Conversations with the Man Upstairs. Chapter 8—Hither and Yon.

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Time: The next day—5:15am Monday 30th November 1925

"Oh. Pardon me, Mr Carson,…G-good morning, Mr Carson… I was just coming in to set your fire for the day."

"That's quite all right, Roland. Good morning to you. As you can see, I am up early and it is already blazing. You will find Mrs Hughes' fire is also done, so I will ask that you run up to the attics for me first, before you and Daniel start the ones in the breakfast room, the small and large libraries, and Lady Grantham's sitting room. Would you please go back to the quarters and send Mr Barrow down post-haste. Then you will likely spend most of the day in the boot-room getting all of his Lordships and Mr Branson's sporting boots ready for the shooting party at Brancaster Castle. There will be a lot of carrying valet cases down to the lower luggage room with Andrew today—ready for loading into the cars early tomorrow morning as well. Now, no playing 'Strong Man' and breaking things or hurting yourself—work together with Daniel on the heaviest ones. And, don't be getting under Mrs Patmore's feet today…and make sure you eat a good breakfast."

"Yes, Mr Carson," the wide-eyed and freckle-faced Roland scurries off, still trying to wrap his early morning 13-year-old brain around exactly what 'post-haste' might mean, but knowing that it does not pay to dally when Mr Carson has set a whole raft of orders for you.

Carson breathes out a huge groaning sigh as he stands to stretch the cricks out of his neck, then he straightens his breast pocket handkerchief. Lord above…I'm getting far too old for these wretched all-nighters…Still, there is work to be done.

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6:45 am

Thomas Barrow does not exactly strut down the servant's hall towards the kitchen after seeing to Lord Grantham's early dressing this morning, prior to his trip into York today. Still, the under butler's shoulders are set more broadly than usual, and he cannot help looking down his nose a little at the underlings he has been set to direct today. But his brow does quirk with an element of consternation as to the changed circumstances of his day—a day that will see him even busier than he anticipated now that they are two men down prior to the Crawley's leaving Downton tomorrow.

"Mrs Patmore," he stops in that precise, almost boot clipping manner of his and cocks his head like a tenacious terrier ready to make a query about something that the educated observer would see as being of typically nefarious interest to him, whilst allowing his inflection to suffice as some sort of friendly greeting for the day to the cook.

"What is it, Mr Barrow?" Mrs Patmore snips out with typically harried annoyance when she pegs his nosy intent in a trice and does not even attempt to hide the rolling of her eyes. She feeds the man, so Mrs Patmore has never seen fit to be cowed by any of Thomas Barrow's antics—she knows well enough who really holds all the power in their daily transactions. "The good Lord has yet to invent a breed of chicken that can fry its own eggs so I am afraid I have to keep cooking your breakfast—if you don't mind."

"Of course, Mrs Patmore," he simpers back to her, "…only…I was wondering if you knew where Mr Carson had to head off to so suddenly this morning?…and on the first train"

"Perhaps Mr Bates needed him in York to see Mr Murray with him? Lily! Are you on a slow boat to Seville?! Can you please set Lady Grantham's orange juice on her tray as I asked you to? Miss Baxter ought to be down from Lady Mary's and Lady Edith's to collect it soon!" She looks up from the thick batter she is rapidly beating without appearing to show any fatigue across her formidable shoulders and upper arms and sees Mr Barrow's beady eyes expecting more. "Look…" she huffs out exasperatedly, "How in blazes would I know? I am not the Great One's ruddy keeper, am I?!" She finishes, just as she spies Mrs Hughes pale and exhausted and red-rimmed eyed personage peek around the edge of the archway into the kitchen, her hand shaking ever so slightly around a letter she is holding at hip height. She looks up from it just as Mrs Patmore finishes her blunt assessment of the morning's situation with Barrow. Mrs Patmore knows immediately that Elsie has spent a second sleepless night over her 'arrangements', or lack thereof, with Mr Carson. Lord above—I thought they talked this all out last night! She sees Mrs Hughes lip starting to quiver, but the housekeeper catches it up in her teeth just in time as she wheels about and her heels click rapidly on the slates until the sound is blocked out by the turning of the key in her sitting-room door.

