Charles rushed through the necessary telephone calls and then rushed the hall boys through the installation of Molly into the store cupboard. He rushed to ask Barrow to oversee the removal of the rest of Smythe's things from his pantry and into the hall boys' dining area prior to the arrival of the police, considering that they might like to see what other secrets the man held before turning them over as evidence.
He informed Andrew that the family intended to take sandwiches for luncheon and all but told the boy to handle the service himself, once it became clear that Molesley had not yet returned from searching the grounds for the now long-ago-located pig slaughterer. Barrow suggested that Molesley would return on his own when it grew dark or he grew hungry – much like a spaniel, he had said. Charles couldn't find anything to dispute in the assessment.
These critical tasks out of the way, Charles waved off any additional questions from staff, obtained an ice-filled towel from the kitchens and went in search of his wife. He found her sitting at her desk, working figures in her ledger as if it were just any other day, as if a mad woman hadn't just attempted to strangle her in the courtyard in front of half the staff, a decapitated swine, and Lord Grantham.
At a glance, her cheek, swollen and flaming red, served as the sole reminder that this was not, in fact, just any other day at all. He locked the door behind him and crossed to press the ice-filled cloth into her hand.
"Thank you." She spoke matter-of-factly, no differently than if he had just passed her the salt at dinner. She received the ice and pressed it to her cheek, barely acknowledging him at all.
He ran his hand over her hair and bent to kiss the top of her head. She didn't react, just continued turning invoices and scratching figures onto the page.
"His lordship was right. I owe you an apology. I should never have questioned you like that, and certainly not in front of the staff."
"Thank you for that," she said, quietly directing her comments to the desktop. He noticed that her voice had something of a raspy quality to it and he wondered if speaking might be causing her pain.
"Elsie, come sit with me," he said, crossing to fall into his usual seat next to the door.
She paused, silent for a moment, before she returned her attentions to the ledger book in front of her.
"As you reminded me yourself just earlier today, we have work to attend to. None of these distractions will complete my books or next week's rotas."
"Stop it. Whatever you have to do can wait for a few moments, at least. Come here and talk to me." He felt tears building in his eyes and swallowed at the lump that was forming in his throat.
"Charles, really, I'm fine. There's no need for all this fuss." Her pen continued to scratch across the ledger page.
"Has it occurred to you at all that perhaps I'm not fine?"
She dropped her pen and turned the swivel chair to face him, a shadow passing over her face.
"No, honestly, it hadn't."
"Come here."
She left the ice melting in the towel on the floor next to her desk, and with a sigh moved towards her chair on the other side of the table from him, but he stretched to take her hand and pull her into his lap. He pressed his chin onto her shoulder and wrapped himself around her, pulling her to his chest with an urgency he hadn't even been fully aware he felt just moments before. He held her quietly like this for a fair few minutes before he noticed that her body had begun to shudder and he realized she was crying.
"Hey now, what's this?" he asked pulling her impossibly further into his embrace. "I thought you were fine."
"I was fine until … " Her words just drifted off into another round of tears.
It occurred to him that he had never before actually seen her cry. In more than twenty years of shared joys and sorrows, he had never seen anything beyond the mere suggestion of mist in her eyes. Selfishly, he thought it was a good thing that Mrs. Hughes had never broken down in front of him; it would have driven him mad to see her in such anguish when he couldn't reach out to her, couldn't hold her.
"You do know that you don't have to be fine, don't you? Not for me. Not now." He pressed a kiss to her temple and the sobbing began anew. "Oh dear, tell me. What can I do?"
She took a deep ragged breath and sighed. She reached into his pocket to remove his handkerchief and pressed it to her face.
"It's just so different," she said.
"What is? Having a mad woman try to kill you in the courtyard? Yes, I should hope that is different." He thought to laugh, but couldn't quite muster the humor in the situation. She smiled at him weakly through her tears.
"No, being cared for. It caught me quite off guard."
He frowned at this.
"Elsie, you must know, I have cared for you for quite a long time."
"No, Charles, you haven't," she said, patting him on the chest. "Not really. I believe you have cared about me, but you have never felt yourself in a position to care for me. There is a difference."
"Oh, my dear, I am sorry that I – "
"No, when you said you weren't fine, and then you … I suppose, I just suddenly saw how very much I had to lose."
"I do know that feeling," he said, reaching up to brush a stray bit of hair out of her face. "If anything had happened – "
His thoughts were cut-off by a knock at the door.
"Mrs. Hughes, er rather, Mrs. Carson, it's Dr. Clarkson. Might I come in?"
Elsie jumped to her feet and affixed her husband with her most withering glare.
"His lordship insisted," Charles said, hands thrown in the air in surrender. "Just a precaution. I'm to tell you I was just following orders."
"Likely story," she muttered as she wiped her eyes one last time and threw open the door. "Dr. Clarkson, do come in."
