Chapter 16 Reflections
Elsie and Charlie
The extraordinary events of the day and their aftermath prompted an extraordinary dénouement. His Lordship insisted that Barrow and the Carsons leave off their duties for the evening to recover - if recovery was the word for it - from their several ordeals. Dinner was scaled back. The footmen were left in charge of the dining room and family and guests alike trimmed their expectations to more modest dimensions.
Such arrangements did not still tongues. Upstairs spoke of nothing else through the meal. The men had their part in the tale to tell and the women - save for Lady Mary, who knew more than most - wanted to hear it all. The atmosphere downstairs was no less intense and appetite for the excitement as great, but largely disappointed. The footmen could - and did - relate their own experiences. But the story everywhere was incomplete as the principal players were absent. Barrow quickly withdrew to the seclusion of his room, at his own request, declining the meal Mrs. Patmore offered to bring up to him. The Carsons, adhering to His Lordship's suggestion, retired to their cottage. They would all meet again on the morrow in the library of Downton Abbey with Inspector Viner in attendance for the final reckoning.
Andy escorted the Carsons home, carrying the basket of supper Mrs. Patmore had hastily put together for them. She had given them a look of longing as she passed it over, almost bursting with unrequited curiosity about the events at the top of the house. Well, like the others, she would have to wait. Andy saw them settled and left them to it, his own interest in what had transpired that day muted by the shocking scene he had witnessed at the roof's edge.
For a moment, Elsie and Charlie only looked at each other as they stood there together in their kitchen.
"You look like you've been in the wars," he murmured, his eyes mapping the bruises from Edna's blows that were already appearing on her face.
She gave him a tired smile. "You don't look so well yourself."
He limped forward, his side aching from the blow Edna had struck him with that iron bar, and enveloped her in his arms. He'd given her an attenuated version of what had happened on the roof and she'd gleaned more from the fragments issuing from the other men and understood the horror of that scenario. They neither of them wanted to discuss it in detail. His Lordship's advice to wait a day had been sound.
"At least Master George was unharmed," Elsie said quietly in his ear. "Oh, she was indignant, Edna was, at even a suggestion otherwise. What do you think I am? she says, bold as brass. Lady Mary and I exchanged a look at that!"
Such was the gravity of the circumstances that Charlie didn't notice this unheard-of alignment of his two favourite women. "When I saw the body ..." His voice broke a little on this and Elsie put a hand to his face in comfort. He cleared his throat. "When I saw the crumpled clothing, stuffed with rags, that she had thrown off the roof to stir Mr. Barrow ... I thought it was him. Master George. Only for a few seconds, maybe for only an instant, but even then my heart..."
Elsie pressed her cheek to his and just held him. She was fond of Master George and anyone would be appalled at the death of a child, but for her Charlie there was the additional layer arising from his love of Lady Mary.
He leaned into the soothing warmth of his wife, his eyes tightly closed against that nightmare moment. "Then Andrew identified it for what it was and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Barrow and I ..." Craning their necks to see over the roof rim that they dared not approach too closely, he and Barrow had turned to each other in relief, grasping hand and arm as though offering congratulations on a well-won victory. Their affections for the child of another had given them a bond that nothing else could. "The relief on His Lordship's face," he went on. "Andrew, he added, "turned away and vomited. Heights and tension."
"I don't blame him." Elsie snuggled against her husband's broad chest and then felt a twinge at the pressure on her tender face. Her gaze fell on the basket on the table. "I don't think I could eat a thing." Whatever other impulses she had in this moment, hunger was not among them.
His shoulders rose and fell. "Me either."
She pulled away a little and looked up at him. He'd washed his face in the servants' hall lavatory, but hadn't made a good job of it. The stone dust from the construction site on the roof still streaked his face and clothing. He and Mr. Barrow had had the worst of it, although all the men descending from the roof had had the look of workmen who had been hard at it. She herself was more untidy than she'd ever been in public, her hair still awry, her dress rumpled, despite her best efforts to smooth them both down.
"I know it's early," she began, "but...I'd just like to go up to bed."
Such a wave of relief passed over him that he had no need to confirm her suggestion in words. Arm and arm they went upstairs.
And yet for all the trauma of the day, both physical and emotional, they embarked on their usual routines, washing up, discarding clothes in an orderly fashion, slipping on their nightclothes. It took Charlie longer than usual. He had few opportunities to deal with real grime and had to scrub hard to come properly clean. It was too early for sleep, so he didn't draw the curtains as he usually did and they got into bed together with the waning light of early evening glinting in at them. Immediately they reached for each other, physical closeness calming and comforting.