Mrs Patmore's mouth has dropped open a little, but she clams it shut before the smirking under butler catches it as he turns a weirdly triumphant eye towards the cook and raises one eyebrow to her.

"Whaat's going on, Mrs Patmore?" the question almost slithers from the side of his mouth.

Mrs Patmore reaches up for a long-handled copper pan hanging from a meat hook on the overhead rack and she pointedly slams it down on the main preparation bench, leaning onto the edges of it with both of her chapped and thick muscled hands and piercing Barrow with her direct, no-nonsense gaze.

"Thomas, if you'd just learnt to play with a straight bat a little more often in your life, you might just find yourself that bit closer to getting everything you've actually ever wanted."

There's not many who can whip out a line so cryptic and yet so pointed that it can stop Thomas Barrow fully in his tracks, but Mrs Patmore is oftentimes the one to do it. He sets his mouth in a grim line and then finally manages to muster a marginally smart and sneering reply.

"I didn't know you were a fan of cricket, Mrs Patmore. You have been chatting with Mr Carson."

"Believe me, Thomas, when I say that any game that offers a high probability of a few idiot men getting sconed by a hard object is FINE sport in my ruddy book!" It is Thomas' turn to clap his slightly gaping mouth shut just in time as Mrs Patmore finishes on a much lower and more ominous tone as she grasps the handle of her heavy-based pan in a white-knuckled grip,"…And if I hear ONE word that you have made this day any more difficult for Mrs Hughes than it needs be, you'll be finding me listed as the new opening batsman for the Abbey team! Now get on with y'! Breakfast will be ready in ten for you to preside over."

Thomas gives her his best Hall boy 'What did I ever do wrong' look and holds up his open palms in a truce. He thinks better of staying around the cook for much longer—especially given that Mr Carson had issued a similar warning about ably supporting Mrs Hughes for the final preparations for the Brancaster party while the Great One Himself is away from the house for the day. It is certainly highly unusual that Old Carson would not be stalking about with clipboard in hand for the final preparations for a family holiday. As Thomas enters the butler's pantry and adjusts some items on his daily list, he cannot help but wonder about the upper staff's terribly strange behaviours these last few days. Still, even with getting ahead on much of the packing yesterday with Mr Bates, Thomas has an extremely busy day ahead of him; and, as Mr Carson also mentioned—quite forcefully—that if anything proves amiss once they reach Brancaster, it will only be on Thomas' head to fix it. So, he sits his incessantly prying curiosity onto the back burner for the moment—there is work to be done.

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Beryl Patmore taps at the Housekeepers sitting room door.

"Mrs Hughes, I thought you might like a tray this morning so that you can keep on with your work." Beryl is not sure if she actually heard a sniffle or a deep sigh in response to her greeting. Probably both. She is not exactly feeling up to the damage control and interference she will have to run today amongst various parties of the house. Lord above! This is worse than when the fractious four couldn't see that they were all in love with the wrong bloomin' people…Ruddy children—the lot of 'em! I oughta get a job as an Agony Aunt in Lady Edith's paper is what I ought be doin'!...Not all of this toing and froing between the deaf, blind and elderly.

Finally, the key in the lock can be heard moving about and Mrs Hughes sequesters herself in the shadows of the door that she opens inwards to let Beryl pass into the room.

"Thank you, Mrs Patmore," comes Mrs Hughes somewhat feeble reply as she re-locks the door.

Beryl makes a point of faffing about with the tea things for longer than is truly necessary to ensure that Elsie has enough time to compose herself a little better, but when she finally looks up and catches her glassy shattered eyes, she cannot help herself.

"Oh Elsie,…Deary…Come on, come here…" and she wraps her solid bulky arms around her friend who seems so very waif-like at the moment that she might just crumble and disappear like a piece of paper ash. Elsie sobs quietly into Beryl's shoulder until she slowly and naturally calms to a few sniffles, then Beryl sets her back a little to draw the edge of her apron up and offers it to Elsie to clean her face on. At least the gesture draws a tiny hiccoughing laugh from Elsie in her embarrassment. "Come on, Elsie, come and sit down and try to eat something… Here's some tea for you…"

"You shouldn't have, Beryl…What about all your work?"

