One month later
The scrap of chairs across the floor of the servant's dining hall was enough to make him wince. He'd never get used to it, however hard he tried, however long he stayed. It was too jarring, too contrary to the dignified state in which he felt they should all be held, regardless of rank. But he'd long since given up attempting to instruct any of them as to the right and proper way in which to stand from a table without the unnecessary need for such a racquet. Only Elsie indulged him. The technique that she'd perfected over the years provided heavenly respite for his nerves, how she lifted her seat surreptitiously, to move it backwards an inch or two so as to give herself enough space to be able to gracefully glide from her position alongside him to one where she could disappear off to commence the next task of the day without anyone hearing a thing. If it hadn't been for the hard soles of her shoes, the keys at her side, he imagined he'd barely have known of her departure at all.
But he could forgive them all this once, as they chatted and laughed their way out and up to the great hall, footsteps echoing across flagged floors and steep stone steps. For today was the day when Downton, with its majesty and rich history of serving a village, the county, even the nation, would be brought to the masses.
Charles carefully returned his chair to its rightful position, his hands remaining on the back of it as his beady eye watched over Daisy clearing the table, a job well beneath her these days, but without a scullery or kitchen maid there was little choice in the matter. He noted her efficiency, the way she cleared and stacked the plates to save on the number of journeys to where the deep sinks were located, it required just two return trips before she had the table back and ready to be laid again for the downstairs supper. A final wipe and she looked over to him, just briefly, before a quick glance confirmed she'd not get any criticism from Mrs Patmore.
"You're welcome upstairs as well, Daisy," he stated, his usual stern tone mixing with a hint of kindness that he felt was warranted given the occasion.
"Oh, thank you Mr Carson," she beamed. "I did hope to. It's exciting, isn't it? Imagine us on the wireless!"
She didn't wait for him to reply, her enthusiasm to join the others clear as she hurried away, the ties of her apron already being loosened as she disappeared away from him. The dining hall fell silent, the faintest sound of shuffling feet on the floor above reaching his ears but so muffled that it was barely noticeable.
"Are you coming?" a voice asked, shaking him from his thoughts.
He looked up and smiled, and nodding his ascent crossed the short distance to join her. He brought his hand to rest quietly on her hip, a quick check that no one could see them.
"Are you alright?" Elsie asked, with barely disguised surprise.
"Yes, quite alright," he confirmed. "I just..." tailing off as the right words failed to materialise.
She gave him one of her looks, the one that told him she understood and, removing his hand from where it lay and giving it a gentle pull, led him to the stairs. The climb was taken together, as Elsie and Charlie, hand in hand, a luxury they'd not dared to indulge in since marrying, whilst in the Abbey. It simply wouldn't do to be caught in such a way. But he'd confess to anyone that he needed it, to feel her presence, her unwavering support as his stomach did somersaults. Just as they reached the door to the hall, he stopped.
"I'm nervous," he admitted. "I'm not quite sure why."
Elsie smiled. "Because you love this cold, damp, draughty building and everything contained within it. You don't want it made ridiculous."
He gave a small nod, inwardly marvelling at how easily she explained him back to himself.
"But you've nothing to fear, Mr Carson," she continued, running with her nail at one of the lapels of his jacket where a spot of luncheon had fallen. "Your Lady Mary will have it all in hand," she said in a teasing tone. "Now, come on or we'll be missed."
She turned and reached for the door handle, but he got there first, reaching around her to twist it open, holding the door as she passed through, savouring the look she gave him. It spoke to him of her quiet empathy and unlimited compassion, of tender love and newly discovered desire, and all else in between. And if they hadn't been about to join the extended household, the upstairs and the down, he may have needed a further moment to compose himself.
"Carson," came the Earl's jovial call as he headed towards him, "What a day. What. A Day!"
His Lordship came to stand alongside him, the two men surveying the scene in front of them, the family clustered closely around the wireless that had been moved to a table on one side of the elegant room, a circle of chairs placed around for the older and more senior of the downstairs staff, the others left to find an appropriate place to stand. They watched on as Thomas fiddled with the knobs, the unheard directions of Lady Mary as he attempted to find the right frequency.