"I did ask Mr. Barrow did he really want to be alone after that harrowing experience." Charlie had never thought to raise that name while curled up with his wife in their bed, but the events of the day would not shut themselves out.
"And what would you have suggested if he'd wanted company?" Elsie teased him. Only that morning - it seemed so long ago now - he couldn't put his night in Mr. Barrow's room behind him fast enough. She didn't wait for his reaction to her words. "I asked Miss Baxter to look in on him, whatever he says. Dr. Clarkson may have given him something. I hope he did."
The first call from the house when they'd all descended to the Great Hall was to the constable, Sergeant Willis. The next had been to the doctor. Although Barrow and the Carsons were on their feet and Lady Mary seemed no more worse for wear than a few bruised knuckles, His Lordship had not thought twice about summoning Dr. Clarkson. He'd been less certain about what to do with Edna Braithwaite in the meantime. Lord Sinderby, who had taken charge of her, retained his firm grip, but it was still very awkward. And all was in disarray anyway until Lady Mary appeared from the servants' staircase with Master George in her arms. There was a moment of tension all around with Barrow, Braithwaite, and George in the same room. But with the peerless innocence only children possess, the boy filtered the gazes of the many faces around him and focused on the one of his errant playmate.
"You never came to find me!" he accused Edna Braithwaite.
It was the least of her crimes, but Master George's pique with her elicited a few wry smiles. And then he'd spotted his favourite. "Mr. Barrow!" Lady Mary relaxed her hold and her son leapt from her arms, running straight into Barrow's stiffly extended embrace. The only dry eye in the Great Hall at that point belonged to the author of all the turmoil. Edna had looked away in disgust.
"I think Master George brought him well along," Charlie said with the air of one who knew. "There's hardly anything as rejuvenating as the love of a child." He sighed.
"Except for the love of your spouse," Elsie said tartly.
"I was just about to say that," he responded quickly, and she could feel the smile on his lips against her ear.
"At least, at least we accomplished what we'd set out to do," Elsie said, after a while, her voice firm with these words. "Mr. Barrow wrung the truth from her about ... the valet. And you caught her in the act of ..."
"Attempted murder." He shuddered as he spoke the words. The charge had meant little more than an advancement of plot when his eyes passed over the words in a detective novel. Even Mr. Barrow's account of what occurred on the train platform had not quite struck home as brutally as witnessing the real thing. How chilling it was to have caught a murderer in the act. "I though the Bateses might have been more pleased by the news," he said abruptly, trying to focus on what have been achieved, rather than that which had been prevented.
"Shock," Elsie said sympathetically. "And a natural reluctance to believe on Mr. Bates's part. They've had so many ups and downs. And we'd no time to explain."
They'd seen the Bateses only when they'd gone downstairs preparatory to leaving for the day and it was a scene that had precipitated much excitement. Bits of what had happened hung in the air, elicited by an insistent Mrs. Patmore and related largely by Molesley - the centrepiece being Mr. Barrow's death-defying experience on the roof's edge and his dramatic rescue. But no one save the Carsons and Barrow himself knew the whole story. While Barrow, who was unusually if also understandably sombre, drew most of the attention, Mrs. Carson had tried to get the Bateses to one side. The younger couple were showing the strain of the burden of suspicion more than ever, Anna grey and listless, Mr. Bates as taut as a coiled spring.
"It's a long story," she'd told them. She didn't know herself at that point exactly what had transpired on the roof, but the salient fact of Edna's guilt had already been conveyed to her by her husband.
The revelation of these quiet words sank in slowly for Anna, who looked puzzled at first and then incredulous. Mr. Bates glowered, almost as though he thought the housekeeper was playing a bad joke on them. "What?!" he'd demanded.
"She confessed," Charlie told them soberly. "Well, boasted, really, to Mr. Barrow. I heard her as well."
The Bateses could only stare in dumbfounded silence. And then Andy was there, basket in hand, ready to accompany the Carsons to their cottage. Elsie had caught up Anna's hand. "It's true. We'll tell you everything tomorrow." And then they'd left.
Elsie wriggled into a more comfortable position against her husband and he drew his arm more firmly about her.