"Oh, I think I most certainly should have…Daisy is fine with it...and I might just as easily ask about your schedule for the day, hmm? Although, I can at least reasonably assure you that Mr Barrow will steer clear of any trouble today."

" Hmph…well…likewise, Madge is well underway with all that needs accomplishing today." Elsie pauses to sip her tea, and it's slow trickling burn down her throat is the most heavenly feeling she can recall having these last two days. "Huuugh…" She sighs out long. "But that lad, Archie from the grocer's is skulking about here longer than I would prefer each time he drives up with a delivery. I am afraid she might be yet another housemaid I'll be losing…never to be replaced."

"…Well…there's no accounting for who we love now…is there?"

"Noh," Elsie barely whispers.

"Can you tell me what he wrote? It's not like him to not be here on the day before the family ships out."

"I know…You can read it for yourself if you like…I'm sure it is all just me being a bit silly and overtired, is all," she states disconsolately as she hands over the folded fine parchment.

"Maybe you are...So,…I take it you did speak together about your arrangements last night?" Beryl just has to ask before she unfolds the latest piece in this saga.

"Yes…" Elsie squeaks out, "…and I hurt him quite brutally in the saying of it," she hiccoughs out another sob and a tear drops into her teacup.

"Oh, it can't be all that bad,…surely…what did you tell him?"

"Just that…that…it would be best for me to go to my sister's when I do retire…like you were saying…really—t-to b-be…with th-those I love…m-most."

"Oh…well…I…phewff…" Beryl breathes out, not entirely sure what to say, but understanding much better why a man like Charles Carson would seek some distance and privacy if his pride has been wounded thus. She reads the short note in the hopes that she might better navigate these choppy seas of someone else's love life. Agony Aunt—My hat!

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Be not alarmed, Mrs Hughes, on receiving this letter and apprehending my sudden absence from The Abbey on a day as busy as today will be, that I write with any intention of paining you. Suffice to say, the views you expressed to me last night have been clearly understood and I accept your desires for your retirement years to be spent only with those you love best and who love you in return with equal measure. Know that my own fondest desire for you is that you will always feel protected and content. And my only wish is to be able to continue to enjoy the steadiness of your very dear friendship in the time that we have left together.

I am afraid that some urgent business has arisen that I can only attend to in person in York today. As you would be aware, by the time you receive this letter, Mr Bates also has urgent business to attend to at Mr Murray's offices. I feel it important that I accompany him to offer any support that I can, given that I am also headed into the city. I can assure you that Mr Barrow will be far too busy today to cause any excess grief to you or the understaff, and that he will have everything well in hand ready for his trip away with the family tomorrow.

I aim to return from York on the twilight train and as ever, I look forward to sharing dinner with you in the evening.

I only add, God bless you.

CEC

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Oh, sweet Lord above! If even she is too darned obtuse to read between these clear lines, maybe she deserves to ruddy well suffer for a bit! Mrs Patmore rants internally.

"Well? …You see?" Elsie chokes out.

"Yes…I actually do see, Elsie…blind old bat that I am…Oh, Deearr-y…"she sighes out long, "…Just…find your space today…I'll run what interference I can…Miss Baxter is not one to tattle if you spend the day quietly with her finalising Lady Grantham's and the young Lady's packing…I am sure all of this is going to start looking better by the evening…" Elsie just looks up from her wringing hands and peers uncertainly into Beryl's eyes as she chews at her bottom lip—looking for all the world like a forlorn 13-year-old lass whose first schoolyard crush has left town for good. "Look," Beryl states firmly, "I've said it before—as stubborn a stickler for his own way and the blessed rules as he is—that he's a good and honest man, Charles Carson...and he always comes around in the end…he is your friend, Elsie...don't lose that…and he is worried for you…Just…just trust him a little,...Hmm?"

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