The Mystery of Life
Chapter 2 After the Wedding, Part 2
Dr. Clarkson
Dr. Clarkson was next in line though it did not seem that he realized it. To Elsie's sharp eyes, he seemed distracted, not quite looking over his shoulder but coming across as though he wanted to. Elsie found herself looking for him, though she saw only the maids, all grouped together in solidarity perhaps at the novelty of such a celebration and the faint air of egalitarianism that pervaded the hall. No, she didn't see anything that might discomfort the doctor.
He extended a hand almost unthinkingly to Charlie and then seemed to come to his senses. "Carson, my warmest congratulations."
"Thank you, Dr."
"And Mrs. Carson." He did not skip a beat with her name. Her new name. Dr. Clarkson's skill in social interactions was fundamental to his success in the Downton community. The family might err in the full knowledge that no one would call them on it. Dr. Clarkson did not err because he knew how much the small things meant to the individual and he took every opportunity to put others at their ease. "If I may take the liberty," Dr. Clarkson went on, glancing briefly at the groom, as though to ask his permission, before gazing once more on the bride, "you look very lovely, indeed. A perfect bride."
"Thank you, Dr.," Elsie replied, unable to quell a blush. Of course, things were all topsy turvy today in terms of social conventions, which was only how she wanted it. But this divergence into the personal from the invariably socially correct doctor did give her a bit of a turn, though a pleasant one. And it emboldened her. "I hope you've brought your dancing shoes, Dr. Clarkson. There will be reeling later."
His eyes lit up. "Will there!"
"Yes, and we Scots must show our starchy English friends how it's done."
He smiled. "You may count on me, Mrs. Carson."
"He looks like a man with something on his mind," Elsie said, her eyes following him as he walked away. "I hope he takes the opportunity to enjoy himself." She turned to find her husband frowning. "What is it?"
"It's our wedding day," he said, "and there you are planning to dance with another man." His tone was light. He was teasing her.
But she was up to the challenge. "And are you going to join in the reeling, then, Mr. Carson?" Charlie. She stared at him pertly.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again and shook his head. "No," he admitted. Defeat.
"No. But you should watch carefully. You might learn something." She was teasing him now.
He smiled back at her. "I won't let you out of my sight."
Spratt and Denker
They had a few seconds to breathe and Charlie, looking to the next in line, leaned close to his wife and murmured, "Why are they here?"
She looked past him to see Septimus Spratt and Gladys Denker, the Dowager's butler and maid respectively, heading their way. Mr. Spratt was doing his best to pretend that the lady's maid did not exist, yet she was stuck to him like a burr.
Elsie frowned a little at her husband. "We couldn't not invite them."
"Why not?" He sounded perfectly serious.
"They're the Dowager's staff," she said, though he knew this quite well. "She'd have been offended if we hadn't."
He straightened up again. "I'd have risked it," he muttered. He took a deep breath and affected a façade of hospitality as he accepted their good wishes, the warmth of which he believed as empty of sincerity as his own response.
Mrs. Crawley
Isobel Crawley approached the bride and groom exuding the effervescence that was one of her more notable characteristics. She was just a little too vivacious for Charlie's taste, though he liked the woman well enough.
Elsie had no reservations about her. Mrs. Crawley was a strong and compassionate woman who used her ample leisure time for the benefit of others. And she had weathered the greatest storm a parent might face in the loss of her only child with grace and a determination not to be defeated by it. Elsie admired her. It was precisely that kind of internal equanimity and external self-reliance that made Charlie uneasy in the woman's presence.
"Carson! Congratulations!"
He could hear the exclamation points in her declarations.
"This is nothing short of a revolutionary departure on your part," she went on, wholly unaware of how jarring this sound to Carson. "I'm glad you've taken the plunge! Bravo! And Mrs. Hughes! Oh, goodness, Mrs. Carson!" She laughed at her own error. "Well, that will be a bit of a challenge for us all, won't it?
"Do you think she does it on purpose?" Charlie murmured to Elsie as Mrs. Crawley flung herself into the crowd.
"What do you mean?"
"Revolutionary," he said with some distaste. "Does she not realize that anything revolutionary is anathema to me? And … marriage? It is perhaps the least revolutionary institution in existence."
Elsie just shook her head.
Thomas and Andy
Thomas wanted to take Mrs. Carson at her word and let go for once, enjoy himself. But as he looked around the hall and saw no one with whom he could share a joke or even casually pass the time of day, what he felt was a sudden, acute understanding of that phrase about being lonely in a crowd.
