Here is the final chapter of this story. I have enjoyed writing this story and enjoyed reading all of your lovely feedback. I am a little sad to see it end, although all stories must, after all. I hope you have enjoyed reading it. Thank you for your support.
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It was a relief to Mr. and Mrs. Carson that the family did not go to London during the 1920 Season. With preparations for Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley's wedding and the birth of little Violet Branson at Downton after the Bransons' flight from Ireland, there was no thought of the family's leaving the Abbey. Seeing Lady Mary's happiness with her husband and Lady Sybil's joy in her new little family was a delight to them both, but even more than that, they were not to be separated for the Season, something they both dreaded, but spoke little of until 1921, when it was decided that the family would go to London. Mr. Branson and Lady Sybil stayed at Downton, unwilling to leave their daughter. Mrs. Carson was left behind with James to care for the Bransons and catch up on cleaning and jobs that were often left undone during the rest of the year. Mr. Carson, Mr. Barrow, and Alfred went to Grantham House. Mrs. Carson was surprised at first that Mr. Barrow was not left behind with her at Downton, but when she questioned her husband about it she learned that he had talked Lord Grantham into bringing Mr. Barrow to London so that he could be properly trained as butler at Grantham house as well as at the Abbey. James was a bit lazy, but Mrs. Carson had certainly handled worse. All that aside, if her husband was to be torn from her, she much preferred James to Mr. Barrow. If the young footman schemed, it would only be to sneak out of the house for a drink at the pub; heaven only knew what the under butler might get up to without Mr. Carson and the family's presence to keep him in check.
Lord Grantham wondered if Mr. Carson's request to take Mr. Barrow along to London indicated that he planned to retire soon, but he put the thought to the back of his mind. He didn't like the idea of Mr. Barrow being butler at Downton Abbey, but he could see the practicality of his being fully trained, so that if Mr. Carson were ill or could not stay in London for the full Season, Grantham House would be adequately staffed. His butler might not retire for many years, and there was no point in worrying about it before he gave his notice. The thought of the pain a man might suffer being separated for several months from a wife he loved never crossed the earl's mind.
In the past, Mrs. Carson had said her brief goodbyes to Mr. Carson privately on the morning of his departure, each promising to be a faithful correspondent and then separating until he returned several months later. This year, however, she saw him off at the train station. They had said their true farewells when they were alone in their own rooms, but it still meant something that they could be together until Mr. Carson boarded the train to London and the necessary physical separation could no longer be avoided. Once the luggage had been loaded onto the train, Mr. Carson squeezed his wife's hand, kissed her cheek, and climbed into the third class compartment. He found that he could not look at her out the window as the train pulled out of the station, so he stared straight ahead. If he had watched her, he would have seen that she turned her back to the train as soon as he was aboard. Mrs. Carson waited until it had gone and the platform was silent before she made her way out of the station, where the chauffeur was waiting for her. She asked him to take James, who had come along to help with the luggage, and go back to the Abbey; she preferred to walk.
Mrs. Carson felt calm at first. She and Mr. Carson had planned for this eventuality once they had learned that they would be separated this year by the Season. Three or four months was not so terribly long a time if one thought of it in smaller increments of time. Their correspondence would be as faithful as ever, and Mr. Carson would certainly have reason to occasionally telephone the Abbey to have one forgotten item or another sent along to Grantham House and they could steal a few moments' conversation at those times. Mrs. Carson had been briefly tempted to secretly pull a few items from the luggage packed to go to London so he would have further excuses to telephone her in Yorkshire, but she knew it to be a ridiculous scheme, and she kept out of the packing entirely. The others could manage the move without her help, as they always did. She had no business with anything to do with London. As she walked further from the train station, however, the next few months stretched out interminably in her mind. Mr. Carson had plans to request a few days off once Mr. Barrow was doing well enough to manage without him so that he could visit his wife in Yorkshire, if a quiet enough few days arose, but even that would not happen very soon. Mrs. Carson had been with her husband every day and night since they were married, and she felt this separation more than she ever had before, though she had certainly missed him a great deal every Season since that smile so many years ago had rendered her irrevocably in love with him. She did not shed any tears as she walked, but she felt the exercise and the solitude of walking home from the station were beneficial to her mood, which was very low. She would have to stay active until he returned in order to keep from going mad.
