Hello, we're back! Thank you to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, messaging—I appreciate each and every one of you so, so much and am loving the feedback and energy you all bring!
This one was inspired by a certain debate in season 3, and also the desire to write something a little fluffier and lighter than I have the last few projects. You all know how this goes. As always, send ideas or requests my way and I'll do my best to incorporate them. Yay, onward!
8:00am on a Sunday morning in July, and for the first time since she'd landed in England five months ago, Hallie was homesick. 3:00am in the States; Nina might be awake, and the couple friends she kept on the West Coast almost definitely were. But that's not what you miss.
Normally she'd be with her Nana, her dad's mother, about now. The summer weeks with Nan began after her father died, and Hallie planned to continue them as long as she could. That was where she had learned to knit and sew; where she first read Little Women and Anne of Green Gables and Pride and Prejudice; where she learned how fun it could be to watch daytime game shows and soap operas; where she learned how records and turntables worked.
Hallie frowned; she'd have to call later today. Missing out on a summer with your 90-year-old grandmother would be hard enough without everything else going on, but in this light it was unbearable.
That would be hours away, though. She flopped back onto the mattress. With enough effort, and no electronics, she might be able to eek out a few extra hours of sleep if she really wanted. The room was bright (not blindingly so on this migraine-free morning, thank God). God. Now there was an idea.
Hallie reached for her phone and Googled service times. Not that she was terribly religious, but going to church with Nan was simply part of the summer now. Maybe that would tide her over until this afternoon, when she might be able to Facetime her (she smiled fondly, remembering teaching the older woman to use apps on her phone before she left for the UK. "I'm not going to England if I can't call you," Hallie had said into the phone, on speaker as she packed away her rented room and piled boxes to take to storage before her departure to Nana's cottage overseas in a few days' time). After finding one from a nearby church that would stream in an hour, she rose and made her way to the shower. Might as well as do it like I would at Nan's.
xx
Today's sermon hadn't been a particularly riveting one, they agreed.
"Well, Sundays after Trinity are never very exciting," Elsie pointed out as she put the kettle on. The shaking was particularly bad this morning, so Charles couldn't take on his usual task of tea while she made eggs and toast before rejoining the staff at Downton at noon. He sat at the table with his hands glued to his lap.
"I agree, but the music was quite nice today, so a sermon to match would have been preferable."
She smiled fondly at her husband, having long known that he favored "O God, beyond on praising." Leave it to Charles to be upset with the service not rising to the occasion of his favorite hymn. She chucked softly and shook her head, turning back to the eggs.
"What's so funny?" he asked lightly.
"You, that's all," she replied, plating the eggs and toast and placing the platter in front of her husband before fixing her own. By then the tea was ready to pour and Charles and Elsie were both ready to dig in.
They were surprised, then, to see Hallie appear at the table, flipping through a book as she sipped at a coffee mug, a bowl half-filled with berries in front of her. It had now been months, and the lass hadn't once appeared at their breakfast table on a Sunday morning.
She hadn't noticed them. Charles and Elsie shared a look of confusion and amusement. Elsie spoke first: "Pass the sugar, dear?" she asked her husband nonchalantly, as if their visitor weren't there at all. Charles used his left hand to slide the sugar bowl across the table until his wife could reach and pick it up. Hallie sat unfazed, engrossed in her book. "Thank you." Elsie said, pulling the sugar back toward her. She portioned a little into her teacup, intentionally clinking the spoon against the ceramic edge.
That, finally, pulled Hallie's focus, and she looked up from the book. "Oh hey," she said casually, closing her novel and placing it on the edge of the table.
"Good morning," Charles and Elsie replied simultaneously, catching each other's eyes and smiling gently at each other afterwards.
"What has you up eating this morning?" Elsie asked the lass.
Hallie plucked a berry up and popped it into her mouth. "Was feeling a little homesick this morning, so I decided to go to church," she replied before picking up another. It felt fruitless to explain that 'going to church' involved watching a service happening a little ways away from Downton village from the settee.
"We've just gotten back ourselves," Charles stated, "Not the best service we've ever attended, I must say." Elsie looked up at him in mock annoyance, resisting yet another loving eye-roll.
"Ugh, mine too!" She rose to fill her mug again with coffee, pouring a little cream in and spooning in some sugar. "They really should have advertised more clearly it was going to be in Latin. I don't know how you both do it every single week, it's sooo dull."
Charles's eyes widened and his draw dropped. "I beg your pardon?" he sputtered. Elsie caught on more quickly as usual, and for her part, bit down on her lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Hallie returned to her seat at the table and looked incredulously at her great-great-grandfather. "Oh right. Yeah, they changed the rules around 'mass in the vulgate' in the 60s. And thank God, because it's very boring in Latin."
Tears of laughter shone in Elsie's eyes as her husband sputtered, "Are you...Catholic?"
"Are you not?" Hallie asked innocently enough.
"Absolutely not!" he bellowed, more powerfully than he'd necessarily intended.
Hallie winced as his voice became raised, cast her eyes downward. "Sorry, Granda," she said in a rushed but quiet voice, "I didn't mean to insult you. I just assumed, since my grandparents..."
The mirth had dropped quickly from Elsie's face. "Honestly, Charles," she reprimanded.
Charles filled with chagrin when he registered the fear on Hallie's face. "Hallie, I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I'm not insulted. Merely surprised, and unaware of how loud I can be." So what if it was a bit of a white lie? (he was insulted; Catholic, honestly!)
She managed half a smile as she looked at him. "You're okay. I just get sort of nervous when people shout," she shared.
The meal continued in uncomfortable silence; Charles could barely hold his fork, Hallie jumped at every clatter, and Elsie sat quietly annoyed, unsure how the morning had so quickly gone to pot. Feeling himself get fed up when another portion of scrambled egg slid off his shaking fork, Charles rose from his chair with a clatter. "Excuse me," he muttered, tucking his folded napkin onto the table and heading to the bedroom.
