What remains of the Past

A/N In which Viola starts to read the 1914 letters. Like I said: Things start to change now... Enjoy reading!


Chapter 11

2013

Thankfully, Claire was not as prejudiced as her mother and, after Viola had promised to return after two hours, she was free to go. She left the room in a normal pace, waving good bye to her sister but as soon as she had closed the door behind her, she ran along the corridor, down the stairs, through the oak door that separated the private part of the house from the hotel. From their side she could simply open the door and slip through. Access from the hotel required a passcode. One Viola forgot on a regular basis because her mother changed it every four weeks for safety reasons. For today she was glad she had not to remember the unnecessary password. The massive door closed with a bang behind her and Viola slowed her pace, walked through the lobby as normally as she was able to, hiding her excitement.

"Hello Miss Crawley." The lady at the reception greeted her with a friendly smile. "Can I help you in any way?"

"Oh I'm fine. Thanks." She walked on but then an idea crossed her mind. "Mrs Smith you've worked here for a while, haven't you?"

"Yes, for twenty years now I think. Why do you ask?"

Viola knew that her mother would not be able to answer this question, her father probably could but he was out, somewhere on the grounds, talking to the gardeners. So her only other option was asking a trusted employee like Mrs Smith for help. "Is there some kind of chronicle about the house and I don't mean the hotel."

Mrs Smith genuinely smiled. "Of course there is. It's in the library I believe. The private part of course, not the one accessible to the guests. Your father made me read it when I started working here. Has he never shown it to you?"

"We are the new generation Mrs Smith, apparently the only thing we need to know about our heritage are the things relevant for business. Maybe that's why I went away to study history." Because she could not learn anything about her family at her own home although the Crawley's had been living in Yorkshire for centuries. Frustrated about her parent's lack of interest for their own past, though it was mainly Viola's mother who considered it unimportant, she had fled from her home to study history, to gather as much knowledge as possible about her own country and its people at university.

"I will show you were it is if you give me a minute."

Impatiently, Viola waited for Mrs Smith to fetch a young receptionist to cover the desk for her while she went to the library.

"We can go now. But I only have a few minutes." She followed the older woman through one of the doors that led to the impressive library of Downton Abbey. As a child, Viola loved to play here, take the book from the shelves and study all the beautiful pictures in them, if she found any. Then, her mother had decided to preserve the books. Now Plexiglas covered the shelves and one needed a key to open these doors. Mrs Smith led her to a small shelf in the corner next to the window and the hidden door. From her hip she unhooked a key and opened the lock.

"Here you go. This should answer all your questions."

In her hands Viola now held a leather-bound volume with golden imprinted letters and the family crest on the cover. It was heavy and smelled like the old atlases she loved as a child. "Thank you, you don't know what this means to me."

"You are welcome."


She had everything she needed now, their letters, a diary and the chronicle. This would eventually help her to find the missing parts in her puzzle, fill the gaps the letters inevitably left behind by covering only three months of every year. Happy, she jumped up the stairs like a child, taking two steps at a time, whistling a silly tune. The book she carried with both hands, was her key to unlock more of the secrets the housekeeper and butler had shared.

Viola had to make some room on her blanket for the large book. It felt a bit like Christmas to open it. The musty smell of the old paper was the perfect perfume for a historian like her. Between her fingers, the old pages rustled every time she turned one. Viola browsed the book carefully, her eyes scanning every other word of it, until she had reached the year 1890. She assumed that this was probably the time when Mrs Hughes had started working as a housekeeper at Downton Abbey. Like Viola had expected, there was a list of the family members on the first page, followed by one that mentioned all the servants employed at the estate at that time. Butler and housekeeper, as well as valet and lady's maid were mentioned with their full name, other servants simply listed as a group. It said housemaids: 25, footmen: 11, kitchen staff: 12, and so on. Mr Carson was there, Mrs Hughes was not. Viola skipped a few more pages until she reached the next year. There was still no Mrs Hughes mentioned. But in 1892 she found her, listed underneath Mr Carson, as newly appointed housekeeper.

That was the first bit of information she had needed. The two had known each other for at least 20 years. It explained the familiar tone of their correspondence, the small jokes they shared, the teasing. Quickly, she checked the following five years but after finding nothing interesting in the list of Downton inhabitants, she closed the book for now and dedicated the rest of her time to the letters from 1914. The year of the Great War. There was still enough time to have a look at the chronicle later.

