Soliciting Lady Mary's Assistance

Lady Mary was sceptical. This sounded like a fool's errand to her. If anyone else had proposed it to her she would have sent them packing with a sharp rebuke and a reminder that she had better things to do. And she did have a lot on her plate now that she had assumed the duties of estate manager. She'd thought she'd developed some understanding of the responsibilities that came with running Downton in her apprenticeship with Tom Branson. But watching him do it and doing it herself were entirely different propositions. She hardly had a moment to herself anymore.

But Mrs. Carson presented Lady Mary Crawley with an unfamiliar scenario. They had coexisted in the same great house for almost all of Lady Mary's life, but for all that, their courses did not intersect that much. Their relationship, when they did meet, had always been reserved and rather informally formal. There was no personal element to it and this had satisfied them both. Lady Mary was aware of a faint sense of disapproval toward her on the housekeeper's part, but this was not of any concern. One didn't like everyone. Lady Mary had enough admirers.

This formal neutrality had changed at Christmas with the news that Carson and Mrs. Hughes (as she was before marriage) were engaged. Lady Mary might be indifferent to the housekeeper but she had decidedly warm feelings for Downton's butler, who had presided over the place since before she was born. The announcement had moved Lady Mary to examine her feelings for Carson more seriously than she had ever done - having fallen into the habit of taking him shamelessly for granted - and had come to the conclusion that he was one of the more important people in her life. He stood on the cusp of immediate family, and in her private thoughts she knew that she loved him more than she did her sister Lady Edith, however impolitic it might be to say that aloud. Having come to that revelation, she realized that she should at least revise her approach, and perhaps her feelings as well, where Mrs. Hughes was concerned. If Carson loved her, then she, Mary, ought to make an effort, whether it was reciprocated or not. She owed this to Carson. Opportunities to exercise this particular reorientation were, however, few and far between - she still had little to do with the direct operations of the house and, therefore,little need of conversation with the housekeeper - but now one had appeared. Reining in her dubiousness, Lady Mary tried for a neutral response.

"What do you hope to achieve by tracking Mr. Green's movements, Mrs. Hugh...? I mean, Mrs. Carson. Excuse me. I ought to have it right by now."

Mrs. Carson was not distressed. "I still wonder who they're talking to when I hear someone calling Mrs. Carson, my lady," she said.

She had debated asking Charlie to make this request, knowing that Lady Mary would probably tolerate nonsense from him more easily. But then she decided that as this was her idea, she ought to sell it herself. And over the past few months she'd noticed a slight shift in the way Lady Mary dealt with her. She put it down to the fact that she was now Mrs. Carson and that it was a reflection of Lady Mary's affection Mr. Carson, but she was still testing that hypothesis at every opportunity. As to Lady Mary's question, she decided to be frank.

"I don't know that it will mean anything at all, my lady. Only I think Anna's growing more despondent by the day and I thought to do something to address that. She's convinced Scotland Yard hasn't given up on her and that Inspector Viner is lurking behind the bicycle sheds, biding his time before arresting her again. I don't know how much longer she can take that kind of strain."

Although the housekeeper had not made a convincing argument for the specific task she had raised, Lady Mary found this speech compelling. She, too, had noticed Anna's decline and silently agonized over how to ameliorate it. Nothing had occurred to her, although clearly something had to Mrs. Carson. "What exactly is it you're trying to do, Mrs. ... Carson?"

As silly as it sounded, she was in it now, so what did a more complete explanation matter? "I thought to review what evidence of ... Mr. Green's movements and other incidences of his attacks that I could put together, and just see if anything suggested itself to me, my lady. I won't really know if there's anything to find until I find it."

Lady Mary nodded. "I see. Well, I agree with you about Anna anyway. She is in a bad way. And I've not been much impressed with Scotland Yard in this matter either, although I don't know that I expect Anna to be arrested again."