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When Mr. Carson returned from London a day before the family, as promised, Mrs. Carson waited for him in their sitting room. She had missed her husband dreadfully and did not wish their reunion to be witnessed by anyone, even if it was only the chauffeur that brought him home from the train station. Mr. Carson had not been able to get away during the Season to visit Yorkshire, despite his best efforts; Mr. Barrow had been taken ill early in their time in London, which meant a setback in his training, and a whirlwind of social activities later in the summer had kept the butler in London. He had suggested to Lord Grantham at one time that Mr. Barrow could certainly manage with young Alfred for a few days, but the earl did not agree and he was forced to remain until the bitter end. As he sat in the car taking him from the station in Downton to the house where his wife waited for him, he wished the chauffeur he sat beside would drive faster, but he maintained his professionally impassive demeanor. He tried to imagine what she might be doing now. He knew she would be waiting for him in their rooms, likely pacing the sitting room. When the car arrived, he hurriedly directed James and the hall boys to get the luggage into the house as he made his way up the stairs as quickly as he could.
Mrs. Carson was indeed pacing the room when he arrived. When she heard the door open, her pacing stopped and she was in his arms as fast as she could cross the room, before he had time even to close the door completely. She wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his chest, breathing deeply to take in the scent she had missed so much. Mr. Carson buried his nose in her hair, doing the same. A few tears fell, but mainly they both smiled as they greeted one another with a kiss. There was a great deal to be done in preparation for the family's return the next day, so they could only spend a quarter of an hour or so alone now. Mr. Carson closed the door and let his wife lead him to the settee where he sat down and she settled onto his lap. Several intense kisses were exchanged, but mostly they caressed each other gently, convincing themselves that they were indeed together, in the flesh, after so many months spent two hundred miles apart. Their whispered words of love soon gave way to a warm and soothing silence. After a few minutes, they reluctantly rose from the settee to return to their duties.
Throughout the day, anytime Mr. and Mrs. Carson met, neither could help smiling. That night, however, when at last they made love, Mrs. Carson wept. Her husband didn't ask why, only whispered her name and continued to move with her until they both lay quietly side by side, her tears still falling as she rested her head on his chest.
"Charles, please don't leave me again," she murmured. "I can't do that again. I won't do it again."
"Shhh." Mr. Carson tried to quiet her, but she grew a little agitated.
"Or if you must go, I'll retire so that I may follow you to London," she said. "I'll stay in an hotel where you can visit me on your half day. I'll come to Grantham House all the other days and stand in the back garden, hoping for a few minutes' glimpse of you."
"Elsie, hush," he said gently, stroking her hair. "I won't go away again. I am done with the Season, done with London, done with spending every day in livery."
"Do you mean it, Charles?" she asked, more tranquil now. "Are you speaking of retirement?"
"I had a great deal of time to think while I was in London, Elsie," he intoned gravely. "It seems foolish not to fly the harness and enjoy each other freely while we're both in good health and can move about and do as we like. After the Spanish Flu we decided not to waste any more time being apart, but after a Season away from you, I am ready to take the next step, with you."
Mrs. Carson heaved a great shuddering sigh, one that had been building in her for several months. Her tears fell again, but before long she was asleep, the source of her recent tension and anxiety now dissolved. Mr. Carson noticed that her hair was loose; he had not had time to braid it before she fell asleep. She looked dreadfully tired, though, and he decided to let her sleep. He would be sure to wake her a little early and brush out the tangles himself.
In the end there weren't any tangles to be brushed out, because for once Mrs. Carson had slept the whole night through in the same position, resting against her husband. She woke before he did and looked up at his face in repose. Soon she would have him all to herself and could lie abed watching him sleep as long as she liked.
Mr. Carson's eyes cracked open and he smiled. "What a lovely way to wake," he murmured sleepily.
Mrs. Carson rose on her hands and knees and kissed his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down against his body.
"Oh no you don't!" she protested, laughing and pulling away a little. "You'll have your wicked way with me and then be in your livery in ten minutes flat, leaving me behind to be late for breakfast."
"If you like I'll stay behind and be late to breakfast with you," he said mischievously.
Mrs. Carson rolled her eyes. "Charles, that would be even worse! Both of us late to breakfast together? Don't be foolish."
He began to stroke her back. "Perhaps neither of us will be late. We've already got our clothes off, so we can omit that portion of the proceedings," he rumbled. "We'll be up and dressing before long." He wiggled his eyebrows.