She knew not much about the First World War; it wasn't her field of expertise. Of course they had learned about these things at school, a lot more than children nowadays probably, Viola thought, feeling that familiar anger rise. As a historian, she could never emphasize enough how important history lessons were. Not only for children. How else could you learn from mistakes previous generations made? She shook her head; this was really getting her nowhere right now and only took up time she did not have at the moment. Viola returned to the letters, written in a year that had seen many changes in the big aristocratic houses all across the country. War, back in those days, was much more patriotic, something you did not ignore because it was happening in a country so far away from your own, that you needed a map to locate it. This war happened at your doorstep, turned young, innocent men into soldiers, although they had never before considered this. It emptied the servant's halls across the country, destroyed dynasties, families of every class.

How did Downton cope with the loss? Viola really was getting closer to the interesting parts: history experienced by eye witnesses. Not politicians or historians or other historically important figures, but people that lived a normal everyday life. Things like these were special, rare, something you did not stumble upon often and especially not in this amount and detail.

She opened the first of Mr Carson's letters and took a journey back into the early summer days of 1914.


1914

Something was about to happen this year. He had this strange feeling that by the end of the summer, their lives would change dramatically. It was not like him to be superstitious. He disliked all of this nonsense immensely, but he could not ignore that something was in the air, causing the powerful European leaders to wait with baited breath for a catastrophe instead of trying everything in their power to avoid it. Going to London this year therefore had been a tough decision for Lord Grantham. Was it sensible to enjoy the season when the future of the country was at stake? However, it was finally Lady Sybil's year to be presented, and it was her time to be introduced to the high society of the country. Robert Crawley could not deny his youngest daughter's wishes to shine as brightly as her elder sisters had at their debutant balls.

So they had planned the season like they did every other year, said their good byes one early morning in May and travelled all the way south to the capital. Carson organised the household together with Mrs Winter as usual and plenty of dinners, balls and receptions had been held during the first four weeks. Lady Sybil had impressed a great number of young gentlemen with her bright smile and kind nature. But apart from that, nothing out of the ordinary happened, everything was business as usual. He really could not report anything interesting in his letters to Downton other that he was, probably for the first time in years, not as exhausted. He had time for relaxation and could easily catch up with the work he had not finished during the day in his breaks after the meals upstairs. In the evenings, William and Thomas had the dinners fully under control and Carson could often enjoy an hour or two to himself in his pantry before he went to bed. Time he usually spent preparing the next day or writing another of his letters that had become his lifeline while away from home.

At the end of the first week in June, he was sitting in his armchair, a glass of sherry next to him on the side table, reading what he had written earlier yet again. He had gone through his latest letter twice already. Something he did not usually do. But everything he had written sounded so formal, so impersonal this year. As if they had at one point decided to ignore their friendship and move back to being only colleagues. Carson could not remember to have done anything wrong, offended her in some way or gave her the impression that he disliked their time together at Downton. Especially after they had gotten closer every year after his return from London. Whatever it was that had caused them to distance themselves from one another, he would try everything in his power to undo it.

Dear Mrs Hughes,

A month has passed already and between all the dinners, balls and formal receptions Lady Sybil has attended, nothing else has happened that is worth mentioning. I must admit that London life seems to have lost its glamour. As if everyone is holding their breath. One can overhear whispered conversations during dinner and they all revolve around the same topic: will there be a war? I hope this topic of conversation has not reached Yorkshire already. It is such a frightening thought...

This was not going to work. What he had written was true but it was not a letter Mrs Hughes looked forward to receiving from him. He took a sip from his sherry, got out of the chair and sat down at his desk again to cross out the last three lines. Then he copied the beginning and added a new ending.

...to know that something will happen eventually but to have no control over it in any way.

I could not deal with losing any of our men on the battlefield although they would have bravely fought for king and country. I most likely sound like an old man afraid of change, Mrs Hughes. But maybe I am. Because the life I've known and lived has provided me with all I've ever wanted. I feel safe in it. Please do not laugh at me. I know you out of all people, understand me.

I am looking forward to your reply these days,

Yours

C. Carson

The letter had not necessarily improved but he felt better about it. He emptied his glass and decided to call it a night, switched of the new electric light that had been installed in the house during he Crawley's absence in the winter months, and made his way upstairs.