"I understand you have had some excitement, Mrs. Carson. Mr. Carson," the doctor said with a nod.
"Nothing that should have required you being called out, doctor, I assure you. I apologize. It seems we have both been the victims of an overabundance of caution."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he said with a laugh as he closed the door behind him. "This house really is full of the most reticent of patients." He muttered the last bit as something of an aside, but glanced sharply from housekeeper to butler as if reinforcing his point.
The doctor stepped forward and took her face in his hands, gently turning her head back and forth. She flinched.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" he asked, placing his bag on the table.
"A woman attacked me in the courtyard. She slapped me and tried to strangle me. I suppose I am a bit sore, but I am fine."
"Was that her handiwork I saw in the courtyard as I came in?" Clarkson asked as he leaned closer to peer into her eyes.
"Yes."
"Well, at least you appear to have fared better than her other victim."
Oh good Lord. Charles felt his eyebrows climb towards the sky.
"Mrs. Carson, I would like to get a better look at this bruising. I know it unusual, but the light below stairs here is rather poor. Would you mind stepping outside with me? It's stopped raining and the sun is shining quite nicely."
Elsie eyed the doctor with a healthy skepticism, but ultimately agreed to step out into the gardens.
"Mr. Carson, would you join us?"
Charles fought against rolling his eyes. Good Lord, of course he would join them.
They hugged the wall of the courtyard, giving the butcher who had arrived to inspect the pig a wide berth, before crossing into the gardens. Clarkson was right; the sun was shining nicely. Light danced and sparkled off the drops of moisture that adorned the grasses and trees. A slight breeze had picked up and was carrying with it the rich scents of spring. Of life.
Clarkson spent about twenty minutes standing in the garden path examining the bruises on Elsie's face and neck. He looked again into her eyes and questioned her about where she had pain (her neck did hurt), whether she was having difficulty swallowing (perhaps a bit, she seemed to have a bit of a lump in her throat), if she'd had any breathing difficulties (not once the death grip was loosened from her throat), if she had passed out (no), or if she had any disturbances in her vision (no).
"I am a bit concerned about this raspy quality in your voice," the doctor said. "Does your throat hurt when you speak?"
"No, not strictly. It just feels as though something is catching."
"Well, I'm glad Mr. Carson called me. Strangulation can do serious unseen damage."
Elsie glared at her husband through narrowed eyes, as he looked to his shoes and smirked.
"All the same, I don't think you have too much to worry about," the doctor continued. "You're going to have some swelling here on your cheek. You might want to keep some ice on that. And I imagine you are going to be rather stiff and sore. You should probably go ahead and take a headache powder as soon as you get inside. A warm bath and a hot water bottle on your neck wouldn't go amiss."
"Alright."
"Now, as far as your voice and this catch in your throat, your difficulty swallowing, it may be nothing, but I would like to come back in the morning and evaluate you again."
"Why?" Elsie's eyes flew wide with alarm.
"As I said, it may be nothing, but strangulation can cause damage to the bones and soft tissues in the neck and throat. Unfortunately, there is only a limited amount I can do to help, but if your symptoms don't improve, or if anything gets worse, I might want to put you in a neck brace, just as a precaution."
"I see," she whispered and Charles noticed that her eyes were beginning to mist.
"Is there anything else we should do in the mean time?" Charles asked.
"She is going to be sore and I suspect that the swelling might continue to increase a bit throughout the day. Soft foods would probably be preferable, and do try to rest if you feel tired," he looked pointedly at her, as if he knew his words were likely to fall on deaf ears. "Pain has a way of overwhelming a body and wearing one down. Call me if anything changes and I will come back immediately. Don't feel you must wait for tomorrow."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries the doctor departed, leaving a rather subdued and pensive atmosphere in his wake. They stood side-by-side lost in their individual thoughts for sometime before she reached down and took his hand.
"I suppose we should be getting on," she said, the corners of her mouth turned up into a tight smile.
"Elsie, there is something else we need to discuss before Sgt. Willis arrives, and I would rather not have that conversation inside. Do you feel up to walking a bit?"
She inclined her head as if to nod, but winced and brought her hand to her neck. He looked at her in alarm.
"Really, I'm fine. As long as I remember not to move my head about too much, a stroll might do me some good."
She granted him a dazzling smile and he wondered if she wasn't just trying a bit too hard to calm his anxieties. There was nothing for it, but to keep an eye on her. A close eye, he thought, as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
"Now, what is this we needed to discuss?" she asked once they had reached a point in the gardens well outside the hearing of anyone but the birds.
"His lordship has decided to go to the police with Smythe's blackmail scheme."
"I see. Well, that will certainly help Anna's case, but won't it cause problems for the family when the contents of the letter come out?"
"That's just it."