"I thought I'd have gotten more satisfaction out of seeing Sergeant Willis put handcuffs on Edna before he took her away," she mused, almost drowsily now. Dusk was falling outside. Though it was hours earlier than they usually went to bed, she felt drained. "But all I could think of was what a terrible thing it was that she had taken such a path. She'd never have gotten rich as a lady's maid, but she was a good worker and could had made a nice living for herself. And now she'll hang."
Charlie had no such regretful thoughts about the woman. "She aspired above her station from the very beginning," he said harshly. "And was never above deceit and coercion in her pursuit of that end. And after what she did on the roof ..." He paused and hoped that some day the vivid memory of those harrowing minutes would fade from his consciousness. "I only hope she doesn't escape from the good sergeant," he went on, a little sarcastically. And when Elsie rebuked him with a poke, he added, "We never doubted she was clever. And that can't be said for Sergeant Willis."
Elsie decided not to pursue this. "I'll tell you what will bring me pleasure, though," she said. "Watching that Scotland Yard inspector eat crow."
And in the dimness they both managed a smile at that. Inspector Viner had been relentless in his harassment of Anna and spoken rudely to Elsie more than once. Charlie had no grievances of his own to make against the man, but was proud that his Elsie had been successful where the Scotland Yard man had failed.
"I think you'll have plenty of company there," he said.
Thomas
He was blissfully, thankfully alone. At last.
He hadn't had a moment to himself since his mad dash up the stairs after Daisy told him about Edna Braithwaite and Master George. So much had happened since then. How those simple words had chilled him. She had the boy! Nothing could be worse. And then worse beyond his imagining had followed. He was still numb from the shock of it.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and recoiled. What a state of dishevelment! His livery might not be salvageable, as filthy and torn as it was. His white shirt was white no more and he doubted it ever would be again. The rough roof over which he'd been dragged was unforgiving. And then there were his shoes. To say they were scuffed hardly did justice to their state. In seeking purchase, first on the roof itself and then against the stone wall of the Abbey, they had suffered irreparable damage.
And as he removed and folded his clothing, absently taking his usual care, he realized that the body beneath them had taken a battering, too. Standing there in his underclothes, his limbs bruised and grimy, his face marred by scrapes as well as the dirt he had not washed completely away earlier, he was only grateful to be alive. A few hours ago his continued existence had been a near run thing. Pouring water into the basin on his dressing table, he splashed his face again and again, as though to wash away the frightening memories along with the filth. But it was no good. Still in his underclothes, he moved to the bed and sat down heavily upon it. And in the stillness of his solitude, his mind returned to the rooftop.
He had almost died.
No. It was more than that. He had almost been murdered.
It wasn't like on the railway platform in Durham. Then it was only after it had happened and he was safe again that he realized it wasn't an accident, that someone ... that she ... had deliberately pushed him. It had been possible to separate the physical terror of the moment from the intentional act. But on the roof these elements were inextricably intertwined. The depths of Edna's cruelty shocked him - taunting him with Master George at the roof's edge, taking delight in his terror as he clung precariously to the Abbey wall, raising the iron bar to strike him, to kill him. He wrapped his arms about himself as though a frigid breeze had swept through the room.
Unsettled by this, he took a deep breath, and then another, and tore his thoughts from that murderous moment and the terror that had followed, focusing instead on his deliverance. If Mr. Carson had not quite rescued him, he had offered reassurance, less in the words of support he spoke than in the mere physical bulk of the man. Somehow the proximity of this big, strong man and his unwavering grip had convinced Thomas that survival was possible. It had made a difference in his ability to hold on until the rescue party pulled him to safety. The relief he had known in the instant when His Lordship had hauled him over Mr. Carson exceeded even that which he'd felt the night in the trenches in 1916 when he had sacrificed his hand for his own salvation. Imagine being glad to set eyes on Lord Sinderby again!
The feeble joke faded before the persistent reality of his ordeal.
Murder. Murderer.
They had all felt a burden lift when it became clear that the bent form on the gravel path was not Master George but a straw child designed to dupe Thomas. Her cruelty again. But it was a brief respite for a different kind of anxiety descended at the still unanswered question: Where was Master George? In other circumstances they would have taken the time to catch their collective breath after such exertions. But the not-knowing gnawed at them all. His Lordship gave Mr. Carson a hand and Andy put his arm about Thomas's shoulders, considerations that were not perhaps necessary but appreciated nevertheless. Lords Sinderby and Edgerton followed them down the stairs, with Molesley last.