Hallie picked at another berry, chewed slowly, started to recover. "Are you alright, lass?" Elsie looked at the girl with concern.
"Yeah," she replied distractedly. She stood with her mug and walked into the sitting room, trusting that Elsie would follow her (and she did, teacup and saucer in hand). She sunk heavily onto the settee. "it's just...I thought we were starting to get along, you know? Not like with you," she smiled at her Gran, "but better at least, and now it feels very two-steps-foward-one-step-back."
Elsie sat beside the girl and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "Oh, my girl," she said, rubbing her arm soothingly, "You have no idea." And at that, the two shared a bit of a giggle, and Hallie's mood began to lift.
xx
"Really, Charles? Shouting like she's an errant hallboy, and for what?" Elsie argued later that night. Hallie's day might have improved after his little scene at breakfast, but Mrs. Hughes was downright irritable all day at the Abbey and not going to let it go.
"Perhaps I could have been quieter about it, but really, Elsie! A Catholic!"
"And what's wrong with that? Miss Sybbie is also Catholic, I'll have you remember, and it seems Johnny Bates will be as well one day."
"And I wasn't exactly thrilled then, either," he grumbled. "But aside from the obvious things wrong with it, if she's Catholic it means she probably isn't—" he paused. Usually his wife cut him off before he could make any reference to it.
She looked him square in the eye. "Isn't what?" she challenged him.
Charles inhaled, prepared himself to reply: "Ours."
There it is. It's been said.
Elsie's eyes slammed shut. "Don't be daft, Charles," she said quietly.
"She looks so like you, Elsie," he said softly, crossing the room to take her in his arms.
"I have a very common face," she dodged, pushing back gently on his chest, but his hands remained on her hips.
"No you don't," he said, lifting her face to his with a finger under her chin.
The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "Thank you, but I do. I always was rather plain. And Hallie is lovely, but not uncommonly so."
"That is untrue," Charles said, pressing his lips to her forehead, "and regardless, would not explain just how alike you look."
She shook her head. "That's not the only reason you're daft," Elsie almost managed to tease. She breathed in deeply, but when she finally spoke her voice was little more than a whisper. "Perhaps a girl called Mairead O'Donnell raised in Ireland would grow up Catholic."
Charles blanched, his mouth suddenly dry. He had never even considered that possibility. He swallowed thickly. "And did she?"
Elsie looked up into his eyes. "I don't know," she confessed. "I never thought to ask."
"What do you want to call her?" Janie asked. Elsie glanced down at the infant at her breast, mere hours old. A girl, with blue eyes and almost no hair and fingers so tiny and delicate Elsie feared she'd shatter into little pieces if held too tightly.
"I haven't given it much thought," she admitted. "She's your daughter, really. What do you want to call her?"
"We'd like to give her an Irish name," Michael said, stepping into the room. "But we'd love for you to choose one. Or choose one in Scots, we can always translate it."
The bairn began to fuss, and Elsie hurried to sooth her, rocking her gently. She was so tired, an exhaustion that had seeped into her very bones and very spirit. Tired of being afraid. Tired of the pain, the sadness, the fear of getting caught out. Tired from the pain in Charles's (Mr. Carson's, she reminded herself) eyes when she left Downton to move her sister to a new home, an expensive home, then to give birth in her old friend's tiny house in Lancashire. Tired of the nightmares, the memories.
But the babe was in her arms and she had a task at hand. She'd had so few allies since things had gone badly: Janie, of course, her oldest friend from her first job in service, and then Mrs. Margaret Williams, the housekeeper who kept secret the consequences of her attack and assured her that her job at Downton awaited her return. Margaret...
"Maighread," Elsie said after some minutes, her arms still rocking the now-quiet girl. "That's her name."
Michael smiled. "Mairead," he repeated in his own lilting Irish accent.
Janie noticed Elsie's eyes begin to droop. "Here, we'll take her," she said, reaching out and lifting the bairn from Elsie. "Hello little Mairead," Janie cooed, and the baby settled into her arms.
Elsie began to drift off, but soon stirred. "Her middle name. Could it be Jenny?" She'd remembered helping Mrs. Williams sort through old accounts and ledgers, before things had gone so wrong, and catching the name Jenny Carson in one of the books. The girl might not be his, but still she needed to give her at least something of his name if she could.
Janie smiled and smoothed a hand over Elsie's hair. "Of course it can. Mairead Jenny. A lovely name for a lovely lass," she cooed again to the baby. "Rest now, Elsie."
"She's John and Anna's, really," Elsie stated firmly, "and it would do us well to remember that, I think."
Charles looked desperately at her with wide, sad eyes and a lopsided smile. "Then why does she appear to us?"
"Luck," Elsie said with a smirk, letting herself settle more comfortably into her husband's embrace.
He pressed his lips to her cheek softly. "No more of this business about your face being common. You're the loveliest woman I've ever seen."
She flashing him a smile. "You're a fool, Charles Carson." She lifted herself onto her toes, allowed her lips to brush his as she said, "But you're a fool I love madly" before kissing him deeply.
Later, when they settled into bed—all made right, husband and wife back on the same side—Elsie allowed herself only a moment to consider Charles's notions, if Hallie could be theirs. Hers. In the quiet darkness of their bedroom, their cottage late at night she could admit to herself, for only a moment, that it was a possibility...and perhaps a strong one.
Then, with a shake of her head, she banished the thought once again. Charles slept soundly behind her, and she nestled into him. It didn't matter either way, she told herself. What mattered were his arms around her middle, his breath light against her plait. Their cottage. Their life together. Their quiet little love.