"Well, she's convinced of it, my lady, and just the ... the ongoing irresolution of the affair is a burden. And while it's hardly a good reason to pursue this, I wouldn't mind seeing Mr. Viner taken down a peg or two, either. He may not be waiting to pounce on Anna, as she fears, but he was a highly disagreeable man who thinks far too much of himself." Mrs. Carson could not keep the edge of her dislike for the man out of her voice. He had treated her rudely and with condescension, and she did not take that from anyone.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mrs. Carson." Lady Mary was increasingly a creature of the modern world where the fact that she was an earl's daughter and co-owner of a large, working estate did not seem to have the social deference purchase it once did and she accepted that. But Mr. Viner had crossed the line, addressing her in the first instance as "miss," then dismissing her determination to secure Anna legal advice, and, finally, contemptuously shrugging off her indignation with that sarcastic rejoinder, I don't care if you're the Queen of the Upper Nile. This was not something Lady Mary Crawley was going to forget any time soon. "I, too, should be happy to see that fellow with egg on his face."

That decided it, then. Lady Mary remained sceptical of the possible results of Mrs. Carson's inquiries, but could not object to her undertaking them. Anna was the prime consideration here. The satisfaction at seeing Mr. Viner put down would only be icing on the cake. And, really, Mrs. Carson was not asking much. "I will telephone Lord Gillingham tonight and see how I may further your agenda. Do I take it that you are doing this without Anna's knowledge?"

A look of relief passed over Mrs. Carson's face. "That's right, my lady. Thank you for bringing that up. As we are unlikely to have any success, I don't want in any way to raise her hopes. And thank you for your cooperation, my lady." It was true that Mrs. Carson had never been fond of Lady Mary, and had made more than a few deprecatory remarks about her over the years, always to the horror of Mr. Carson - sometimes to evoke the horror of Mr. Carson - but in this moment her gratitude was sincere.

Lady Mary nodded. "We both want the same thing for Anna, Mrs. Carson." She said the name deliberately this time, glad to have gotten it right. "If there's anything else I can do to ... further your investigations ... please ask." She didn't smile as she said this. However far-fetched the particular idea, the object was one she heartily endorsed.

"Thank you, my lady." Mrs. Carson left the room, much relieved at Lady Mary's positive reception and cooperation. She was a very busy woman these days and this had been a frivolous request, not that it would take much of her time. It seemed, though, that Lady Mary was concerned about Anna and as willing to grasp at straws as Mrs. Carson was to relieve her. And apparently they also shared an antagonism toward Inspector Viner. "Well!," Mrs. Carson declared to herself. "Two more things in common."

Preparing for an Evening Out

And that is how things sat until the following Tuesday, after the family had left for their dinner at the Trevelyans, when Mr. and Mrs. Carson withdrew to their rooms to discuss the evening's strategy. He was resigned to performing his role in the drama, but she was a little discouraged.

"It won't make much difference if we don't have all the parts of the puzzle," she said, a little sullenly. "I've not heard a thing from Lady Mary."

"You're already working on a puzzle for which you've not got most of the pieces," he reminded her. "Missing one more isn't going to make that much difference." That was only the reality of this quixotic quest.

"Really," she said drily.

"And give Lady Mary a chance. It's only been four days."

She looked over at him, not at all surprised by his reflexive rationalization in Lady Mary's favour. She would never understand why he loved Lady Mary so much, although she was thoroughly aware of the reality of that affection and accepted it without question.

He took her silent stare as a further challenge to Lady Mary's reliability. "Perhaps Lord Gillingham is proving uncooperative," he suggested, in a tone which conveyed his distinct lack of enthusiasm for that gentleman. Hadn't he been relieved when Lady Mary had given up on that one! He was drawn from his relief by an awareness that she was staring at him with that guarded look on her face. "What is it?" he asked, a little uneasily.

"I hope you defend me as vigorously as you do her," she said casually.

He frowned, opened his mouth to take issue with her on that, and then, remembering that they were alone together in their private quarters, moved over to her. He slipped his arms around her and smiled down at her. "You never do anything that needs defending, love," he replied softly.

"You're a bit of a charmer, Charlie Carson," she said, sliding her hand across the side of his face and into his hair. "When no one's looking, of course," she added.

