Chapter 28 – The Shape of a Family

A/N: Readers, I have to tell you: I am dreading the fact that this story is much nearer to its end than its beginning! It's the longest fanfic I've written, and I am really steeped in these characters and their world. There are still a few chapters left – maybe five or six or so – but we are nearing the end! Alas! I may have injected a bit of humor into this chapter to battle my ennui that the story is nearly all told.

I'm also wavering on my ending; I may need to leave them both happy and alive, or my own heart will break. ~CeeCee

May, 1926

"How is it that on a day that I am headed to Downton, you are staying home?" He regarded her over their simple breakfast, taking a sip of tea. She was still in her dressing gown, her hair in loose braid – for once.

"Because I planned it that way," she grinned at him, took a bite of toast and jam. "This place needs a cleaning, top to bottom, and I certainly don't need you underfoot, or heaven forfend, offering guidance."

"Well, if you're going to do something, it's best to do it as properly and thoroughly as possible," he raised an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I do believe, Mr. Carson, I have several years' experience of general knowledge surrounding the running, management and care of a household. I should be able to muddle through quite well, tidying this place up. Shall I send you my reference letters?" She stood and gathered his empty plates. As she bent down, he unwound her hair with a deft twist that came with near-daily practice.

"Must you?" She grinned exasperatedly at him.

"I must," he responded, stood, kissed her. "Well, I best be off. Barrow expects me by nine o'clock, after breakfast has been cleared."

"You must get a peek at the baby, if you can. He's a beauty, for sure, though I suppose with a set of parents such as Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot, the odds were high he'd be a stunner."

"Reginald Henry Talbot," he intoned. "Quite a fine handle for a young man, once he grows into it. We'll have to plan the christening accordingly."

"Well, I know that whatever you and Mr. Barrow come up with, Lady Mary will be inclined to be pleased," she replied, setting the plates near the sideboard and returning to his side, re-braiding her hair. He let it be, though she shot him a mock-wary glance as she did it up, and though he was sorely tempted to run his hands through it again.

He knew she was right, but he was still warmed to hear her say it. And he still felt the pull to prove his worth, though he'd not been at Downton full-time for over two months now. He had an idea marinating in the back of his head on that count, one that he planned to discuss with Thomas Barrow today and see what the new butler of Downton, who had the advantage of a more youthful perspective, thought about it, before talking to much about it. His right hand was still a traitor to the rest of his body, but he felt as healthy and strong and as willing to work as he ever had, otherwise.

"You look rather dashing, Charlie, in that suit, in street clothes, rather than a livery," she smiled, smoothed his lapels as he reached for his hat.

"You're only trying to make me feel better about things, Elsie, don't think I don't know that," he placed his bowler on his head.

"I never dole out a compliment I cannot stand behind," she replied, kissing him again soundly, pushing him out the door. "Now, off with you. Before that glorious house comes down around their heads without ye there to plan the party for their glorious new baby."

oooOOOooo

After Charlie left, she cleaned up the breakfast dishes and went to get dressed for a day of spring cleaning. She secured her hair firmly and tied an old scarf over it. She found a cotton blouse and was about to step into a very old skirt when she remembered something: Anna had been by a few weeks ago with wee William for a visit and had presented Elsie with something that she thought she'd never wear, no matter how progressive she considered herself: a pair of casual ladies' trousers.

The younger woman had been earnest regarding their usefulness:

"Mind you, Mrs. Hughes, I'd never wear them outside of the house, as fashionable London ladies do, or even as Lady Mary does, when she's riding, but I must admit, they are quite convenient when there's a bit of heavy housework to do, especially if I have to move quickly to get to this one here," she peppered her son's head with kisses, and the baby had giggled delightedly. Anna had not returned to work at Downton yet; Elsie suspected she may never. Not that Anna wasn't a dedicated and hard worker; she just adored her son, and being a mother, so much, she was greedy for time with the wee lad.

