To the Guest Reviewer(s): To G the Guest, I suspect you're going to get answers to the is it Charlie Carson or Charlie Grigg question today ;) :) Moreover, I am ecstatic to hear you're hooked on this story! It means much more than I can say.
To the Guest who found the beginning to be intriguing, ah, your review makes me so happy! I cannot say a word, because I'm very liable to spoil the whole thing. But I do hope that you find today's update to be equally intriguing.
Author's Note: I am incredibly floored and astonished at the reception of this adventure! Like, you could probably knock me down with a feather at this point.
In other words? Thank you.
Now, who's ready to meet more of our ensemble? Not to mention, get some answers to a few questions!
Also, for fans of mystery novels, I threw in a two-second reference to one of my favorite detectives. I suspect you'll catch it the moment you read it :)
Enjoy!
Alice Neal was always fond of Allison Hughes, that would never change. She was equally fond of Allison's mother, having been friends with Elsie ever since the woman moved to Blackpool, a town neighbouring Lytham St Annes.
And, no, her fondness for the girl wasn't because their names were similar. It was Allison's character. Even at the age of twelve, she was exceptionally thoughtful and polite.
But Allison wasn't happy. Not as happy as she could be.
The problem was, Allison missed her father.
Allison's father had never been in the picture. Alice had done her best to keep from prying, knowing it was a painful subject. But she couldn't keep from worrying as she watched the girl grow up without a father.
Charlie Grigg, well-meaning he may be, knew he was more of an uncle than a father. As for any other contenders, none were allowed to make the cut. Elsie said she was more than capable. Alice suspected she was terrified of the past repeating itself.
A surprisingly graceful knock interrupted her thoughts. Was that really the time?
"I'll be right there!" Grey eyes crinkled as the woman closed her laptop and rose to her feet.
"Good morning, Aunt Alice," A pair of serious brown eyes greeted her, looking up with the utmost respect. Those brown eyes were the only physical feature that distinguished Allison from her mother. "Is Uncle Charle––Charlie ready?"
Alice refrained from snorting, shaking her head, "Not yet."
She studied the girl, curious. The break in formality, today's little expedition––it was all a little unusual.
Still, it did make sense. Somewhat.
Apparently, there was a school presentation about country houses. Allison had done an excellent job with her presentation on Styles Court, but she wanted to do more than present. Something about marvelling at all the other presentations.
That wasn't shocking. What was shocking was when the girl had requested Charlie Grigg of all people to be her chaperone.
No one had anticipated that sort of request, not even Elsie.
Personally, Alice was betting that the girl was hoping to demonstrate what true refinement looked like. Of course, no one would ever be able to get that message across, not to Charlie.
Alice returned her attention to Allison, gesturing to the sofa, "I'm sure he won't be long now,"
"I'm sure." Was the demure, doubtful response. Alice gave a smile, deciding her time would be better suited to making tea. Should her flatmate prove to have forgotten about this little adventure, she would have to stall.
In fact, "I can go check in on him, if you'd like,"
"Now why would you need to do that?"
"Uncle Charl––ie!" Allison cleared her throat, trying to recover from her surprise. She then frowned and furrowed her eyebrows, judging him rather severely for sneaking up on her.
"Yes?" He asked, pretending to be the very picture of solemnity.
"Really now, you should have knocked," Allison reprimanded him, closing her eyes and regaining her composure. "Never mind. It's fine."
Charlie chuckled, ruffling up the girl's hair and prompting her to yelp.
Alice sighed, resisting yet another urge: the urge to smack him for his silliness.
Instead, she thanked herself for being wise enough not to marry the man.
If you'd told Alice ten years ago that she and Charlie Grigg would be merely flatmates and friends, she would have demanded to know why. But if you had mentioned the subject seven years ago, she would have happily said it was for the best.
The woman turned back to her flatmate, arching an eyebrow, "I don't suppose you'd care to get a move on?"
"Keep your shirt on, Elsie," His retort was lighthearted, his eyes filled with mirth as he ignored the inevitable protests. Naturally, both Alice and Allison took upset with that tease.
"Speaking of your mum," Alice turned back to the girl, giving up on chiding Charlie, "How's she doing?"
Allison straightened up, "If you must know, I believe she is sleeping in."
That's a first. Alice nodded, pleased. "Good."
"Right. I s'pose we best be on our way. But first," Charlie grinned as he held out his arms for a hug. Allison approached, accepting the gesture as though it were a necessity of life. Only when he lifted her off the ground and spun her in a circle did she give in to a small smile, her eyes closing with delight.
The honorary uncle then gently deposited her back onto the floor with more care than anyone would have thought possible, "Now, who's ready to have some fun?"
"Well, I suppose it could prove enriching," The girl conceded, her eyes twinkling as she fidgeted with her pockets. Allison smiled at the sight, shooing them off before they lost track. Of course, she couldn't help but roll her eyes when she heard a faint: "Now, remind me: where are we going today?"
"Uncle Charles!"
_._
There had been two reasons Allison had chosen Uncle Charlie for today's adventure.
Firstly, unlike Aunt Becky and Aunt Alice, he wouldn't report back to her mother. Secondly, and more importantly, Uncle Charlie worked long days. By the time they made it to Downton, he would be much too exhausted to get in the way––to interfere with her harmless investigation.
"So, this is Downton Abbey," Right on cue, the man tried to hide a yawn, "Looks nice."
It looked so much more than merely nice. But Allison couldn't speak, enthralled. She took in a breath as Uncle Charlie brought them closer to the estate. Somehow, Phoebe's photographs didn't do it justice. Neither did her own.
