will make sure she gets them…and even if I have to recite the letter verbatim for her. Huuggh…Well…I should be off now." He quirks a half-smile at the ladies, "And I do hope that I did not bore you all too much with all of my stories."
"No!" Elsie and Beryl reply in unison.
"Far from it, Mr Bates." Mrs Hughes continues, "and I would hazard it did us all a little good to hear your many brave tales from afar."
"Quite right," Mrs Patmore concurs, "And…well…I think it is a lot like Mr Molesley put it…in'it—it's the little things we do and say that sometimes get paid on to others that helps to ease their own worries—just a tad, perhaps…and that does not go unnoticed."
"Thank you, Mrs Patmore," John says quietly and actually leans forward to peck her on the cheek. "You are right—it has not gone unnoticed."
"Oh! Go on with y' you daft man!" Beryl bats him away on his upper arm as she comes over all abashed at his praise and Mr Bates smiles fondly at her.
"I mean it, Mrs Patmore, it did me good tonight…to be able to remember the man I once was…"
"You are still that man, as far as I can see it, Mr Bates." Mrs Hughes offers quietly as she leans in to kiss him on the cheek, "And you may try to give that to our Anna for me tomorrow as well," she states in a tone that brooks no argument, as John blushes a little at her affection. He does not hold much hope that he will be allowed to even touch her, let alone plant a kiss on his Anna, but as Mrs Hughes gives him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as she opens the door for him, he knows that he will certainly try.
Lance Corporal John Bates contemplates Mrs Hughes closely and hopes that she is not wrong about him— that he can actually be the man that all of these ladies see in him—including his dearest Anna.
He hopes.
"Goodnight, Ladies." He says quietly as he lifts his hat to them before ducking out into the icy winter chill to march his lonely way back to his empty home.
As Beryl ducks into the butler's pantry to wish Mr Carson a fond goodnight, Mrs Hughes lingers to watch Mr Bates' solid silhouette slowly disappear into a dark nothingness beyond the feeble glow of the back-porch light. Somehow, he seems to be simultaneously carrying more pain through his limping leg than she can recall seeing since the time when his odious his leg brace contraption caused him so many issues. Yet, there is something about the set of his shoulders that seems a little less lopsided now, and she thinks that after tonight he is more solidly bearing that unfathomable weight that he always seems to carry with him—perhaps just a little more steadily and forthrightly now.
Quietly she closes and locks the door after him and turns to follow Beryl, as she exits the butler's pantry. The two ladies move through the servants' hall and into the kitchen, dismissing their remaining young house and kitchen maids to their bedrooms for the night along the way. Then they check on Daisy and Mr Molesley's progress before also wishing them a pleasant evening. And throughout it, Elsie marvels at the way that, somehow, her friend has deftly managed to adjust many of the burdens upon the shoulders of those who shared their little table tonight—somehow shifting their worries into a more manageable position—Beryl's own included. The dinner turned out to be everything that Mr Carson's carefully worded prayer of grace entreated. Quite the hostess is our Beryl, Mrs Hughes muses once more as she eventually moves to bid Beryl good night at the base of the back stairs. But Elsie finds she does not quite know what to say to Beryl about all of her efforts, now that she knows that she herself is fairly safely back on Charles' side after his heartfelt invitation to her for a nightcap, thanks in no small part to this lovely shared dinner.
"Thank you, Beryl," is all she manages to almost whisper out as she reaches for her friend's hand and gives it a slight squeeze. "Goodnight."
"Likewise, Elsie. Goodnight."
oOOo
Mrs Hughes finishes straightening a few last items on her desk before going to join Mr Carson in his pantry for that much-desired nightcap. As she carefully banks the coals in her fire grate and picks up her chatelaine from her desk before switching off the sconce lights, she can feel her heart starting to beat faster with a strange sense of anticipation at spending the remainder of the evening with Mr Carson. There is something that feels almost racey about being alone with him in this way. And yet, to all appearances, it is no different to so many other late evenings where the two of them have sat together quietly to chat about their day and share a little sherry or a port, or the remains of the table wine, before retiring to their separate beds. But tonight…well, it just is different…the whole evening has been most uncommon for all of them. And it has most certainly been as democratically overpowering as Mrs Patmore suggested it would be at the beginning of the evening when she first tipped Mr Carson completely off-kilter! But now that it is over, Elsie's own unnameable worries are starting to set in and she does pray that Mr Carson is going to be all right with all that has transpired…that he will not fall into a grumbling distance from her, and even from Beryl, again.
