A Charlie That Came To Dinner
"It's all settled, then," Lady Mary said, cheery as ever. No, it bloody well was not settled—Elsie wanted to say, but she found herself mute. Lady Mary wanted them to return again to Downton as if they had not been sacked days prior, as if nothing had changed at all. The thought of returning did seem lovely, and perhaps in a better world they could, but it was far too messy. But instead of speaking out, she clenched her fist, trying to maintain her calm demeanor while a fire roared inside.
Charles' eyes sparkled at the suggestion. And he briefly turned to Elsie before his attention returned to his precious princess. "It is, milady," he said, bowing his head lightly. Elsie felt her stomach tighten. In a better world she would have a say, her opinion would matter.
Lady Mary smiled while the flames inside Elsie grew stronger, more erratic. "Wonderful," she said. "We can wait at the station while you gather your things."
"You misunderstand me," said Charles quickly, and Lady Mary halted. His found Elsie's hand, loosening her clenched fist. "I've been hired as a foreman at a nearby factory, milord—milady," he explained to them. He cleared his throat nervously as Lady Mary's face faltered. A rain extinguished the flames inside her as a guilty joy filled Elsie. "I begin Monday and... and, erm, the three of us—that is, Charlie, Mrs. Carson, and I—should be settled into our new lives within the next few weeks." He turned to Elsie, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "That is my hope, at least." Elsie nodded, feeling quite possibly in love with the man. Yes, love, she was sure of it. The man who gave her Charlie; the man who had been inside her, twice now. But not the love Heathcliff shared with Catherine, or even the love Eustacia felt for Clym. It was something entirely different; nothing out of a silly novel. "I have brought shame and scandal into your household. I have corrupted the Grantham title and tarnished the Crawley good name." She noticed Lord Grantham shift his stance, almost impatiently, and role his eyes at Charles' heartfelt apology. "And for that, milord, I am greatly remorseful."
"Worse things have been said and done to us, Carson," assured Lord Grantham, though Charles looked quite unconvinced. Lady Mary's eyes drifted away from her father. A nasty rumor began circulating about her and the late Mr. Pamuk, God rest his soul, shortly before they were exiled from the house. It was as silly as the one about Lady Sybil not truly belonging to Lord Grantham, so she thought little of it—nothing came of it, and expected nothing would. "Besides, I have done far worse in my youth to tarnish the Crawley good name," he continued, and Charles stiffened beside her. "You know as well as I that I am not the saint they write about in the papers." He had settled down before Elsie arrived at the house, but all the servants knew about his wild affairs in his youth after his marriage to Lady Grantham—some even with his own maids. From what she understood, Charles kept obediently silent throughout the whole mess, though she was sure he disapproved, and he scolded any servant who dared mention it.
"The point is," Lady Mary interjected, stepping forward, "none of us are free from sin." No, they were not. Not even God could wash away all the evil in mankind, no matter how little.
"You—the both of you," said Lord Grantham, glancing down at Elsie, "have protected the Crawley family all these years. It only seems fair now... to protect you."
Charles let of her hand. She tried reaching for it again, but his hands were already behind his back. "We are grateful, milord," came Charles' voice, "but there's Charlie to think about."
"Of course," said Lady Mary, nodding—but Elsie had little faith she was actually thinking of Charlie. "The three of you will be moved into a cottage nearby. Charlie will have a room for herself. She'll attend the local school with the other children in the village. She'll live an ordinary life..." She quickly fell silent as Mrs. Lane quietly entered the room with a tea tray in hand, nodding kindly at the old woman as she placed the tray down onto the table beside them. The old woman curtsied to her superiors before hurrying off back into the kitchen. "We'll say that you were married," continued Lady Mary after awkwardly pausing at Mrs. Lane's antics. "An affair did take place thirteen years ago, but you were married soon after."
"And that the family knew about the girl. Charlie, that is," said Lord Grantham. He bent to pour himself tea, but Charles, resuming his Butler role, quickly took charge. "And that it was the discovery of her working at the house which angered me the other day, not your trip into Bradford."
Charles carefully tilted the kettle into a small serving cup, but no liquid flowed out. He opened it to look inside. "Erm, it appears the kettle is empty," he said meekly, his eyes looking up at Elsie for guidance.
"I'll make the tea," said Elsie as she lifted the tray.
"You must forgive Mrs. Lane," said Charles quickly. "She isn't quite right in the head."
"Never mind that," said Lord Grantham, stopping Elsie from moving; she placed the tray back down onto the table at his encouragement. "We don't need tea." They stood in silence for a quick moment; Charles reached for Elsie's hand again, his brief role as Butler now finished. "There will be talk, of course," Lord Grantham continued after clearing his throat and tugging his tie. "Rumors. Gossip, really. But it should all die down in a month or so—once everything gets settled and something new catches their eye."
"Everyone's all in agreement," said Lady Mary. "Lady Grantham, Lady Sybil, Lady Edith—even the Dowager, after some convincing." Charles shifted at the mentioning of the Dowager.
"It's all very unorthodox," admitted Lord Grantham. "You and Mrs. Hughes—Carson—will, of course, resume your roles as Butler and Housekeeper at the house. There will be some changes, but they should all be manageable."
"This is all very... kind, milord," said Elsie. Yes, it was all very kind—more kindness than perhaps she would ever receive in her lifetime. To be frank, she had little faith in the Crawley family, and she felt rather guilty for thinking of them as she previously did. "But..." But she fell silent when looking into Lady Mary's desperate eyes. It was Charles Carson she wanted, Elsie knew. Not her, not Charlie.
"But," said Charles, though his tone told her—and Lady Mary, who looked visibly relieved—he had already made his decision, "we'll have to talk it over first. Before we make our decision."
A/N: I don't know where in season one this takes place, but Pumuk has already visited and died at the house. But it's not really mentioned in any of the previous chapters because plot hole I guess. But yeah, I think I'm going back to not really taking this fic as seriously, meaning not thinking about it and just writing.