Mrs. Carson let herself rest against his chest, her hair tumbling over them both. Mr. Carson breathed deeply, enticed as always by the fragrance of her hair, and waited. When he felt her kissing and nibbling his neck, he knew he had won the argument. Neither of them was late for breakfast, but Mr. Carson found himself in the uncomfortable position later that morning of silently accepting from a grinning Mrs. Patmore a handful of ice wrapped in a cloth. "This should take care of that spider bite by lunchtime, Mr. Carson," she said, not bothering to hide her chuckle as she left his pantry. Such an indignity alone might have been enough to make retirement seem attractive to Mr. Carson even if he had not already been decided on it.
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A few days after the family returned from London, Mr. and Mrs. Carson gave notice to Lord and Lady Grantham of their intention to retire. Within a few months they were comfortably installed in a cottage near the village. Mrs. Carson was eager to visit her sister, who had been unable to attend their wedding, and introduce her to her husband. They spent a very happy week in Lytham St. Anne's, the Carsons getting on well with Mrs. Carson's sister and her husband. When they returned, they received regular visits from Lady Mary and little George, born just after the family's return from their annual trip to Duneagle Castle. They were sometimes accompanied by Mr. Crawley. Lady Sybil and Miss Violet also called from time to time. Mr. Branson called with this wife only when he knew Mr. Carson would be away. He respected Mrs. Carson and she had always been kind to him. He did not wish to slight her by not visiting, but he also did not wish any unpleasant scenes to arise in which Mrs. Carson might be called upon to play referee between her husband and a guest in their home. Mr. Carson had grown accustomed to his presence in the big house, but he wasn't sure the older man would ever forgive him for marrying Lady Sybil.
Mr. Carson commented on this once after Lady Sybil had been visiting with her daughter. "It seems rather discourteous that Mr. Branson hasn't come to call. What can he mean by it?"
Mrs. Carson laughed. "I assure you that Mr. Branson has paid me several very courteous visits, which just happened to coincide with your absences from the house. He doesn't wish to cause a scene, but thought he ought to call on me, even though you don't approve of him."
Mr. Carson's eyebrows drew together and he frowned. "Mr. Branson is avoiding me? Truly?"
"You have to ask?" she replied. "When was the last time you had a civil word for him, Charles? Not since before he married Lady Sybil, I'd wager."
"Hmph," was his only answer, and his face took on that look that showed him deep in thought over some puzzling situation or other.
Mrs. Carson hid a smile. For once she could not guess what he might be thinking, but she was sure she would find out soon enough. "I notice we're out of chocolate biscuits again, Charles," she said, trying to bring him out of his abstraction.
"I suppose you'll have to ask Mrs. Patmore for some more, then," he said.
"I'm afraid not, Charles," she answered, shaking her head. "She gave me some out of her private hoard only two days ago. So unless you'd like to ask her yourself, it will be chocolate biscuits from the bakery in the village for you."
Mr. Carson would not have said he was afraid of Mrs. Patmore, but he knew that such a request would come at a price, more likely to his dignity than anything else. She was forever disconcerting him with teasing about spider bites and crowing roosters and Theda Bara and various other things he didn't even like to think about discussing in the kitchen at Downton Abbey.
Mrs. Carson shrugged and gave up on conversation with her husband, picking up a book from the side table and beginning to read where she had left off. Mr. Carson puzzled a little longer before he came to sit beside his wife on the settee, taking the book from her hands and setting it on the table. "Won't you kiss me?"
"How can I refuse when you ask so politely?" she answered with a little smile.
Mr. Carson leaned in for a light kiss, but as usual it turned passionate very quickly.
"Charles, won't you please take me to bed?" Mrs. Carson breathed.
"How can I refuse when you ask so politely," he smirked, then surprised her by lifting her from her seat and carrying her up the stairs.
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One morning a few weeks later, Mrs. Carson had some errands to run in the village. When she returned in the early afternoon, she could smell that someone was baking. Was Mrs. Patmore visiting? Did Mr. Carson ask her for chocolate biscuits? She hung up her coat and hat and carried her purchases into the kitchen and set them down. She found her husband in his shirtsleeves. The room was warm; clearly the oven was on.
"Charles, what are you doing?" she asked.
He smiled. "I'm making chocolate biscuits."
"You never are!" she replied. "One of your hidden talents? Why have you been stealing Mrs. Patmore's biscuits all this time if you could make your own?"
He scoffed. "As if the butler could be caught in the kitchen baking biscuits! No, I just learnt in the past few weeks. Mrs. Patmore has taught me to make my own."
"The kitchen maids must have had a great laugh at seeing the formidable Mr. Carson learning to cook from Mrs. Patmore."
