Eleven:
Family Ties
"Well," Lady Mary commented dryly, offering another cup of tea to Lady Frye, "that was all very shocking and dramatic." She was referring, of course, to the nanny fainting dead away and Mr. Carson having to shore her up and carry her to the settee.
A muscle in Elisabeth Frye's cheek twitched, and she glanced over at her grandparents with what she hoped was a confused, helpless look. Surely they would do something –
But Grandda's face remained nothing but an indifferent mask. Granny, for her part, stood up and excused herself from the room. How could they? How could they treat her Mama like this, now, after all of this time? It was shocking in and of itself!
And then suddenly… suddenly, she knew the hushed words her mother had whispered to her the night that she disappeared, leaving them alone with Grandda and Granny had been the truth. She had denied it for so long, held onto the façade that they were her grandparents…
Elisabeth set aside her teacup and stood up to face her Grandda now. "Well," she said quietly, coldly, "I certainly hope you're happy now. This is not my house, or I would tell you both to leave. And my brother's wedding is not my wedding, else I'd say you were uninvited."
"How dare you speak to me in that tone?" Grandda said, his face red with anger. "How dare you accuse me of –"
The housekeeper was between them in a heartbeat, standing toe to toe with her Grandda. "If you dare raise your hand to her – if I find out that you ever did to Elisabeth what you did to my Anwen – I will…"
"Oh, since when do you care?" he hissed.
"I have always cared," Mrs. Hughes said in a voice so soft, so very cold that Elisabeth shivered. "Just because I could not provide for my daughter does not mean I did not care – I left her with you, didn't I? And how did you repay me that small kindness? You behaved no better than the man who fathered her! You chased her into the cold when she came to you for help! You took her children and did god only knows what to them – and now you dare to stand there and accuse me of cowardice and not caring?"
Mr. Carson was not quick enough to stop Mrs. Hughes, he did not grab her hand and hold her back until after she had struck Grandda. But by then, the damage was done.
He lunged around them and grabbed Elisabeth by the arm tightly. "You uppity little bitch," he hissed, dragging her with him toward the door. "What lies have you been telling people this time?"
Gerald, god love him, blocked the doorway. "You will remove your hands from my wife, or I will remove them for you," he growled.
Elisabeth wrenched her arm from Grandda's grasp and hissed, "Do not ever – ever – think you have the right or the privilege to touch me again." She pulled away from him and all but ran back to her mother, who was finally beginning to come round under Lady Grantham's careful ministrations. "Mama," she breathed. "Oh, mama…"
"Oh, there is so much drama," Lady Edith breathed, almost horrified. But the look on Lady Mary's face was absolute glee, as if she had received the best present ever gifted! How different it must feel to be from a happy home, then, Elisabeth wondered.
Her mother came round fully and merely stared, mute, at Elisabeth. "Mama, I have been looking for you – everywhere. Do you know how many years I've been looking?" Elisabeth whispered.
"If you couldn't find me, neither could he," Anwen said very quietly.
Mrs. Hughes had a face like thunder; after some of the things Elisabeth had told her in confidence – why she did not allow anyone to touch the back of her neck, why she shied away when touched at all – was it any wonder? The woman had been concerned, and Elisabeth had only been too willing to dismiss her fears and assure her of her ability to handle the world. But it seemed that the opposite effect had been reached.
The woman shook off Mr. Carson and stalked Grandda until he was backed into a corner. She had the advantage of knowledge of the layout, and she used it – much to Elisabeth's delight. Her words were dark, angry, filled with a venom that would have curdled the blood of any normal man; but this was Grandda – he would not flinch.
"There was a time when I could have pitied you," Mrs. Hughes said. "I could have pitied you and brushed it under the table – but I will not. Not now. Not after the things you've done to my daughter and my granddaughter. God only knows what you've taught my grandson, but if he's anything like you… if he is anything like you are, Richard Hughes, no more my blood will he be. You are not my blood. You are a monster. God will have no mercy on your soul and even the Devil will cast you back. So take your wife," the word wife was said with such sarcasm and blind hatred that even Lord Grantham flinches, "and go back to your perfect little piece of the empire, Dicky. And if you ever – EVER – dare come near my family again, you should know that I would gladly see myself hanged by the neck and dancing round the fires of HELL than let you have your way again."
Grandda's face was contorted with anger and he made to say something, but Mrs. Hughes – god love her – spat in his face instead. "Get him out of here," Lord Grantham shouted. Mr. Barrow immediately grabbed Grandda by the back of his neck and overpowered him.
Barrow smiled a very cruel smile and said, "I doubt we'll ever see you at the Abbey again, Mr. Hughes. So might I take the moment to tell you in person that Mr. Carson will be terminating our account with your business? Not to mention the other fine houses nearby, I'm sure, will be awfully glad to follow suit." He forced Grandda into a bent position and said very firmly, "No one crosses our Mrs. Hughes, you know."