"Lovely party, Mr. Barrow." Andy appeared out of nowhere at his elbow, a flute of champagne in his hand, his eyes round with wonder. "Doubt I'll ever see the likes of this."
"There's no doubting about it," Thomas said.
Andy didn't notice Thomas's tone. His eyes were on the bride and groom. "This is it, isn't it?" he went on. "The rewards of lives devoted to service. The acceptance of their marriage. His Lordship as best man. This party. And a restful week away." Andy sighed. "Cor, but it would be nice to have a relaxing week by the sea with nothing to do but walk on a beach. I'd like to go to a beach," he added wistfully
Thomas stared at Andy, bemused by his words. "I don't think they'll be spending much time on the beach," he said laconically. "I doubt they'll ever get out of their room."
Andy frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Thomas gave him a meaningful look. "It's their honeymoon, you berk. Mr. Carson's got fifty years to catch up on."
A look of mingled shock and disbelief swept Andy's countenance. "What…? Do you ….?" His gaze darted to the Carsons and then back to Thomas. "Noooo."
That this was Andy's response amused Thomas a little, but mostly it made him feel … middle-aged. He had enough mental self-discipline to steer clear of thoughts of how the next week in Scarborough might unfold, but he was certain of the direction it would take. Loathe as he was even to consider the question, he did not think Mr. Carson's virility in question. And he was equally certain that the man had held himself to a repressive – and rather pathetic – standard of purity for half a century. Go to it, he thought. Just stay out of my mind.
"Andy, age has got nothing to do with it."
Robert and Cora
His Lordship and Her Ladyship were well back in the line. Charlie caught sight of them through the schoolhouse door and felt a twinge. His sense of propriety dictated that they ought to have been received first or, coming late, ought to be deferred to in advancing to the head of the line. Relinquishing this principle had been his first concession in marriage.
But the Crawleys seemed unaffected by their unprivileged status, chatting amiably with the villagers around them. Elsie, following her husband's gaze and believing she could discern the thoughts that put a little line of worry on his brown, only suppressed a smile. They had embraced her vision of the day, the Crawleys had. There might be some hope for them after all.
"Congratulations, Carson. I wish you every happiness." Lady Grantham had long ago realized that she and Carson lived in parallel worlds that allowed for no intersection between them. For one thing, he had no sense of humour that she had been able to discern. But her social skills were highly developed and she could talk to anyone. And the script for wedding receptions was a well worn one.
For his part, Charlie had long ago reconciled himself to Her Ladyship's idiosyncracies. Now, he acknowledged the warmth of her sentiments with thanks, and she moved on to Elsie.
"Mrs. Hughes, you look lovely!" Her Ladyship declared with enthusiasm. "That dress really sets off your eyes!"
As phlegmatic as she usually was in her relations with her employers, Elsie found herself beaming at the kind words in these novel circumstances. "It's your coat that's done it, my lady," she murmured courteously. Indeed, the embroidered coat was a thing of beauty.
"No," Her Ladyship said, with an almost dreamy, perhaps nostalgic smile. "It's you, the bride. Thank you for including us in your wonderful day." Her words rang with sincerity. Elsie appreciated this enough to overlook the oversight with her name.
His Lordship said nothing to Carson, only smiling broadly and radiating his happiness.
"Thank you, my lord," was all Charlie could manage in return as they shook hands.
If His Lordship's smile could grow any wider, it did as he turned to the bride. He reached for her hands and enclosed them in both of his. "My dear Mrs. Hughes. Our very best wishes go with you both. I am so very happy for you on this day."
Elsie had always thought herself immune to the charms of elegant aristocrats, but in this moment, she felt the radiance of nobility's glow. "We're very grateful for all you've done for us, my lord."
He acknowledged this with a nod and then added, "And we in our turn, Mrs. Hughes. Um. Carson." He smiled a little self-consciously at the name stumble, and then he and Her Ladyship moved on.
Molesley and Old Mr. Molesley
In another odd gesture, to Elsie's mind, Charlie had added Old Mr. Molesley to the guest list.
"Why?" she had asked, curious.
"He's old-time Downton," Charlie replied. "He wasn't a friend of my dad's, too young for that. But he belongs to that era. I feel an obligation."