Mr. Carson chuckled. "Oh, there was a bit of tittering for certain," he admitted. "But I told them it was a surprise for you and they were all glad to help, especially Daisy. They miss you, Elsie. It's rather sweet."
Mrs. Carson smiled. "I miss them all, too, but I have tea with Mrs. Patmore from time to time and I get to see and speak to everyone."
Mr. Carson looked at his watch and went to the oven and took out two trays and set them on the stove. He inspected his work. "When they've cooled, you can try one and be the judge of how I've done."
"I'm sure they'll be wonderful, Charles."
He rolled down his sleeves and put his waistcoat and coat back on while Mrs. Carson sat down at the table. "What do you make of our replacements, Elsie?"
"Well, for one thing, I'm glad his lordship decided to look elsewhere for a butler, rather than promoting Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Carson replied. "Mr. Allen is still adjusting, but he seems to know what he's about. Mrs. Hathaway is quite settled in and commanding all of the maids very effectively. She is rather stern, but I imagine she may have a softer side that she occasionally shows to the people she cares about most."
Mr. Carson raised his eyebrows and smirked at her. "That sounds familiar. Do you think she'll fall in love with Mr. Allen? Perhaps we will have neighbors in that empty cottage round the corner."
Mrs. Carson laughed. "You never know, I suppose. Would anyone have guessed at us?"
"I don't think anyone guessed. We managed to surprise every single person in the house." Mr. Carson rose from his seat to check the biscuits. "They're cool enough now, Elsie. Come try one."
He handed her a biscuit on a napkin and she took a bite. It was delicious. "Charles, are you sure Mrs. Patmore or Daisy didn't come here and make them and then sneak out the back door so you could take them out of the oven as though they were all your own work?" she teased.
"How could you suggest such a thing, Elsie?" he scolded.
"You know I'm only teasing, Charles," she replied. "But I hope you don't mean to eat all of these in a day or two."
"Certainly not," Mr. Carson said. "I'm expecting callers this afternoon and I think they will enjoy these. Will you help me make tea, Elsie?"
"Expecting visitors, Charles?" She was surprised. "Have you invited Lady Mary to take tea with us? She is welcome at any time; she needs no invitation."
"No, it is not Lady Mary," he answered. "You shall see, Elsie. They will be here very soon."
"Well, then. I suppose I'll boil a kettle and make the tea ready. How many do we expect?"
"Two who will want tea. The third will likely only want the biscuits."
Mrs. Carson shrugged. There was no point in trying to tease it out of him if the guests would be arriving soon, but she was mightily curious. The water came to a boil just as a knock came on the door. Mr. Carson went to answer it while his wife finished making the tea and placing everything on the tray. When she arrived in the sitting room she was so surprised to see Lady Sybil, Mr. Branson, and Miss Violet that she nearly dropped the tray. Had Mr. Carson invited Mr. Branson to visit? She quickly put the tea things down on the low table and offered to serve them all, but each insisted on fixing their own tea. Mr. Carson was correct in his conjecture that Miss Violet would want only biscuits. Mr. Branson picked her up and settled her on the settee between Lady Sybil and himself, with a small plate of chocolate biscuits on her lap. Mrs. Carson smiled at the picture they made. She and Mr. Carson pulled two chairs next to each other and sat.
Mrs. Carson had another surprise when her husband spoke first to Mr. Branson. "How are the farms faring, Mr. Branson?" he asked in a friendly tone.
"Most of them very well, Mr. Carson," he replied, with an answering smile. "A few could be doing better than they are, but we are addressing the problems in order to increase their productivity."
"That must be very interesting," Mr. Carson said. "A much busier profession than chauffeuring, I would think."
Mrs. Carson barely kept from rolling her eyes at this comment, but Mr. Branson took it in stride.
"Much busier, Mr. Carson," he said, realizing that the older man truly was trying to make friendly conversation and meant no offense. "It was helpful that I already knew how to drive when I took on management of the estate. Mr. Crawley can drive also, though not very well, to be honest, but Lady Mary comes with me occasionally. She likes to see how things work, what her husband and I are doing to support the farms that support her home."
"Tom always finds time to spend at the Abbey, though," Lady Sybil said. "He hasn't neglected Miss Violet and me. We're still so much a family." She looked at her husband fondly; he didn't notice her gaze immediately, but after a moment he turned back to her and they shared a secret smile.
Mrs. Carson smiled at Lady Sybil's loving glance and thought of her own fondness for watching Mr. Carson when he was not aware of her eyes on him. "I'm always glad to see you all so well and happy," Mrs. Carson said.