He sighed. That battle was only going to end when they left Downton. Or he gave in. Some days he thought he should. "What are we doing up here, then?" he asked, bringing them back to the problem at hand. "Or have I been reprieved from my dull assignment in favour of more...enticing options?"

She laughed aloud and pushed him away a little. "No such luck, Charlie. I brought you up here so you can change your clothes. I thought you might wear your grey suit."

They were not in agreement on this, a situation he usually tried to avoid. "His Lordship and the family may be out for the evening, Elsie, but I am still on duty. And besides, I thought it was the point that I should impress Sergeant Willis with the authority of Downton Abbey. How am I to do that in an ordinary grey suit?"

"Well, you don't want to be seen having a drink in a pub in your formal butler garb, do you? Won't that lower the prestige of the house?" She could play that game at least as well as he could. "And he'll be thrilled just to be in your company. You won't need your white tie to impress him. Everybody in town knows who you are, no matter what you're wearing."

He gave up. He gave up a lot in disputes with her. Sometimes he thought she took advantage of his commitment to her happiness. Or perhaps he was just realizing that a lot of things weren't worth fighting for. Or perhaps she was just right about everything. He changed his clothes.

She adjusted his collar for him and folded a clean handkerchief for his breast pocket. "There now. You are a handsome man, Charlie."

"Yes," he said, "and someday that might get me somewhere with the ladies, so I don't have to spend my free evening in a pub drinking ale with a policeman."

Clearly he was not enthusiastic about this evening, but his wife had an answer to that, too. "Why do you think I came upstairs with you, when I know you're capable of changing your clothes by yourself?"

He looked puzzled, and then surprised. And then she was kissing him and he was wishing he did not have to waste this precious time with Sergeant Willis.

Sgt. Willis's Contribution

"This is a pleasant diversion, Mr. Carson." Sergeant Willis, in civilian dress, raised his glass of ale in salute to his host and drank deeply. He cast his eyes about the pub, trying to look casual, but hoping the other denizens of this smoky refuge glimpsed him sharing a pint with the regal butler of Downton Abbey. Sergeant Willis did not usually socialize with anyone from the Abbey and doing so, especially with the butler, would surely raise his stock in the village.

Mr. Carson was not similarly moved. There were reasons why he did not fraternize with the local constable. The default position on this fact was that they did not occupy the same social stratum. While it was a step up for the policeman to be seen with the butler of Downton Abbey, it was several steps down for the butler of Downton Abbey to be entertaining the local bobby. No doubt Elsie - he always thought of her by her first name, though he actually used it only on the appropriate occasions - would say that he was being a snob. But it was not being a snob to know and observe one's appointed place in the social order. Or, at least - that being the definition of snobbery - there was nothing wrong in doing so. He was more willing to risk his social status, however, than to surrender precious hours with his wife, and it was his resentment at that, rather than any concern over the social implications of this appointment, that occupied his mind and shaped his assessment of the situation before him.

It was necessary to put the man at ease and woo him into easy compliance. A pint of ale, or perhaps two, would establish a foundation. But some sort of camaraderie had to follow that in order to encourage confidences. Mr. Carson might not have the interrogation facilities of a fictional Belgian detective, or an eccentric English sleuth in a deerstalker hat, but he had managed dozens of servants over the years and he knew a thing about extracting information.

And so they talked about cricket which, fortunately, Mr. Carson had an abiding interest in to rival, if not quite surpass that of Sergeant Willis. He endured a great deal of unfounded and ill-considered ribbing about the annual match between the house and the village, and the rather one-sided record of victories on the part of the latter. Mr. Carson had never seen the sergeant take up a bat or ball and thus wondered at the legitimacy of his pride in the village team. But it was not the moment to set the man down on that.

They discussed politics, local, of course. The sergeant knew who the Prime Minister was and what party he represented, but that was the limit of that topic. It was just as well. Mr. Carson was extremely well informed about the local scene and was able to impart a few juicy tidbits as a sort of quid pro quo for the names he was hoping to secure from the other man.