Elsie smiled as she rummaged around in her closet until she found the item of clothing in question. They were as unassuming as a piece of clothing could be: tan, made of serge. She pulled them on and buttoned the waistband, which was slightly loose on her. She tucked the shirt in, all the while trying to decide how she felt about them. It was funny, in a way: she was of an age where corsets had been a way of life, so much so that women simply got used to them, until the day they were considered obsolete by all except the oldest generation. She'd been used to being squeezed 'round the middle for years, and yet the feeling of the trousers, lightly hugging her legs, hips and midsection was strange and new. She decided she liked them.

Then she looked at herself in the mirror.

And burst out laughing. Peering back at her was a woman who appeared to be a cross between an aviatrix and a lad selling newspapers on the street corner. Ah, well. She was comfortable and they were suited to the dirty work of deep cleaning a house.

She set to work, occasionally stopping to wind the Victrola that Lady Rose had sent to them as a wedding gift last year, humming along with the music unselfconsciously as she set about scrubbing, dusting, and rearranging. Late in the morning, she came across several boxes stuffed with a random assortment of ticket stubs, old photographs, and the other ephemera of life. The boxes were small, but in total disarray. She sat right on the floor and began sorting through them.

She came across a formal portrait of Becky from about a dozen years ago. She stopped and thought of her sister for a moment; the nurse Elsie had met all of those years ago, Kathryn, had written this week to let her know that Becky's health was declining. Elsie's understanding of it was that, whatever trick of nature, fate or God had scrambled her sister's mind had also tampered with the efficiency of her heart, and now it was beginning to fail. She needed to visit Lytham St. Annes, and soon. She wondered if Charlie would accompany her, or if Becky's disability would make him too uncomfortable. She set the picture aside, deep in thought.

She continued to sort and organize the boxes, stopping every now and then to linger on a memory conjured by a scrap of paper or something else equally unassuming. About a half hour in she found something that made her laugh out loud: A colorful postcard depicting the Brighton seaside. She stood and walked it over to the small corkboard they had in their kitchen. She kissed it before she pinned it up.

"Ye old booby, ye did keep it," she whispered, thinking how funny life is sometimes, how something small can become so significant.

A knock at the door shook her from her reverie. She was halfway to opening it when she realized the state she was in. Then she shrugged to herself – ah, well. The visitor would get an eyeful of her, she supposed, but nothing untoward.

Beryl Patmore stood there, a lunch basket in her hand. "Mr. Carson said you were usin' yer day off to straighten up the place; he certainly downplayed your dedication, Mrs. Hughes," she bustled in, walked over to the table. "I brought lunch for the both of us, I thought you'd like a break, and I need yer advice on somethin'."

Elsie joined her to help unpacking and Beryl Patmore finally took her in completely. "What in heaven's name are you a'wearin'?" She chuckled a little as she put sandwiches onto a plate.

"Trousers. Anna gave them to me, they're quite comfortable, though I'd not leave the house in them, I don't think."

"Mr. Carson's never seen you in them, I'm guessin'?"

"No, I think not, I just put them on for the first time today, after he left to speak to Mr. Barrow about the christening," both women laughed at how Elsie's husband would react to her rather non-traditional attire as they sat down to lunch.

"And how is that getting on, the plans for the christening?" Elsie grinned at her friend.

Beryl Patmore rolled her eyes, but then her face softened. "Don't breathe a word of this, yeh hear me? But…well, there was something rather…endearing about the two of 'em, Mr. Carson and Mr. Barrow, their heads bent together over Mr. Barrow's desk, Mr. Carson's, as it were, both workin' very hard to not irritate the other, if you understand my meaning?"

Elsie's heart squeezed a little in her chest, thinking of both of the men, the younger trying to repair the mistakes he'd made, the older, trying to hold on to the essence of who he was, and let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, in the end. "What it sounds like, Mrs. Patmore, is more work for us, I think."

"Oh, no doubt about that, Mrs. Hughes. The amount of food they've got on the menu as it stands, would feed an army or more."

The laughed, but both were thoughtful for a few moments.