This had made Elsie smile. It was so very like Mr. Carson to pay homage to the past.
Old Mr. Molesley shook Charlie's hand. "All the best, Mr. Carson."
"Thank you, Mr. Molesley."
"Better late than never, I say. You might have a word with my son," Old Mr. Molesley added in an undertone, before turning to the bride. "And all the best to you, Mrs. Carson."
It did not surprise Elsie in the least that Old Mr. Molesley should get her married name right. The family were so immersed in the conventions of their own world, wherein the way a servant was addressed reflected that servant's status in relation to them, that it impeded their application of traditions common within the larger society in which they lived, such as the one of a woman taken her husband's name. For Old Mr. Molesley, however, that Mrs. Hughes should become Mrs. Carson was simply understood and he made the transition with ease.
Mr. Molesley (the younger) glowed with warmth and enthusiasm in extending his good wishes. "You are truly one of the luckiest of men this day, Mr. Carson."
"I shan't argue with you, Mr. Molesley," Charlie said cordially. He was seldom on the same page as Molesley, a man whom he did not esteem to the same degree that he did the elder Molesley. But in this moment he saw in the butler/valet-turned-footman's countenance a joy that reflected his own and the man's honest kindness affected him. "Thank you." He forebore, however, from acting on the father's instruction to nudge Molesley on in matters of the heart.
Elsie had always gotten on better with Molesley. Sometimes he exasperated her, no question. But far more than Charlie she had been able to see and appreciate the gentle and generous spirit that lived within the sometimes awkward shell. This inner light covered a multitude of shortcomings.
"May I kiss the bride?" Molesley asked, surprising Elsie and shocking Charlie.
Elsie laughed. "Go on with you, Mr. Molesley."
A broad smile lit up his face and he leaned in with a grace that few at Downton associated with him to kiss her cheek. His forwardness had him blushing, but he came over exhilarated, too, at his own boldness.
Charlie glanced askance at Molesley's back as he moved on. "Consorting with Mr. Bates, dancing with the doctor, now kissing Mr. Molesley." He was shaking his head. "I could be jealous."
But Elsie was having none of that. "What about you and Lady Mary?" she added airily.
Violet and Isobel
None of the Crawleys were long without a glass of champagne in their hands. However well they might mingle, even the hired staff knew them to be m'lord and his family and attended them in a manner befitting their station.
The Dowager and Mrs. Crawley found each other in the crowd.
"This is just wonderful!" Isobel declared, taking it all in.
"It is good champagne," Violet said agreeably. "Robert insisted on the best."
"Oh, not the champagne!" Isobel said in mild exasperation. "Although it is very good. I meant… this." She gestured about them.
"It puts me in mind of the servants' ball," Violet said, "and once a year for that is quite enough. I'm only here because it is Carson's wedding."
"And Mrs. Hughes's," Isobel added.
Violet affected not to have heard. "There is one advantage. At least I'm not expected to dance with anyone." Before Isobel could comment, Violet changed the subject. "What did you say to Dr. Clarkson?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I saw you speaking to him at the door of the church after the ceremony. And ever since he has seemed quite downcast."*
At this Isobel came over enigmatic. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said blithely.
Mary and Cora
Robert was deep in conversation with a contingent from the village. Edith was making uncomfortable small talk with the Bateses. Mary sidled up to her mother.
"Aunt Rosamund couldn't make it, then?" she asked, arching a brow.
Cora gave Mary a knowing look. Rosamund had quite deliberately found something to keep her in London so as not to attend the wedding. Like her niece Edith, Rosamund had always struggled to find her footing with the servants and had opted for formal arm's length relationships to smooth over the awkwardnesses. And she had never much liked Carson.
Mary smiled. "That's your dress coat Mrs. Hughes is wearing," she observed. "How did that come about?"
"You have a sharp eye," Cora said.
Mary shrugged. Her mother said this as though they were not intimately acquainted with each other's wardrobes. "It's not something one usually finds in the housekeeper's closet," she said instead.
"No. Well, Baxter was telling me about Mrs. Hughes's dress. Did you know that the downstairs women had it made for her? Of course, Baxter did the actual putting together."
"Really." The note of mild surprise in Mary's voice disguised the fact that she knew a great deal more about the bride's dress than her mother did. It was Mary, after all, who had commissioned it, working through Anna in such a way as to let the downstairs women take all the credit and conceal entirely Mary's role in it. "And the dress coat?"