And that quickly degenerated into a general exchange in matters of local gossip. The sergeant was very well informed here and Mr. Carson picked up a number of stories he would enjoy imparting to Mrs. Carson.

And - there was no avoiding it - Sergeant Willis wanted to talk about the wedding. Mr. Carson was not at all comfortable with this. The sergeant was a bachelor who found the fact of the butler and the housekeeper of Downton Abbey wedding at their ages an inspiration. Mr. Carson did not want to be that kind of inspiration. And he found some comments impudent and vulgar, for all their bland nature. And then there was the matter of its social novelty - apparently even the local constabulary knew that it was not common practice for household servants to marry. When the sergeant started to talk about the flowers and how lovely the Crawley daughters had looked, Mr. Carson ran out of patience.

"I've been wondering, Sergeant, about the case of Mr. Green and if there had been any progress in it of late."

The sergeant seemed a little caught off guard by this reversion to official business. "Oh, well, no. I've not heard a thing from Inspector Viner in months, to tell the truth, Mr. Carson. It's in his hands, now, anyway, not mine. I'm...," he chuckled a little, "back to the usual dull pursuits of village life. A drunk and disorderly every once in a while, mischief by the local lads, dispute over a leg of lamb. That's actually quite a funny story," he added, perking up at the prospect of relating an amusing anecdote.

Mr. Carson did not want to hear any anecdotes involving cuts of meat. He held up a hand to forestall the story. "If you wouldn't mind, Sergeant, could we just go back to the Green ... case, again for a moment. It's only that when Inspector Viner was down here last autumn, he said that the fellow in question had assaulted a number of young women."

It didn't please Sergeant Willis to have such a good tale derailed, but he was eager to please Mr. Carson. "Yes, that's right. A nasty piece of work, if you ask me."

"Yes," Mr. Carson said hastily. "Were they...women from nearby? Or did Mr. Green wander the English countryside looking for victims?"

The sergeant had to give this a little thought. "Well, there were only five others and..." He caught himself. "Not that five isn't a terrible lot of victims for such a heinous act. But there were just the five of them and they were from all over, really. One down near Oxford, one..."

"A Miss...?" Mr. Carson prompted.

But the Sergeant stopped abruptly. "Oh, I don't know that I can part with that information, Mr. Carson. Privileged, you see. A confidential matter between the victims and the police."

Mr. Carson gave a deep nod of understanding. "Of course, Sergeant Willis. Naturally I have the greatest respect for the confidentiality of this matter and for your dedication to professionalism." Willis looked relieved. "If only...," Mr. Carson went on, "it was a matter that pertained exclusively to your own jurisdiction. But you know, of course," he included the sergeant in a slightly more exclusive circle of awareness, leaning forward as he did so to convey a certain intimacy of knowledge, "that this is a matter that gravely concerns the family up at the Abbey." Mr. Carson hoped that this rather large generalization could be justified on the basis of Lady Mary's interest. "It isn't just a matter of Mrs. Bates's trials, if you will forgive my use of the term, but rather that we sheltered the man who perpetrated these violations. It is of some significance, then, to know the extent and...specifics of his crimes that perhaps...additional justice may be secured for these unfortunate women, beyond merely the satisfaction of knowing that the perpetrator is no more."

Mr. Carson wasn't certain that he followed his own logic, but Sergeant Willis seemed to be somewhat awed by this convoluted statement, whatever he might have made of it. This prompted Mr. Carson to press his advantage. "And so you were saying, Miss...?"

And once he had the names, carefully taken down and checked twice for accuracy, in his pocket, Mr. Carson's impatience returned. He'd given the man a fair exchange, more than an hour of his valuable company, some choice village and house gossip, and a second pint of ale in the bargain. Could he not now excuse himself and return to the Abbey for what he hoped would be a pleasant evening in his private quarters, where he might be Charlie Carson, husband? But how to extract himself without offending the sergeant!

Sergeant Willis returned to the wedding, curious about the fact that Lord Grantham had stood as best man. This was, apparently, a subject of much discussion in the village and had added greatly to Mr. Carson's prestige. Sunk in a bit of woe over the hopelessness of his predicament, he was startled by the sergeant's abrupt shift in topic.