"Thank you for the lunch, I was so entrenched here I might have gone all afternoon without fortification," Elsie began, knowing that her friend was here for something more.

"You're quite welcome, thought it comes at a price, I suppose," Beryl paused, looked at her hands, looked back up at Elsie. "I need your consideration on something that's been nagging me, if you'd lend your ear?"

"Of course. Goodness knows, I owe you a favor or two, over the years," Elsie was almost certain she knew where this was going.

"Well, I am sure you have an idea where I'm a'headin', but perhaps not exactly," her friend responded, voicing her thoughts.

Elsie grinned a little and Beryl reddened a little. "Mr. Mason?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason, Albert, as it were."

"Albert, indeed?" Elsie teased gently, but she was pleased for her friend. Forget about the young ones, we old ladies aren't doing so badly, it seems. "Are you sending me on a mission to Yew Tree Farm, to determine his exact intentions?" She hoped the joke would help Beryl relax. Sometimes talking about these things was so awkward.

"Oh, ho, if only I could require that you return the favor, you know I would," Beryl retorted, and both women started giggling a little. "But, you may be surprised to hear, we have that side of things…sorted out." She paused, got redder, if that was possible. "I suppose it helps when one person's been…been through it, already."

Elsie wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "So…he's proposed then?"

"Yes, he has, in so many ways and so many words. What I mean is, he's very clear about what he wants, and I want the same thing, I think. It just wasn't something I was expectin', at this point in my life, if you understand me?"

"I am certain that I do," she gestured to the cottage around her.

"Not the way you think you do, Mrs. Carson, and I'll tell you why," Beryl Patmore was grinning widely now, and shaking a finger at her. "The two of you have been dancing around and around and finally towards this ever since I got to Downton, and perhaps even before that. It was an inevitability, as far I'm concerned."

"It didn't feel as certain on this side of things, I just want you to know that. I'll not disagree with you, and if anyone understands us, it's you, but there you have it. Sometimes I look around and wonder how I got here."

"Well, I suppose I can believe that; the pair of you certainly did drag it out, after all," her smile softened the sharp words. "But, in my case, in Albert's…well, he's a very good, very fine man, isn't he? I find that I am quite fond of him, in fact. That I look forward to seeing him, visiting the farm, with Daisy and Andy."

"Why that's not a ringing declaration of love, I don't see it as a bad start, Mrs. Patmore," she responded, knowing there was more, hoping she would muster the trust in her to continue.

"That's just it – I do care for him, a great deal, and he does for me, if he's to be believed. And I do believe him. It may sound silly to you, but we – Albert and I – we think of the four of us – he and I, plus Daisy and Andy, as a family-like, already. We know the young folk are working their way towards gettin' married themselves, once Andy musters the courage to propose, and well, I dunno. Daisy's the closest thing I'll ever have to daughter. I've known her since she was barely more'n a girl, cleaning out the fires at Downton. I'm not sure her own mum could love 'er, be more proud of 'er, more than I do. So I'm saying 'yes' to Mr. Albert Mason, but to the other two, as well, if you understand me," Beryl was now sobbing so hard, Elsie could hardly understand her. But she did anyway, and now her own tears were falling.

"Mrs. Patmore, Beryl, it makes plenty of sense, and I don't seen anything but good in it. That something good – something wonderful – like the four of you finding each other could come from our dear lad William's death, well it makes me think maybe sometimes life is fair, even if it hurts an awful lot sometimes, too," and now she was crying unabashedly, because sometime life was terrible and unfair and cruel, but sometimes it was really wonderful, too.

And they stood and hugged each other, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

And that's when Charlie walked in, humming to himself, to find the cottage in half disarray with two weeping women standing over a half-finished lunch. He took it all in and removed his hat slowly.

"What is happening? Are you both quite alright?" He paused, and through her tears she could see him really taking her in. "And why, Mrs. Hughes, are you dressed like a boy in an Italian pantomime?"

Elsie turned to Beryl and they both howled with laughter. Yes, life was really wonderful sometimes.