And then that scene on the landing - Mrs. Carson wounded, to one side; Edna Braithwaite sprawled on the floor; and a frighteningly fierce Lady Mary astride her, with fist raised. The men stumbled through the door, piling up together at the startling sight before them. And in time to hear Lady Mary say what they all feared: You killed my son! and Edna's gasped response, What do you think I am!
It was not, perhaps, a question that was meant to be answered, but a reply erupted from Thomas all the same. "A murderer!"
They'd all stared at him, even Lady Mary for a second. And then her attention riveted on Edna again and she shook the woman with a ferocity that reflected an elemental fury.
"Who is that?" His Lordship had demanded, even as he gaped at the unprecedented display on his daughter's part.
"My wife's maid!" Lord Edgerton replied, as astonished as His Lordship.
"What the deuce!" Lord Sinderby had left his heroic mold on the roof and was himself again.
"She did it!" The words issued from Thomas's throat without conscious thought on his part. It seemed that he did not have to explain. The men, absent Mr. Carson who went to his wife's side, encircled the two women, like a pack of wolves closing in on the kill.
"My son!" Lady Mary's voice was venomous, and with these words one hand closed about Edna Braithwaite's throat.
"In the wine cellar!" the woman managed to croak.
It was all the distraught mother needed to hear. She leapt from her prey with an agility aided by the fact that her dress had been torn in the struggle and her inhibiting shoes discarded elsewhere. She ran barefoot to the stairs and disappeared.
His Lordship clearly wanted to follow her, but other responsibilities beckoned and a lifetime habit of duty dictated that he attend to them. "Andrew, bring Barrow along. Carson? Mrs. Carson? Can you manage?" Assured that they could, he turned his gaze to Edna Braithwaite and his whole countenance froze over. "And you..."
"I'll take charge of her." Lord Sinderby stepped forward and closed one iron fist about the woman's upper arm. "Come along," he said brusquely. Through the fog of his own heightened feelings,Thomas found this pairing almost gratifying.
Everything was awhirl in the Great Hall where they were joined by the three anxious ladies who had been left behind.
"Braithwaite! What is the meaning of this?" Lady Edgerton was quite as taken aback as her husband had been, and all the more alarmed to see her maid a prisoner of Lord Sinderby.
"Daniel?" Lady Sinderby's eyebrows arched at the sight of her husband playing jailer.
Her Ladyship went swiftly to her own husband's side. "Mary...," she said in an agitated murmur. They consulted in quiet tones and then His Lordship went to the telephone.
The cacophony of voices - primarily of ladies and gentlemen explaining to each other - made Thomas's head spin. The Carsons, he noted vaguely, were standing to one side, he speaking rapidly in quiet tones, no doubt offering explanations of his own as to what had happened on the rooftop. Thomas didn't want to speak to anyone. He could hardly frame a coherent thought until he could be sure ... And then the green baize door had swung open and Lady Mary burst through it with Master George in her arms...alive.
A painful tautness went out of Thomas's shoulders as his eyes fell on the little boy. This was where it had started. Though Edna's dramatics with the decoy on the roof had been shown up for the charade they were, Thomas had believed her capable of killing the child. Only the hard evidence of Master George here and now brought him real relief - and allowed him to smile as the boy took Edna to task.
"You never came to find me!" he'd said crossly.
And then Master George had run to him, and the last vestiges of the terror that had gripped him for hours past dissipated. He'd tightened his arms about the little boy's wriggling frame and tried not to dissolve into a pool of tears at the warmth of the soft cheek on his own scraped one.
Through all of this, Edna had said nothing. She had not spoken since the exchange with Lady Mary. As Master George ran to his grandfather, there to receive as joyous a welcome as Thomas had given him, Thomas turned again to Edna. She came over much diminished standing there. On the roof, wielding that bar in her hands, she had been all-powerful. Now she was subdued, beaten. Without hope.
We will have her. So Mr. Carson had said as they clutched each other on the Abbey roof and so it was.
As if to give substance to that conviction, Sergeant Willis arrived, out of breath although he had hardly run up from the village. And on instruction from His Lordship ... "We have reason to believe...," he'd taken out a pair of handcuffs and relieved Lord Sinderby of his burden. Handcuffs. Thomas had never known the man to carry a billy club, let alone handcuffs. The officer had then made a solemn statement of arrest and earnestly promised His Lordship that he would see her consigned to the jail in York before the hour was out. And then they were gone.
But they were not done yet.