Elisabeth stood up, shaking, and said, "Mr. Barrow, do not break the poor man." She took a deep breath, then added, "After all, he will soon be forced to do it on his own when his business fails and all he has left is the farm." She felt bold, vindictive, though her words held a shred of kindness; the man deserved to be taken down a few pegs – more than a few – but she would not be the one to condemn him, lest her own soul be damned in the process.
She turned back to her mother and gently smoothed her hair and gave her a kiss. "I have missed you, Mama," Elisabeth whispered. "So much more than I can say – and I am so sorry."
Anwen accepted her daughter's embrace and held her close, weeping. Elisabeth wept, too, but she had a feeling it was more to do with the bairn than actual relief. It was an odd notion, but one she did not dispel completely. But it felt so good to have her mother's arms around her again; she did not smell the same as she had back then – of rosewater and sandalwood – but it was the same curve of neck and the same warmth that Elisabeth had known since she was a babe in arms.
Mr. Carson spoke up and said, "Now that the commotion is over, My Lord, maybe we should eat."
Lady Grantham said, "I was hoping that we could behave like civilized adults today, but clearly…"
"Cora, where has Mrs. Hughes gotten herself off to?" Lord Grantham said, concerned.
He found her in her parlor, curled up in a tiny ball on the settee. The sounds of anguish, of fury, of pain, echoed in his ears as he watched the love of his life cry once more. And then Charles spurred himself into action, gently soothing her with words and touches. He loved her more dearly than he could ever explain to anyone, and seeing her like this…
When her tears finally ceased, he just held her.
"He touched her," Elsie whispered. "As a man would touch a woman. From the time she was very young till she married Lord Campbell. She told me when I was helping her get ready for the wedding that morning; my poor baby was terrified that her husband would find out that she wasn't pure and cast her back to her Da. And nothing could possibly have been worse for her. I didn't want to believe her. I didn't want to think I'd done her so much wrong by leaving her with them. I was stupid and young and I let her down over and over again…"
There was a rustling from the doorway, and Charles looked up to see Lady Frye standing there. "M'Lady," he said quietly, "we were just –"
The young woman smiled sadly and said, "I was hoping to speak to Mrs… to my grandmother, Mr. Carson."
"You don't want to speak to me," Elsie said very quietly. "I've done nothing but bring you pain and misery –"
"But you haven't," Lady Frye said softly, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the parlor. "I've never had the chance to come to Downton before now," she said. "Grandda always kept the money hidden and I could not get at it to buy a train ticket." She sat down primly on one of the guest chairs. "What I'm trying to say is… I knew. About you. Mama told me the night she left. She told me if ever I needed a safe place to go, I was to get on a train to Downton in Yorkshire, to go to the Abbey and invoke the name of Elsie Hughes – that you were to be there for always, for keeps, and that you would let no harm come to me, because you are my grandmother."
"What?" Elsie whispered.
"She wanted me to know there was a safe place," Lady Frye murmured. "And it is – this is a safe place, and I would be honored to bring my bairn here to see you and Mr. Carson." She paused. "My grandparents."
Charles felt Elsie stiffen in his arms, then relax a bit when she realized that there was no malice in the girl's statement, only love and truth. "M'lady Frye, we would be honored to receive you and your family," he said.
"Does this mean I am invited to your wedding, then?" Elisabeth asked excitedly. "Oh, please say yes – please?"
"Of course you're invited," Elsie murmured. "Of course you are, but… you're the daughter of an Earl and the wife of a Knight of the Realm and I am nothing."
"You are my grandmother – you are not nothing," Elisabeth said, her tone very firm. She and Charles shared an exasperated look; this was not going well.
Elsie sighed and closed her eyes; Charles held her tighter. "Lady Frye," he said gently, "I don't think this is helping anything –"
"I need some air," Elsie announced, wrenching her way out of his arms. "I'll be back by the gong," she promised. "Just… let me go. Please."
He watched, helplessly, as she all but ran away from them all.
Elsie stood on the edge of the lake, picking up stones. She could fit five large ones in each pocket, plus some smaller field rubble. She did not weigh as much as all that; surely ten stones would be enough.
Everything was wrong now. Everything was so wrong. So very, very wrong.
But she could not make herself take the final step into the lake. She could not; how could she?
She wanted to. She wanted to jump in and let her misery go for the final time. She wanted to let the tepid water close over her head and erase everything…
But she could not.
Did not.
Reminded of her days on the farm, of the hard work, the beatings if she dared not work hard enough, the spitting curse against her from her father, branding her an ungrateful bastard – and was she, at that? She did not know, rightfully – she took each stone out of her pocket, throwing it as far as she could, watching with dark satisfaction as they plopped into the lake. Her hopes, her dreams, her sacrifices…
The final stone left her hands, sailing farther than the others.
Her past.
Charles was her future, and he was waiting for her at the house.
What next? Who knew? Tomorrow, she would marry him, and the next day, they would travel to London for the wedding of her grandson… a boy she could not claim in public as hers.
And then what?
Then what?
She had no earthly idea.
END PART ELEVEN