His bedroom was cold and dark and he dreaded the brightness of the electric light in there. Slowly and carefully he made his way over to his bed in the black night. On his nightstand he searched for the box of matches to light the old-fashioned oil lamp. He had done this so many times that he did not need to see what he was doing. Soon the soft warm, golden glow illuminated his small bedroom. Exhausted, Carson sat down on his bed and massaged his temples. Not for the first time he wished for her to be here with him. It was a longing he experienced every year with the exception that this season he was not so sure about it. Where they still the same? Was there still this trust between them? Her next letter would hopefully dissipate the doubt he was feeling about their relationship.

He undressed and climbed under the cold covers, pulling them up all the way to his chin. Carson hoped, sleep would come soon and allow him to forget his worries. But he lay awake for at least another hour before exhaustion finally took its toll.


Elsie was unsure what had happened between them since his departure to London. Somehow they had stopped sharing their thoughts and hopes in their letters. Everything she received from him sounded rather impersonal. Perhaps it was the fear of a possible war that unconsciously influenced their writing. All she hoped for, was a return to their close companionship, that feeling of knowing him inside out, the trust they had in each other and the respect. She had feared the closeness at one point, tried not to act upon it because it was something that could ruin their friendship forever along with their careers. But after all these years she had so gotten used to this other Charles Carson, the one she could see every year in his letters, that the thought of him withdrawing from her, frightened her.

She expected the postman to delivery another disappointing letter today and therefore was not in a good mood during breakfast. Add to that, Mrs Patmore had requested supplies Elsie had not planned to restock for at least another week. Their budget was tight and did not allow any extras or orders outside the plan she had meticulously set up a month ago before the start of the season. Also, Gwen had taken ill and Anna did twice the work she was supposed to. Every year she had to deal with the same problems and she sometimes wondered if it would ever be different. But Elsie took her job seriously and although there were moments when all she wanted was to quit, she knew better and remembered how much effort it had taken her to achieve the position she had now, how many years she had spent working harder than any of the other housemaids to reach the highest position a woman could have in service. The self-assurance she gained from these reflections helped her to get through exceptionally hard days. However, they failed to be comfort her at this particular Tuesday.

"Mrs Hughes, should we do the library first or start on it this afternoon?" Anna asked and Elsie was reminded that she was surrounded by other people, was not alone in the room.

She cleared her throat before she answered. "Do it this morning please. I need everyone in the great hall this afternoon. You know the drill." She was referring to the large carpets that would be rolled up with the help from the outside staff. Then carried into the backyard for cleaning. It was a mess, a dirty, dusty mess. A few of the housemaids rolled their eyes after she had uttered these words and Elsie shot a stern look in their direction. Any chatter stopped immediately. It was work that needed to be done at least once a year and they all knew it. There was no point complaining about it. Elsie would not change her mind. The maids continued with their breakfast. Elsie took another spoonful of her porridge and hoped that her thoughts would not again drift off. There was no time to worry about him right now.

On a normal day they would now sit like this until one of the bells rung, requesting a lady's maid or valet to come upstairs, asking for another pot of tea for breakfast. During the season it was Elsie who decided when breakfast was over. Today however, Anna was the one that got up and left the servant's hall first, calling a few names that resulted in several of the housemaids abandoning their porridge to follow the head housemaid upstairs. Despite her bad mood, Elsie smiled. This was one of the parts of her work that made her proud. She had trained Anna and helped her to become the person she was now. Nothing in the world could make her give this up.

The others continued to eat their breakfast in silence until the bell at the backdoor announced the arrival of a visitor. With only one short glance at one of the young boys, Elsie send Peter running along the corridor to open the door. He came back a short while later, carrying a stack of letters. "They came early today and some are from the late post from last night." He explained.

"Thank you Peter." Then she addressed the rest of the servants, still sitting around the large wooden table. "Breakfast is over. You all have your chores to do now. The mail will be distributed at luncheon."

Only one letter however remained in her personal possession. It was from London, the one she had waited for with mixed feelings.


While all around her the house came to life, with maids running along the corridor, Mrs Patmore shouting orders at her kitchen staff, Elsie felt strangely isolated from everything that was going on behind the closed door of her sitting room. She needed a moment alone to read what he had written. If it was anything like his last letters, she already knew what to expect and disappointment instead of excitement had already taken over before Elsie had even opened the envelope. She took the silver paperknife from her desk and extracted the cream coloured sheet of writing paper. His handwriting was as accurate as always and she began reading his words. The letter started exactly like she had expected but the second part managed to lift the dark cloud that had been hovering above her head all day. It was all she had hoped for, a proof that they were still friends though his words worried her. He was not usually a pessimistic person and if he ever started to lose hope in something, she was usually at his side to remind him of the good things in life. Comfort was what Mr Carson needed now and a reply that made him realize she was always on his side, no matter how often their opinions collided with each other. No matter how often they disagreed over something.