Lady Mary, who had been beaming at her son, turned abruptly to Mr. Carson. "Well?" Her gaze bore into him.
"She admitted it, my lady," Mr. Carson replied. He'd had his own share in the traumas of the afternoon and this came across in the his subdued manner and the way his hands were tightly interwoven with those of his wife. Though Lady Mary had put the question to him, the butler unaccountably turned to Thomas before adding, "We have her." And then his gaze reverted to Lady Mary. "On everything," he said emphatically.
Lady Mary stared for a long moment at Mr. Carson, her dark eyes wide and oddly vulnerable. Perhaps she was still reeling from the shock of finding her son caught up in such alarming events. Possibly she was imagining what this news might mean to Anna and Bates. Whatever it was, it flickered there only for a moment and only for Mr. Carson, and then Lady Mary was herself again and she drew herself up formally and declared to the room at large, "Then we must have Inspector Viner up here immediately."
"What?" More than one voice had cried out at that. Oh, yes, there was much explaining still to be done.
Thomas was certain that Lady Mary would have her way and that the grating Scotland Yard man would shortly have his comeuppance. But he was distracted by Dr. Clarkson who insisted on looking him over and then, in their turn, the Carsons. He gave Lady Mary only a wry smile before pronouncing them all sound, but in need of rest and calm Heeding that recommendation His Lordship had dismissed the three senior servants from their duties and bid them all get a good night's sleep before the final act of the drama, the much-anticipated exposition of all the details before Inspector Viner in the morning.
Then the three of them had gone down to the servants' hall, with Andy hovering at Thomas's side and Molesley at their heels. There another chaotic scene erupted with Mrs. Patmore and Daisy clamouring to know what was going on and the Bateses and Miss Baxter completely bewildered. There were questions aplenty and the footmen, at least, prepared to oblige with answers.
For once, Thomas had been glad of Mr. Carson's repressive authority. It shielded Thomas more than anyone. He brushed Andy off, grateful for his solicitude but wanting to be alone. Assuring Mr. Carson that yes, he meant just that, he pulled away from the knot gathered around him in the kitchen and made his way upstairs once more, suppressing an involuntary tremor as he crossed the landing to the door of the men's dormitory.
And now here he sat in the quiet with his mind anything but quiet, and no means to make it so. He wished he'd taken the sedative Dr. Clarkson had offered him.
A knock at the door startled him. He'd not even heard the tread of steps in the passage and this shocked him, until he remembered that Edna was in jail now and no one would be creeping up on him tonight. Downton was once more the placid haven it had almost always been.
"Thomas?"
It was Miss Baxter. Thomas was not surprised. She had always been considerate of him. And though he had deliberately taken himself away from the others, he found that he was not unhappy to hear her voice. Hastily he pulled on his trousers and then crossed the floor to open the door.
She was carrying an unopened bottle of fine whisky - he saw that at a glance - and it surprised him.
"Compliments of Lady Mary," she said. "She thought you might need it."
"Thank you," he said, exhaling heavily, though he hadn't known he'd been holding his breath. "Thank her. I wouldn't mind a drink."
She carried it to the bed-side table and cracked it open. It gave her a little trouble, but Thomas did not intercede. Instead, he sat on his bed again and just waited. It gave him a pleasant feeling to be cosseted in this way. It was nice.
She poured him a tumbler full and this made him smile. Apparently Miss Baxter was not familiar with how whisky was served. Or maybe she thought he needed it. Either way, he didn't object. It surprised him that his hands did not tremble as he took it from her. Inside his nerves were all still jangling. Miss Baxter had seen him at his worst and then some, but he never liked to display his vulnerability.
The whisky burned through him, infusing him with warmth. It was no joke to say that it served a medicinal purpose. He closed his eyes and let it work its magic.
"I can stay. If you like."
He opened his eyes again and studied her a bit. There was that familiar quivering in her voice, its natural cadence. But beneath that was an unfamiliar firmness. She spoke as though this was not so much a suggestion as a statement.
He didn't like being told what to do, not usually. But she wasn't really doing that. It was only that she was concerned. And wasn't there reason to be, after the day he'd had? And he thought perhaps that the presence of another person - no, not just any person, but this person, this kind and benign woman who'd never done him a bad turn - might not be such a bad thing. For once it was easier to agree.
"For a little while," he said, almost diffidently. He took another sip of the whisky and it seemed to him that the maelstrom in his mind calmed just a little.