Robert leaned in a little, "I hear I may have given you quite a fright," he said, "Going on about the National Trust and all that."
Charles blanched. "Not at all, my Lord," he replied graciously, reluctant to reach for a lie but having little choice.
"I thought you knew, you see," Robert simply, with no further explanation offered.
Charles gave a nod, suppressing the litany of questions that remained. He didn't doubt they'd be addressed in time, nothing stayed hidden for long, but it was hard to be patient.
"In all, I think we've handled it quite well," Robert continued at length. "Us old codgers embracing this new reality. I can't stand it myself," gesturing towards the wireless which had now sprung into life, "The endless background noise of it, but we must adapt, I suppose."
"Indeed we must, my lord," he agreed, "And oddly I've found myself partial to the odd programme or two."
"Really?" the Earl turned towards him in surprise, "Well, there's a turn up for the books," he chuckled. "Perhaps you should give me a list of things to try, Carson. Her Ladyship for one would be grateful to have respite from my evening witterings."
Charles went to speak, to offer some reassurance that felt appropriate but didn't get the chance, Lady Mary shhhing them from the front before taking her seat.
"This is London. Good evening," came the clipped voice of the radio announcer. "Tonight you join us for a unique piece of programming, a perspective on the world of the great country estate, one handed down through the generations, from father to son, that has seen off the challenges of recent times to rise victorious once more."
An excited murmur spread through the room, the nudges and smiles as the assembled audience realised it was happening, the event to which they'd all been witnesses, that made them all feel a part of something special.
"Downton Abbey, the seat of the Earl and Countess of Grantham, sits high on a hill between Ripon and Thirsk in that fine county of Yorkshire, it's glistening stonework and intricate detailing perfectly situated amongst great cedar trees and the surrounding wildflower meadows. But what are its secrets? What lies hidden amongst the vast network of corridors and landings? And what can it tell us about the importance of our heritage and history, one that we must surely safeguard for those that will follow us?"
"Goodness," remarked Robert to Charles, "They make us sound rather important."
He moved away to find his place, a chair kept for him alongside his wife and eldest daughter, leaving Charles to beam as the narrative continued for several minutes, doing his level best to hide his delight at the gushing and admiring overtones that, to his mind, were so well justified.
"Let us speak to Charles Blake, previously under the employ of the government and tasked with investigating the impact of our nation's great estates on our economy," another murmur of interest pervading the space. "Your thoughts on the future of the aristocracy are well documented, Mr Blake, but in speaking with us you seem to have rather been turned around. What can you say to that?"
Charles tensed, the moment he'd been fearful of finally here. He started as he felt a slight hand brush against his own where they lay clenched behind his back, and without looking he knew who it belonged to, her cool light fingers so familiar to him now.
"You misrepresent me," came the calm response of Mr Blake, "I want only for our estates to be kept profitable, to be put to good use for our nation in these uncertain times. It was why I was so keen to speak with you from here today, the library of Downton Abbey. It is a fine room to be sure, fitting of a house of such influence and wealth, but it is from here that the surrounding land and farms are managed, and managed well, and that is what interests me most."
"You see, Charlie," Elsie whispered under her breath, "All will be well."
He turned to catch her eye, the light from the chandeliers above brightening the blue that looked up at him, and smiled, "It already is."
The sky was a deep purple by the time they could escape, the red sky that had graced it earlier in the evening merging with the dark black of the night as it continued its descent, the moon barely visible behind the gathering cloud. Charles waited in the yard as she said her goodbyes and shared a final instruction to Miss Baxter, reminding her that a delivery was due tomorrow. He'd tapped his foot impatiently, keen to be away, noting the faint breeze that threatened with more. He'd been reluctantly persuaded that he and Elsie should be allowed a day off, such was the strain of the additional work brought upon them both over the last few weeks, and now that he had he was eager for it to start. At last she hurried up the back steps, bag in one hand, basket in the other.
"What is that?" he asked, nodding to its contents, half out of sight under a napkin.
"Just a few bits and pieces. Nothing for you to worry yourself about," she replied, dismissively.