Elsie took up her pen and composed a reply, putting all her heart into it. She would put an end to the awkward correspondence they had so far shared this year.

Dear Charles,

We all worry about these things at the moment. The younger staff probably not as much as you, me and Mrs Patmore. However, I cannot say that Yorkshire has not been troubled by talks about a possible conflict in Europe. I can assure you that I would feel the same about our staff and I understand why change seems like a threat to you. I promise you that it does not necessarily has to be one. I ought to know and so should you. Remember your time on stage, in the theatre; remember my life on a farm up in Scotland? Life has changed us into the people we are now. And you told me once that we all alter and that it is worth living for these alterations. But I do hope that change does not include saying good-bye to those we love. My heart would break.

Please let us not talk about such unpleasant things any more. Tell me about London again, because every bit of it is of great interest to me. May it seem boring to you, I enjoy reading about it.

Yours sincereley,

Elsie

She tried to avoid his Christian name but felt that a reply such as the one she had just written, required the use of it to emphasize that she meant every word. Another important letter was added to her collection now and it found its place on top of her linen book for the rest of the day until she would take it upstairs with her to store it in the new wooden box she had recently bought. But for now, she continued with her days work.


Anna had done a good job. Elsie went through the room, checked for dust here and there, and examined the corners, fireplace and the shine on the freshly cleaned and polished windows. Everything was in perfect order. She could really close the door behind her now and continue with the most important task of the day which was the cleaning of the carpets. The hall was only the beginning. The next days included getting every carpet in the house off the floor and outside into the yard. A difficult and strenuous task but a necessary one. Her motivation for doing this work was usually low but his letter had again saved the day.

Elsie walked out of the library and through the hall, where everyone was already busy. "Girls, the first carpet is already in the backyard. Please set to work and let me know when you're done with it."

A few housemaids scurried past her as fast as they could without breaking into run. Elsie followed them with her eyes, appreciated the eagerness, obedience and discipline they had for the job. She had once been one of these young girls, a long time ago, in a different century, ruled by a female monarch. The thought made her smile. She had come a long way since then, lived a good life. The hopes she had for her girls where high, Elsie wanted them to be as happy in their job as she was.

"Anna," the young head housemaid had just lent a few of the boys a hand. Work she was not supposed to do. "Why don't you join Gwen for a while, keep her some company. I think you've deserved a small break."

The blonde woman curtseyed and smiled gratefully, let go of the carpet and disappeared behind the green baize door that led her upstairs to the maid's bedrooms. Elsie observed the rest of the activities in the hall until the last one of the carpets had been carried outside. Then it was her time to take a short break and have a look at the rest of the mail.


Downstairs in her sitting room everything was quiet now except from some sounds coming from the kitchen. But Mrs Patmore had at least stopped her shouting for the moment. Elsie enjoyed the peacefulness, spent a few minutes to simply sit in her armchair and relax with closed eyes. Her thoughts went back to his letter, the fear she had detected in it, hidden between the lines. As soon as he was back home, she needed to talk to him about their work, their relationship, their friendship. She needed a few answers although she was afraid to ask the questions.

With a deep sigh she opened her eyes and started going through the letters that were lying in her lap. The first two ones were for Mrs Patmore, another one for Daisy but the fourth one was addressed to Anna. The sender was Mr Bates. She turned the envelope around in her hand, back and forth. It was indeed his name. Elsie had noticed that the valet and head housemaid had formed a close band since his arrival two years ago but so far she had not thought that their friendship would turn into a possible relationship, one she considered too intimate and against the rules. She put the letter aside, decided to talk to Anna about it later.

The one following Anna's letter had her name on it. It was from William. Elsie quickly opened it, pulled out the sheet of paper to read what the lad had written. His words put another smile on her face. Despite his mother being seriously ill, William tried to enjoy his time in London, wanted to learn as much as possible. He was proud to be there. One sentence mentioned Mr Carson and how William tried to avoid any mistakes in order to lessen the butler's workload. He was being very hard on himself, Elsie thought. But perhaps he tried to forget that back at home, his family was in danger and he could not be there to help. She hoped that things would end well for the lad, that he would be spared to lose his mother too early in his young life. Elsie knew that his was a hopeless wish.


TBC