As she chews a little worriedly at her bottom lip and absently fingers at the fine filigree work on the clasp of her chatelaine, Elsie decides to make what little peace offering she can do to Mr Carson. She knows that she hurt him on Sunday evening—feels it keenly—as a sharp weight piercing inside her chest. And yet, he is still as gracious and polite to her as he has ever been—it could make her weep. She breathes in the flush of her tears before they can fall and takes a small china plate from her sideboard display, then Elsie reaches up to the shelf above her side table and brings down her little lidded crystal dish and chooses out just two of the croquants he most assuredly did bring back for her from York— one of the hard toffee nut praline, and the other, one of his favourite Scottish milk cream centred ones. It still makes Elsie smile that Charles would like the soft-centred ones a little more than the hard nut praline centres that she had just assumed other men would probably favour most. But as she goes to replace her precious crystal dish safely up on the shelf again, on a whim, she decides to place an extra one of each of the types of croquants upon the side plate. Well,…it is a usual night…why not continue indulging? Elsie convinces herself as the crystal dish is once more returned safely to its lofty home—Scandalous, Elsie Mae Hughes…quite scandalous!.
Elsie then checks her visage in the small oval mirror above the fire mantle one last time to see that her hair is tidy. She switches off the side table lamp as she exits the room, locks away the housekeeper's sitting room, and carefully carries her small peace offering into the room next door.
oOOo
"Ah! Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson states expectantly as he finishes shutting over the wall-mounted keys cabinet door and then rounds his desk as she enters the room. "Thank you for joining me. Here, let me take those from you," he offers as he removes her chatelaine and the little side plate with the four chocolates from her not-quite-visibly shaking hands. He closes the door behind her and then he gestures for Mrs Hughes to be seated near the fireplace on her usual velvet padded seat. Then he takes up his seat opposite her, with the little round drinks table positioned between them.
"Thank you, Mr Carson…I…" it is Elsie's turn to feel like she is stumbling nervously over her own tongue, "well,…you see…I…I did wonder if these might taste well enough along with the remains of the...the Vin Santo you have…you have on offer,…Mr Carson… Would…would you like to try…one…them…?"
"Now, Mrs Hughes," Carson smiles softly, and just a little playfully, at her, "How could I possibly refuse…given that you sound so very sure about it?" He risks the gentle return jab and delights in how Elsie's eyes widen and brighten with an instant fire at his impudence, closely followed by a knowing sweet smile and a blushing warmth on her cheeks.
She is just so...adorable! Carson can feel the hot flush of blood drop through from the base of his neck, expanding his chest almost painfully as he struggles to draw breath before the feeling settles—somewhere down in his fluttering tummy. He lives for these moments when he can see his Elsie so unguarded and expressive. He always hopes that she is only ever this way just with him…for him. He thinks perhaps that it is so. Plus, he is ever so pleased to see her sharing the croquants he brought back from York for her. It makes him feel a little surer that she can accept him and what he has to offer her—in the long run. But he tries to deflect a little, for he does not want Elsie to feel at all uncomfortable with his gentle ribbing.
And so, he silently hands her the remains of her Vin Santo and states factually, "I actually think that they will match together quite admirably."
But as Mrs Hughes blushes even deeper and averts her eyes from his as she takes the glass of sweet wine he is offering, he realises too late what she may actually be reading across his statement. He averts his eyes from her for a moment so that she may compose herself, and he also takes a moment to distract his thoughts a little, by leaning forward to place her chatelaine on the little drinks table, absently coiling the chains around and about the edges of the filigreed clasp to form a neat spiral.
Elsie sharply draws in a breath—It WAS Charles who left my chatelaine on the dresser last night...but...but...that means...
She blushes deeper again and Charles cannot help but look up this time at her small sounds. And besides, she really is just so very delightful to look at as she takes shallow breaths and intently sips at the small glass of golden warming liquid to try and calm her reactions. Not realising the impact his placement of the chatelaine has had on Elsie's foggy memories from last night, Charles ultimately decides that he just does not care a wit that his innocent remark may have been misconstrued…because…well…what is there really to misconstrue? Carson feels his confidence returning even as Mrs Hughes seems strangely tongue-tied for the moment.