Taking it from her he gave a look of suspicion in exchange, but seeing her ignore it offered his arm instead. They set off at a pace, the night air nipping at them that they both commented on how the nights were drawing in already.
"We'll need an extra blanket on the bed tonight, I shouldn't wonder," Elsie said, giving a little shiver as a gust of wind found its way under her collar.
He pulled her closer, "I should think we could find a way to keep warm," he said, gruffly.
"Mr Carson!" she exclaimed, coming to a stop, a bemused smile on her face.
"What?" he asked, bewildered, then feeling the rise of colour to his cheeks as he realised what he'd implied, "Not that! I meant we could light the fire, watch the flames crackle as we sip our sherry."
She laughed as she gave his arm a companionable squeeze, "Well, that sounds very nice too."
They set off again, him continuing to shake his head at her misread of what he'd been thinking as she started up about the day. Her sound of her animated chatter faded slightly as he let his thoughts intermingle amongst the Scots brogue reaching his ears. In many ways he thought her assumption sounded rather lovely, slipping underneath the covers together, a further opportunity to explore one another. He remained unconvinced he was getting it all quite right, despite her reassurances but without further clue as to what to do it was all a question of experimentation, at least that was what he'd begun to tell himself. He was jolted back to the present, a question clearly posed and not yet answered.
"The village, Mr Carson?" her expression one of bemusement, "What do you think they would have made of it?"
"Oh, quite well, I imagine," he replied after hesitant consideration, "Their voices were heard as much as anyone's."
What she made of his answer was lost in the wind that shook them as they stepped out from the shelter that had been afforded to them by the trees, leaves that had fallen too early to be autumnal whipped up and danced at their feet as they crossed the lane to their cottage. He felt the loss of her as she reached up to keep her hat, such was the strength of the sudden gusts about them, him being forced to the same a moment later. The last few staggering footsteps to their door and the quiet of their hall had them giggling like school children, brushing their coats of one or two errant twigs.
"I think you might be right about that fire, Charlie," she said, as she neatly stowed away their things.
He watched as she unconsciously massaged her scalp, something he'd noticed she did when she was tired, the pins that had kept her hair tight all day longing to be released.
"I'll fetch the glasses, shall I?" she offered, moving towards the kitchen.
He nodded as he stepped towards the sitting room and paused, a brief frown whilst he considered his options, and then ducked into the room and out again before following after her. As he reached the bottom step, she was there, a look of confusion directed at the bottle in his hands.
"I propose a compromise," he said darkly.
"Oh?" she inquired, a little curl of something on her lips.
"Yes, a night cap and a blanket," his eyes scooting upwards in the direction of their room before they returned to see hers sparkling in reply.
She smiled coyly, "For what is marriage without compromise?"
"Nothing, Mrs Carson," he replied, "Nothing at all."
The End
Well, almost. There will be a bonus M chapter when it's finished, titled 'The Space In Between' and promises to contain very little substance whatsoever, although a re-read of chapter 8 will tell you of one tiny plot line yet to be [cough, cough] achieved.
Thank you for reading my third Charles and Elsie tale. I can't quite believe I have managed to get this far with them both and still have you along for the ride. I am eternally grateful!
I play at this writing lark and I'm not a great researcher, being far too impatient for that, but I do like to get things right if I can. For those who feel the same, some notes; for those not so bothered, ignore at will :-)
The BBC did do outside broadcasts in 1925, including from the famous seaside bandstands, with regular Sunday concerts listed in the Radio Times. I checked and, from there on in, applied for some poetic licence. Forgive me.
The National Trust did acquire a number of historic properties before the 1920s but the real boom in acquisitions came later in the 1930s (gift the house, avoid the tax, and all that jazz) so our Downton is safe, for now.
However, the Trust did receive a good deal of sympathetic press coverage in 1925 as it sought to raise funds; a little fact I may have exploited.
And finally, this whole story came from a long awaited visit to Highclere where the series was filmed. The 'hidden spaces' are numerous! But not quite as numerous as those that our dear Mr and Mrs Carson must discover for themselves on their journey to happiness and contentment.
Until the next time...if I can conjure something up, that is!