"Well, and here's your lovely bride, now, Mr. Carson. Her ears must have been ringing."

It was too much to say that he had never been so happy to see her in his life, but his relief was palpable. It was indeed his Elsie, wending her way among the tables, out of uniform as he was, she in that cornflower blue dress she'd bought in London on their wedding trip. He was surprised to see her, but in the moment he lost himself in the beauty of the picture she presented.

The two men scrambled to their feet and as Elsie and the sergeant exchange pleasantries, she cast a casual glance at her husband and raised her eyes in a silent question. He nodded. Her smile broadened.

"I hope you'll excuse me for intruding on your evening, Sergeant Willis, but I've only just secured the evening off and was hoping I could entice my husband into a meal out. We don't get that opportunity too often, you know."

Sergeant Willis was all politeness, his awareness both of the strictures of their social lives at the Abbey and of their fairly recent marriage both good reasons to accept the interruption with good grace. He urged Mr. Carson to join his wife and took his own glass to the bar to finish it off in the company of the pub keeper. He was well satisfied with his evening, though he would have enjoyed a longer gossip with Downton Abbey's butler. Mr. Carson was a fountain of information and Sergeant Willis had enjoyed the confidences.

Dinner and ...

They moved to a table by the window, placed their orders for Cornish pasties with extra mashed on the side - neither of them being daring in their choices of food - and sat for a moment in quiet contemplation of that most appealing of luxuries, time together.

"Happy to see me?" she asked pertly, as if she didn't know he was grateful on two counts, for the pleasure of seeing her and seeing the back of Sergeant Willis.

"Am I!" he said, rolling his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, what else?" she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I figured you'd have worked your magic within a hour and why lose more of the evening together when we didn't have to. So you were successful?" She already knew this, but verbal confirmation would set her mind to rest.

"Yes," he said, putting his hand into his coat pocket. "Would you like to see the list?"

"No," she said airily. "It's enough that you've got it. We won't solve the mystery tonight."

He was pleased by this. So they wouldn't have to discuss that disagreeable matter. "Was it your plan all along to meet me here tonight, Elsie?"

Here in this setting away from the Abbey, her name rolled off his tongue with a practiced ease. It was as if they were just a regular couple. "I certainly did, Charlie. Why do you think I insisted on your grey suit? I'm quite fond of the butler of Downton Abbey, but it's nice to get away from him once in a while."

He frowned in mock sternness."Do you mean to tell me, Elsie Carson, that you imperiled the integrity of my mission for your own selfish interests?"

"I did." And she didn't look sorry about it at all.

"That hardly seems like an approach M. Hercules Poirot would endorse," he said, giving the name of Christie's Belgian detective a serious effort at proper French pronunciation.

Elsie frowned. "I agree. He strikes me as a rather ruthless little man. I wonder that she chose a foreigner as her hero. You'd think a woman would write about a woman, an English woman, perhaps from a picturesque little village like ours." She shook her head. "But anyway, you got the information and we're here now, enjoying a meal together as Mr. and Mrs. Charlie Carson, away from Downton Abbey for a change. And it's nice to be out on our own." And to hear him use her name when there were other people around to hear it.

"It is." And he reached across the table for her hand. "I've been remiss, love. I haven't told you yet how beautiful you are, even though I could hardly think for drowning in your beauty when I saw you crossing the floor."

As was always the case when he allowed himself to think of his love for her, his eyes became deep wells of swirling emotion that unsteadied her with their depths. He spoke of drowning when he looked at her, but she felt her legs sweeping from under her as she contemplated those powerful currents. She hoped he knew that she loved him that much in return, even though she did not have the capacity to express the feeling anywhere near as eloquently.

"I thought we might have a bite to eat," she began casually, "and then take a leisurely walk back to the Abbey and ... perhaps retire early for the night. And..." She smiled at him.

"And...," he echoed, tightening his grip on her hand. "Yes," he said, his smouldering gaze giving her a warm feeling even as it sent a pleasant chill up her spine. "I'd like that."