He continues in a relaxed tone, "But you know, I have always struggled to decide which of these particular croquants, that you favour so Mrs Hughes, is actually my favourite."
"Really?" she is quite surprised. She thought she knew.
"Quite. In fact, I find it quite the small dilemma to decide between them each time they are on offer."
"Oh,…well,…but, which one do you think will go the best with the Vin Santo?"
"Why don't we find out," Charles states with some enthusiasm as, on a whim, he rises quickly and strides towards his side table near the silver cabinet that holds a tray with an array of partial decanters of wine, a corkscrew and other neatly place accoutrements of wine service. Taking up a small bladed flip knife that is normally used to cut away the wax seal or a foil cover above a corked wine or a champagne bottle, Charles deftly cuts into halves the four croquants on the little china plate at the drinks table. Then he takes his seat again, all the while being quite unaware that Elsie has been following his every graceful and assured move with slightly glazed and enamoured eyes. She looks up from the cut croquants to his eyes and her quirked eyebrow begs the question.
"Well," Charles replies, "I do think the smaller pieces will make the tasting comparison easier," and he quirks a small chubby-cheeked half-smile at her while he raises one of his formidable eyebrows in a featherlight challenge to Mrs Hughes.
How can he be so intent and serious and yet playful all at once? Elsie smiles bemusedly at him and his ways, even as she feels somewhat giddy—as if they are definitely engaged in something most decidedly racey right now.
"So, which shall we try first?"
"Well, I think a soft-centred one followed by the hard crunch one, don't you?" Mr Carson the intent butler suggests as he offers the plate to Elsie.
"Of course,…that makes sense…the soft ones don't catch in the teeth as much, I find."
"Quite," he replies.
It is all so very sedate and serious. But, if either of them was of a mind to think too closely on it at this moment, they would both think such an intent discussion about the relative merits of some small chocolate-coated candies would all seem ridiculously frivolous. However, it happens to be all that truly matters in this shared moment together. They both hum low and contentedly as they chew their first tasting and then sip some of the sweet wine straight afterwards.
"Oh, you are quite right, Mr Carson," Elsie finally manages once her mouth is clear. "They taste absolutely delightful together."
"Indeed. And now for the hard-centred one," and Carson offers the plate to Elsie once more to try a quarter of the hard nut praline croquants on offer.
After some low, satisfied sounds, Carson manages to share his analysis of this particular pairing, even as Elsie is still trying to finish hers in a somewhat ladylike manner, battling with not crunching too loudly while also trying desperately to suppress her intense desire to moan with happiness at this new flavour combination she is experiencing.
"Hmm, again, quite delightful…but very different. I found the soft milk centres brought out a sharper undertone of grasses and some of the hidden tannins in the wine, it made for a refreshing finish— Wouldn't you agree, Mrs Hughes?"
"Well, I suppose so… I am no expert, but I can certainly tell you that it was lovely." She smiles sweetly at him and his enthusiasm for what is truly his 'craft' as a butler.
"Always," Charles replies, almost cryptically about the soft Scottish cream caramel before continuing on, "but then the slight bitterness and nut flavours of the hard centred one supports the sweet botrytized flavours of the Vin Santo grapes. It became almost honeyed and had a smoother mouthfeel on the finish," he finishes with a well-honed authority that Elsie just delights in. She loves to hear him speak so knowledgeably about something that is …well…just so very pleasurable! Her heart has started racing quite uncontrollably again.
"So, Mr Carson," she nudges at him with a playful and ribbing tone and with a heady twinkle in her eye, "how are you on the dilemma of choosing a favourite sweet now."
Charles takes up her challenge and her light tone by responding in a terribly serious deadpan, "Well, I am afraid I am as conflicted as ever a lad was when faced with so many delightful choices." And he shakes his head ever so slightly and tries to appear quite mournful, but the glinting playfulness in his dark eyes as he peers up at Elsie from beneath his overly furrowed brow purposefully betrays him.
Elsie cannot help but smile at his gentle silliness. It… He… It is as if…he is …f-flirting with me! She realises with a sudden rush of heat climbing her cheeks again…and this time it spreading out in an unstoppable burst across her chest as well, which is so innocently hidden beneath the homeliest of her long-sleeved blouses. Gosh!
