A Charlie That Came To Dinner
Mrs. Lane interrupted them, again; she stepped forward, curtsying to Lady Mary and then kissing Lord Grantham's hand, proclaiming God save the king to him with great certainty—Simon quickly entered, grabbed her before she did anything too outlandish, and brought her back into the kitchen along with tray of no tea. And Carson was begging, nearly pleading, for their forgiveness at her abrupt behavior. The old woman was far from well; she should be in the care of a family member, not running any sort of business. Though, from what Charlie had told him about her past, perhaps she would be sent to a facility, an asylum, instead. Hopefully one that specialized in cases like hers, whatever it was she suffered. Lord Grantham, kindly, assured him it was all right, and then they excused themselves—they had a prior engagement, a luncheon at another prestigious Lord's house. Lady Mary said they would be back in a few hours for their answer. Elsie fled upstairs while Carson was seeing them out.
He entered their room some minutes later. Elsie was quietly, but not quite calmly, packing one of Charlie's bags. "What are you doing?" he found himself asking.
"What's it look like?" she snapped. And then her movements stilled; she sighed, her demeanor calming some. "I'll pack your things next..."
He hummed, and she resumed her packing. "I can see that you're packing, Elsie," said Carson delicately, not wanting to anger her more. "The question is: why?"
"We have got a train to catch, don't we?" she said, sounding cheery—but he wasn't quite believing it.
"We... do?" His eyebrows lifted. Part of him was hopeful, but he knew better to be.
She turned to him, then. Nothing in her eyes showed any signs of joy or relief. "Don't we?"
"Elsie," he said, stepping closer to her. "That... down there—I need you to know I had nothing to do with it."
She rolled her eyes, and folded her hands together. "Of course you did. You had everything to do with it." She moved to the dresser and opened a drawer to gather more of Charlie's clothing. "You're the reason they've come. The only reason they're willing to have us back."
"I am not," he snapped at her, something that had long been overflowing finally bursting out of him. Elsie looked at him, startled, and he mumbled a half-hearted apology at his outburst. "I'm not why they've come," he insisted again, more softly; he didn't want a fight.
She huffed, moving to continue packing Charlie's bag. "You're very much in denial, Mr. Carson."
He hoped it was a slip up and nothing more. He liked to be called Charles by her; loved it when she called him Charlie. "What about the factory," he said. "That's still an option."
"No, it isn't," she said. And she stopped again, bowing her head slightly. "You would become an intolerable man if you had to work even a day inside a factory, much less your entire life."
"You don't know that."
"I saw it in your eyes, Charles," said Elsie. He was glad she had gone back to calling him by his first name. "You looked so miserable when you returned."
"What other options have we?" he said, not denying his own misery. The Carsons were not factory men. His father worked as a clerk; he wanted Carson to follow in his footsteps, but he chose to continue working in service. And it was his mother who encouraged him to become Butler one day. "I'm not... good for anything. Except pouring wine and ordering footmen about." He rubbed his face as he sat in a chair across from her. "Oh, what a mess."
She turned back to him, her beautiful blue eyes looking into his soul. "I know it's wrong for me to say, but..."
"...you wish that night never occurred, is it?" That moment was always there with them—in the air between them while they worked, or talked, or anything; it seemed to fade slightly once he discovered the truth, but it never quite vanished. He wondered if it ever would.
She shook her head. "No. Maybe sometimes I think how simple life could be if we hadn't... I could never regret Charlie, though."
He straightened. Something boiled inside him. "It was telling me that you regret."
Elsie's eyes drifted to the floor. "I'm ashamed to even hear it said aloud, but at least then you'd be happy." Ignorance was sometimes bliss, but it was better for him to know. After all, a man had the right to know about his child, his own daughter. He wondered how it would all be had she told him sooner. Perhaps they would be in the exact same position, doing whatever it was they were doing—only they would be younger, and perhaps they would have more options. She might have been married to Joe, if she hadn't told him when she did—or, at the very least, engaged to the man. A man he believed she did not love, but he wasn't quite sure of her feelings in that particular moment. He hoped, at least, there was some love in there for him. He would have asked for her hand in marriage regardless—Charlie or no Charlie, he still would have asked.
"Right," said Carson with a hard huff, fiddling with his hands; he noticed her watching them as they moved about. Awful habit, he knew, but he was far too old to train himself to stop. "I won't take the position as foreman, on account that it will make me miserable." She nodded slightly, and he shifted in his chair. "And we won't go back to Downton, on account that it will make you miserable..."
"I never said that," came Elsie's reaction, just as he asked her, "What, pray you, should we do then?"
"We should go back to Downton," Elsie insisted as Carson said, "This conversation here has told me otherwise."
Carson and Elsie both fell silent. He felt too out of synch with her. They had rushed far too many things, done too many things Butlers and Houskeepers should not be doing. "I just don't want to return to Downton and be shamed for what we've done," she told him finally. "More importantly, I don't want Charlie to become an outcast. I don't want the other children to call her a... bastard." She said the word quickly and quietly. "Or anything of that sort."
"I don't want that either," he told her honestly. He wanted as little humiliation possible. "But we'll have the family's blessing..." And she rolled her eyes again at his comment—he never understood her lack of faith in them. They were a good respectable family, who cared about their servants and their community. "And... we'll, of course, also have each other, Elsie."
Their attention quickly turned to the door as the knob jiggled and Charlie entered the room, wet and muddy, and looking possibly more like a boy than she had at the station. "Mrs. Lane says the king's here?" Her attention was on Elsie, but it quickly drifted to the open bag behind her. "What's happened? Where am I going?"