Cora sighed. "I wanted to give Mrs. Hughes something," she confessed. "Something that acknowledged her as a person, an individual, rather than as the housekeeper."
"A lovely thought, Mama."
"Well, with you and your father fussing over Carson, I thought someone in the family should pay attention to the bride."
"Yes. Very thoughtful indeed." Mary took her mother's slight chide about Carson in stride and smiled smugly at her secret.
Miss Baxter
Characteristically self-effacing Miss Baxter was the very last person to enter the hall and offer her congratulations to the Carsons. Charlie would take note of the place of each member of the family in this line and shift uneasily over the absence of deference observed in their haphazard ranking, but it would never occur to him to notice let alone remark upon the order in which the staff appeared, least of all Miss Baxter.
Elsie saw things differently. First, it surprised her that Miss Baxter was not with either Mr. Molesley or Mr. Barrow, her two closest associates. Shy people tended to stick close to people they knew well. Then she took note of the deferential manner Miss Baxter displayed toward Charlie. Perhaps this was only to be expected, for the ranking of the hierarchy of the domestic staff was as rigid as that which governed greater English society. But Elsie sensed something different here. She knew something of Miss Baxter's past, of her vulnerability to a forceful man which had made her an easy mark for a predatory thief. Of course, Mr. Carson was an entirely different kind of man, but Elsie thought that Miss Baxter's deference was entangled with intimidation. Was it any surprise, then, that the woman should be drawn to Mr. Molesley, the most sensitive soul – even more so than Anna – to have appeared downstairs at Downton Abbey?
Miss Baxter's reserved manner toward Mr. Carson disappeared entirely as she turned toward Downton's housekeeper. Her countenance brightened, her whole being radiated excitement and reflected glory. "Well done, Mrs. Carson! Everything was perfect!" A more self-centred person might have let their gaze shift to the bride's dress, a dress of Miss Baxter's handiwork, in Elsie's eyes an exquisite creation. But Miss Baxter's elation was focused away from herself and wholly on the bride. "You look smashing!"
"And I've you to thank for that," Elsie said emphatically. Miss Baxter had not only made the dress, and adjusted Her Ladyship's dress coat, but also helped to dress the bride that morning. Elsie was deeply grateful for it all. Now, as she looked into the woman's shining eyes, Elsie saw a satisfying truth: as much as Miss Baxter had done for her, being included in the women's circle that had feted Elsie the night before, indeed, being given the critical responsibility for making the dress, had been at least as meaningful to Miss Baxter as the gifts had been to Elsie. Miss Baxter, always the outsider, had been included and no one could have appreciated that more.
"That's the last of them." It was Mr. Carson – her husband – who spoke in her ear, and Elsie realized this was so. Their guests had all arrived and been received and were mingling, were greater or lesser degrees of success, most of them with a flute of champagne in hand. "Now perhaps we might get on to the eating," Charlie said, his mundane suggestion dispelling just a little the magic of the moment. "I'm hungry."
Wedding Conventions
Across the hall, John Bates was keeping an eye on the reception line, and when Miss Baxter left the Carsons and they turned into the crowd of their well-wishers, he caught his wife's eye.
"One last task to perform," he said, and smiled at Anna's perplexed look. He found a waiter and made a request and soon held in his hand a crystal champagne goblet filled with water, for he did not drink alcohol. And then he moved to the centre of the room where Lord Grantham was, conveniently, in earnest conversation with the groom. With a little difficulty, but without departing from the grace and dignity with which he had walked the bride down the aisle, Mr. Bates quickly secured the attention of his audience. His intention was apparent to all and they quieted to hear what he had to say.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carson," he began, and a ripple of gentle laughter greeted his statement. "And honoured guests." He might well have said 'Ladies and gentlemen,' but in this company such an address could only encompass the family and John Bates was keenly aware of the bride's desire – if not necessarily the groom's – to avoid such distinctions on this day. He'd thought to affect a formal air, befitting the solemnity of the occasion, but he found he couldn't keep from smiling, which was anomaly enough for the usually almost-taciturn valet.