"Well, …Mr Carson, " she manages to tumble out with, her voice not wavering and betraying her too much, "that…certainly is a major ongoing dilemma…what is a boy to do?" She manages to josh lightly again.
"Well I am glad you asked, Mrs Hughes, for I think I may have come up with the perfect solution, based on, as Mrs Patmore put it: the democratically overpowering nature of tonight's proceedings," he states brightly as he reaches once more for the small china plate with a flourish of his wrist. But, instead of picking the plate up to offer it to Elsie once more, he quickly snatches up two pieces of croquant, one hard and one soft centred, and wastes no time in plonking them both into his mouth, chewing rapidly and then extravagantly tossing back the last remaining swig of his Vin Santo as a huge cheeky grin starts to form upon his face. He is filled with heady sensations and his mind does feel as if it is swirling about in a drunken stupor, even though he has never been one to imbibe to any sort of excess. In truth, he well knows that it is really his heart in this giddy moment, which is beating all out of kilter, that is actually pulling his mind along for the ride in this most dizzying reel. He just loves the look upon her face!
Mrs Hughes just stares wide-eyed at him for a moment—not quite remembering when she has ever seen Mr Carson acting so very…childishly, and then she cannot help but scoff out loud with laughter at the knowingly guilty look upon his dear face.
"Oh, Mr Carrson!' she giggles out, "It is confirmed, Beryl was correct—mealtimes today have been utterly scandalous! And, I do believe you could indeed solve all of the problems of the world with that approach!"
"Quite right" he affirms boldly, "I am sure of it too, Mrs Hughes. You ought to try it—here." He offers her the remaining two pieces of mixed croquants on the plate.
"Oh, no. I couldn't Mr Carson, … honestly." She demurs—suddenly bashful again.
"Oh, but you should, Mrs Hughes! I can assure you, it is like nothing else you've ever tasted… Go on, now." He beckons her again with the loveliest open and sweet smile upon his face.
"Well…" she hesitates again, to which Charles just lilts a spectacularly rakish eyebrow at her and gestures with the plate again. "Well, … if you insist."
"I do, Mrs Hughes," He says in a low, almost husky, voice and he patiently waits for her to act upon the temptation.
"Well, all right then. I will…just for you." She rushes out on the end and then blushes prettily again.
"Quite right," Mr Carson says almost absently as he intently focuses on Elsie's lips as she demurely pops both contrasting chocolate croquant flavours into her mouth and begins to chew. And then his eyes are drawn instinctively to hers as her pupils widen as the heady and wonderful sweetness and the new mix of textures hits her fully and she sighs audibly. He smiles so happily at her at that moment and then he gestures for her to try some of the Vin Santo at the same time. She sips at it and without volition, her head drops back and her closed eyes are turned heavenward as a rush of sweet saliva floods her mouth to try to process the extraordinary mixture of flavours. The sensation is overwhelming her such that an uncontrollable and low guttural moan of utter bliss escapes her throat. She keeps her eyes closed until she is able to finish chewing and savouring and swallowing the other-worldly little morsel, allowing Charles ample time to observe her. His eyes are ultimately and most intimately drawn to the fluttering of her pulse beneath her fine jawline. Please God, let me kiss that one day soon! he sends up a fervent prayer as a means to prevent himself from actually lunging towards Mrs Hughes just so that he can feel the soft quivering of her heartbeat beneath his lips and possibly make her moan in that most heavenly way once more. "Scandalous." The word whispers secretly but quite uncontrollably from his lips as Elsie finishes—a look of the deepest held desire gracing his face. Charles just manages to blink back to reality in time and he tries to cover his tracks once he becomes fully cognisant of the word he just applied to Mrs Hughes' quite visceral reactions to this little Epicurean experience. He clears his throat lightly as a means to clear his head, but his voice is still somewhat strangled by his body's own heart pounding response to what he has observed. "See…see what I mean, …Mrs Hughes?"
"Oh yesss, Mr Carson…" Elsie responds, almost breathlessly, as she blinks her eyes open and focuses with darkened intensity on Charles' own glimmering eyes "Quite…quite scandalous."
oOOo