"What's just it?" she asked peering at him from the corner of her eye.
"The contents of Mr. Smythe's letter aren't going to come out. They are going to the police with a different secret, an alternative scandal as it were."
"An alternative scandal?"
"Yes, a different secret that might prove worthy of blackmail, but which will raise no issue of potential legal complications for the ladies."
"Oh, dear, poor Lady Edith."
"You knew?" he asked with a start.
"I certainly suspected. It's not entirely ordinary that a young lady from an aristocratic family disappears to the continent for months and then comes home to take in a ward. Or even if it is ordinary, the narrative is really rather implausible."
He furrowed his brow and considered, not for the first time, how very much seemed to happen in the house without his notice.
"Yes, well, that is not the secret to be divulged."
"No?" She eyed him quizzically.
"No, it is what Lord Grantham suggested – not particularly to his credit, I might add – but Lady Mary intervened."
"Lady Mary intervened?" He noted the incredulous tone in her voice with a conscious effort to overlook it.
"Yes, Lady Mary. She was quite insistent."
"Well, that is a surprise. I've not known Lady Mary to take Lady Edith's part in anything before. It seems rather … revolutionary."
He peered down on her with pursed lips.
"Lady Mary suggested, quite vehemently I might add, that the secret was not theirs to tell, that it was Miss Marigold's alone to divulge if she saw fit, as she would be the one most likely to suffer from its release."
"Goodness, that's a rather lofty concept. I take it you're going to tell me what alternate secret is to be released?"
"Lady Mary volunteered the matter with Mr. Pamuk," he said, standing just the slightest bit taller and thrusting out his chin.
"My, my, it seems your golden child has hidden depths," she said, running her hand down his arm to interlace her fingers with his own.
"Now, Mrs. Carson, Lady Mary's attributes should come as no surprise."
"Hmmm, perhaps," she laughed, squeezing his hand. "But how are they to manage all this? I'm not sure I understand. The blackmail letter is what it is."
"It seems," he said, stopping to look down at her from under raised brows, "that Mr. Bates is a master forger."
She watched him for a moment as if trying to find the jest in his words, before pulling him to walk on.
"That Mr. Bates has hidden depths comes as no surprise at all," she said lightly, "but I am a bit surprised that you seem to approve this plan."
"You know very well, it is not my place to approve or disapprove the actions of his lordship."
"Even so, passing a forged blackmail letter to the police? The whole idea seems fraught with peril."
"I admit, it's not a thought I would entertain myself, but if it works I'm not sure I could regret it. He is blackmailing them, after all. And taken out of context his allegations could be quite damaging. Look at the damage he's already caused."
"Poor Anna," she sighed, "I'll approve any plan that brings her out of this safely."
"Have faith, Mrs. Hughes," he teased, "we'll see your golden child home soon."
She laid her head against his arm with a sigh, bringing her free hand up to grip at her neck as they walked on in peaceful silence for a few moments.
"Charles, you do remember that Miss Neale is all but being held captive upstairs, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. I will go up in a moment and check on her. I do think we should ask her to stay and enlighten us and the police as to the previous relationship between Katie and this Smythe character."
"Oh, so it's Katie now, is it?"
"Well, I don't know what to call her. I don't feel I ought to call her Nanny Jenkins, as that was apparently not her name. And Miss Neale doesn't seem quite right either."
"I've a feeling she would have appreciated you calling her Katie."
"Perhaps, but I'm more concerned with you right now."
"I've told you, I'm fine. As things are though, I am not particularly inclined to go upstairs and have another round with Miss Neale."
"Alright, but I would like to have Barrow come in and sit with you."
"Charles, really, I don't need a carer."
"I won't pretend to understand what is going on between the two of you, but I rather think he would feel better if he came and sat with you for a while. He's been uncharacteristically concerned with someone other than himself. Perhaps it is something of a change we should cultivate."
"And since when do you concern yourself with Mr. Barrow's feelings?" she smirked.
"I'm not, but if it serves my purpose in convincing you not to be alone until the police have removed that woman from the house, then so be it."
"Fine, Mr. Barrow may sit and watch me write out next week's rotas. I'm sure that will be most entertaining for both of us." She lifted his hand briefly to her lips and gave it a quick peck. "Will that satisfy you?"
"My dear, we have not even begun to discuss what you could do to satisfy me."
She stopped abruptly and turned to look up at him in mirthful shock. He wasn't certain exactly what he had intended to say, but it certainly wasn't the precise series of words that had come out of his mouth at that moment. He felt his ears reddening under her delighted gaze.
"And on that note," he said, clenching his jaw and pulling her forward towards the house, "let's just go fetch Mr. Barrow."
Her laughter followed down the path behind them. It was a weak, raspy thread – and it was largely at his expense – but it was the sound of her joyful and alive. Charles thought in that moment that it might be the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"Alright."