"And I," Mr. Carson said, also touched by the obvious affection between the young people. He remembered with regret how he had scoffed at Mrs. Carson when she suggested that Mr. Branson loved Lady Sybil. At least he had apologized the next morning. He had felt at the time that the order of the world was being assaulted by the news of a daughter of the house being engaged to the chauffeur, but he now felt this was foolishness. His own world had been turned on its head by the War and the Spanish Flu, and of course by his lovely wife, who had taught him by example that change was not always such a dreadful thing, that in fact it could be quite wonderful. Years ago, when he had pushed thoughts of his admiration for her to the back of his mind, he would never have accepted the idea of a married butler, but then he had found himself thoroughly in love and wishing to marry, whether he remained a butler or not. His career had been a satisfying one and he was proud of his accomplishments, but he was happy now to have left it behind in favor of this time with Mrs. Carson. He treasured every day with her, even when they argued or were at odds for one reason or another. Their love had survived worse than a little disagreement here and there. It almost wouldn't be right if they never argued. They had changed each other, but not to the point that they were identical, so there were bound to be disagreements. Lost in these thoughts, he realized that the others had taken up a conversation without him and he returned his attention to them.
"Miss Violet is growing by leaps and bounds, it seems," Mr. Branson was saying.
"I think you're right, Mr. Branson," Mr. Carson agreed.
"It must be all the chocolate biscuits," Lady Sybil said, pointing to the empty plate on her daughter's lap. Everyone chuckled.
"Would Miss Violet like to visit with me?" Mr. Carson asked.
"Of course," Lady Sybil said, taking the empty plate and setting it on the table with the other tea things.
Mr. Carson easily lifted the little girl from her seat and went back to his own chair and sat down. "And how are you today, Miss Violet?" he asked softly. "I'm very happy to see you, sweet pea. You've grown into quite a big girl since I saw you last. Yes, you have!" He continued this one-sided conversation, a gentle smile on his lips. The little girl looked into his face with wonder at first and then she smiled and giggled, reaching up to grasp his nose. The others looked on at this tender scene and Mrs. Carson imagined him a grandfather, playing happily with the little ones, even as they tugged his hair and ears and nose. She felt a whisper of regret for a moment that she could not give him children or grandchildren, but she realized that he was truly already a grandfather to whatever child came his way. It was the same with little George as it was for Miss Violet, and she was certain that his affection for any future children produced by the Crawley girls, or anyone he cared for, for that matter, would be equal to what he felt for the two already in his life. He did not replace Lord Grantham as their true grandfather, but he was more playful, more warmhearted, and the children loved him as much as he loved them
Mrs. Carson wasn't sure if she could be happier than she was in this moment, watching her husband play with the child as her parents looked on. However, she had often felt that she could not be happier, and was always proved wrong when some new happiness came her way, almost always because of her husband and his love. Love is such an amazing thing, she thought. One can give and give and never run out. Miss Violet's eyelids began to droop and soon she was asleep against Mr. Carson's chest.
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In retirement, the Carsons spent most of their time together, but they each retained a certain independence. Mrs. Carson did most of their shopping in the village or in Ripon, sometimes alone and sometimes with her husband. Mr. Carson made sure that their cottage was always well stocked with the finest wines they could reasonably afford. They spent many happy afternoons reading together, each occasionally sneaking a glance at the other and smiling. When they expected no visitors, they even sometimes relaxed in the sitting room dressed only in their nightclothes and dressing gowns, as they had on their honeymoon. Mrs. Carson sometimes asked her husband to read to her so she could listen to his lovely rumbling voice; he often requested that she read to him in return, to hear the light lilting accent he loved. This comfortable intimacy extended to the more spine-tingling intimacy in the bedroom, where they certainly did not neglect one another. The red negligée that Mrs. Carson had taken with her on her honeymoon, but not had the courage to wear until a month later, made occasional appearances now. She rightly presumed that dressing only sporadically in that little silk garment would arouse her husband more than it might have if she wore it every day. Mr. Carson sometimes surprised his wife in the kitchen, taking the boiling kettle off of the stove, kissing her senseless, and then escorting her to the bedroom for a midday tryst.
And so the retirement of Charles and Elsie Carson was a great success. They had much to be proud of in what they had each independently achieved in their careers in service, but they had been drawn closer together over the years, to the point where they no longer wanted to spend any time separated by their duties. Much as before, they continued to change each other in small ways, and to better understand each other, but they remained Charles and Elsie, two people who loved one another more with each passing day.
The End.
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