"Honoured guests," he said again. "Has not every one of us, not in this instance only the bride and groom but every one of us, impatiently anticipated this great event?" He glanced at the happy couple and saw in Mrs. Carson's eyes a glint of mischief to match his own and a benevolent indulgence in Mr. Carson's countenance. "I address you now in the performance of what some might call a duty, but which I consider a privilege, and one of the most pleasant tasks that have fallen to me since I came to Downton. I think that anyone associated with the Abbey proper, upstairs or down, will admit that they have at one time or another relied on Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper of Downton Abbey, now Mrs. Carson, in one way or another. She is one of the …pillars … if I may use such an unmusical word to describe her, on which the success of human relations at Downton is built. Today, however, we come to her not with our troubles but to join with her in celebration on this, perhaps the happiest day of her life. Today we see her not as the housekeeper of a great house, as the mistress of the keys, but as a woman embarking on that most wondrous and human of experiences, marriage. I know we all want to wish her the very best and the greatest happiness." He raised his glass. "I give you our Mrs. Hughes, now Mrs. Charles Carson, the bride."
A roar of approval greeted these words and glasses lifted high around the room. The groom, beaming with pride, his gaze fixed on his wife, joined them. At the centre of it all, the bride herself blushed. It was almost as daunting a moment as her first step into the church that morning had been. And she found herself seeking the wherewithal to weather the unaccustomed attention in the same quarters she had found it then – in the gleaming countenance of Mr. Bates and in the adoring gaze of the man to whom she was now wed.
And then Lord Grantham stepped forward and the room went silent because he was clearly about to make a speech of his own. And, well, because it was His Lordship, after all.
"My friends," he began, with a warmth that suggested that he and all of those gathered there were indeed on such intimate terms, "I think you all know how long the association between myself and Carson has existed, giving me perhaps a special insight into the mind of the man who stands here beside me so … so perfectly happy." His Lordship paused that he might meet the groom's eye for a poignant moment. They had known each other all of His Lordship's life. "And I can safely say," he went on, in a slightly lighter tone and with a hint of mischief of his own, "that I was convinced this day would never come!" He grinned at his own joke and the crowd laughed because it was a well-grounded assumption. "I can only say," Robert Crawley went on, his geniality now tempered with a ringing sincerity, "that I am very glad it has. At last. Well done, Carson." And he raised his glass.
Elsie Carson, née Hughes, had never accepted the assumptions of the society in which she had spent her whole life regarding the place of women – silent, supporting but not assertive, one step behind the man in her life. But in this moment, she was grateful beyond words that convention asked no speech from her. Had one been expected, she might well have fled the room and given the whole adventure up as a bad job. But she turned eagerly to hear what her husband, who was preparing to accommodate tradition in a toast to his bride, might have to say. She held her breath in anticipation of the words themselves, but not least because unlike her, so very much unlike her, her Mr. Carson embraced centre stage. She had never seen him on the halls. His exploits there had occurred long ago, before even she knew he existed. His response to the attention focused on them this morning had given her a glimpse of that Charlie Carson and it thrilled her quite a bit to see that side of him.
Charlie did not immediately venture into the void, though the room was still, awaiting his speech. His pause was a thoughtful one, a considered one, though no one who knew him well believed him unprepared for the moment. His pause was for deliberate dramatic effect. Something no one present could have known about him was that he had developed an acute sense of timing on the halls.
"My lord and ladies." Not for him this alarming democracy of address, not even on his wedding day, not even in deference to the woman beside him, now his wife. "My friends. I find myself in agreement with Lord Grantham. I, too, thought this day would never come and that it has taken this long is entirely my own doing. For that dilatoriness I must beg the forgiveness of my dear wife." His gaze shifted to her and for a moment there was no one else in the world. "A man can know no greater success, receive no greater blessing, nor be so humbled by a gift as he can know in securing the love of a good woman. I can only stand in the wonder of it, gratefully accept it, and fervently hope that I may be worthy of it all the days of the life God grants us together." It took some slight effort to raise his eyes and embrace those gathered about him in his gaze once more. "To my radiant bride, Elsie Carson," he said.
And this time there was no restraint at all in the cheers and hurrahs, interrupted only by astonished yet even more gleeful gasps as Mr. Carson bent his head to kiss his wife – again – right there before them all. Not one in the room had ever seen the man so unbuttoned and yet, paradoxically given his usual demeanor, so much at his ease.
And with this final convention complete, the party, the joyous celebration in which all present were encouraged to enjoy themselves, was begun.
* Author's Note. You may recall, in the interminable drama over the hospital, that emerging from the Carsons' wedding, Isobel extracted from Dr. Clarkson a concession about the hospital and then gloated about it, much to his dismay.