"Right then, kiddo." He swiped at the bags under his eyes, parking the car, "We made it. I suppose you're ready to go inside, yeah?"
She began to nod. Except, having him accompany her wouldn't really suit her plan, now would it?
Instead, "Uncle––Uncle Charlie, are you sure you're all right?"
"Only you would put it like that." He teased, shaking his head. Yet already the man was blinking from the effects of disagreeing, "Well, now that you mention it,"
Her frown deepened, "I am perfectly capable of managing a tour if you want to take it easy."
The man hummed out his hesitation, scratching at his neck. He glanced up at the house before looking back at her. You see, Charlie Grigg was at an impasse. He knew that Elsie and Alice would kill him if something happened to Allison. But another week of a draining job had taken its toll in ways he hadn't anticipated.
To be honest, he was relieved Allison had been oblivious to his spectacularly subpar driving. She normally would have gasped and paled at some of the manoeuvres he'd pulled off today.
Right. This Downton place did look safe enough. But a niggling doubt prompted him to ask: "You sure?"
Allison straightened up, "If we're going to effectively tackle several houses today," That was the official plan. Mum would be none the wiser that way. "Then I would rather not watch you pass out at the wheel."
He huffed out a sheepish laugh."All right. But I expect to hear from you within the hour. And I will be paying for your ticket just like we planned."
"I expected nothing less." She had a timer ready to go and a hand outstretched. He shot her a look, but made no move to protest. Instead, he handed over the notes and watched the girl slip out of the car.
With nothing else to be said, Allison let the crisp spring air greet her as she stared up at the house before her. Well, now. She had finally made it to Downton Abbey.
Now what?
_._
"Charles Carson," Beryl Mason, née Patmore, did not care to be interrupted. She really did not care to be interrupted when it wasn't thanks to a culinary catastrophe but instead thanks to an incessantly irritating Executive Assistant!
"Mrs. Mason––" Leave it to Mr. Curmudgeon over there to refuse to call her by her given name. Even the Ninth Earl of Grantham knew better than to do that.
She ignored his burgeoning protest, "If you do not get out of this kitchen and back upstairs, I'll be forced to take drastic measures!"
They had been doing this dance ever since she got here, nearly four years ago. Every time he entered Downton Abbey, the Executive Assistant would retreat from his responsibilities and to go mope in private. It would take her snapping at him to get the man back to where he belonged.
"Mrs. Mason," He wanted to test her patience, did he? "Please, believe me when I say––"
Let it be known that her patience had been thinned to the width of a crisp, "And please believe me when I say that you can either get out of here or you can, as the Americans say, 'spill the beans!'"
"I don't know what you mean."
Oh, really? That was the route he'd chosen?
Beryl set her tray down, placed her hands on her hips and defiantly stared at the man.
He remained silent.
So, he was going to be insufferable, was he? "Fine. If you want to keep sobbing your eyes out, go ahead. But don't you dare shed any tears into my hors d'oeuvres!"
_._
It was real.
That was the table. Those were the chairs. She knew that chandelier.
Allison couldn't stop gaping as she approached the roped-off area. The image had stepped out of her hands and into reality. She could imagine the sound of her mother's laughter, the chatter of the crowd. The lights were twinkling away and––"Where did you get that?"
Allison flinched, whipping back around to discover a mousy-haired teenager eyeing her photograph. She immediately hid it behind her back, unsure of how to respond.
The teenager came over, unabashed in her interrogation, "That's Mr. Carson, that is. But I've never seen him like that. Where'd you get that? And who are you?"
"Erm," This wasn't at all the plan. If someone was going to accidentally stumble along her path, it was supposed to be the man in the picture. Not this teenager holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
"We're not doing any school tours today." Mousy Hair continued to speak, confused, "So it can't be that."
"I got lost." Allison explained, hoping that would be enough to put an end to this mess of a situation.
"Then how come you got a photo of the place?"
"I––I found it."
Mousy Hair wasn't convinced. She placed the tray out of harm's way and waited expectantly. Allison paused, unsure of what to do. But it was clear the teenager wasn't going to let the matter rest.
"Well, you see,"
"Yeah?" Mousy Hair was crossing her arms, growing impatient.
"Well, actually," You're repeating yourself. Right. It was all going to come out, wasn't it? The photograph she had kept to herself all these years, the mystery she had never been allowed to solve. Everything was going to come spilling out to Mousy Hair because Allison couldn't keep herself together.
_._
"Mr. Carson, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'll be forced to take drastic measures."
Charles batted his grief away, concentrating on shooting off what was a rather halfhearted retort, "I could get you fired for such impertinence." Talking to him as though he were her subordinate, of all things.
"Oh, really?" She straightened up, "Now will you stop clamming up? Or do I have to get a knife?"
Was the woman really concocting a culinary pun? Either way, "I don't deem this to be a matter you should concern yourself with."
"Fine. In that case, I'm making it my concern." Arms crossed, irritation rising.
The Executive Assistant of Crawley Industries blinked. It had been years since anyone had approached him so bluntly. That she was the last person to have done it––"Mr. Carson? You still down here?"
What was Miss Mason doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be seeing to the function upstairs? And why was she calling for him? Was there something wrong? And who was that child ducking out of sight?
Miss Mason scoffed, glowering, "Mr. Carson, you've got some explaining to do."
"What are you on about now, Daisy?" Mrs. Mason inquired, "And who've you brought with you?"
The little girl held onto Miss Mason's hand as she hid between the young woman. Charles couldn't get a good glimpse of her, but he could swear she looked familiar.
"This is Allison Hughes," The assistant caterer declared, "And she's apparently his daughter."
What?
Author's Note: Ta-da! We may have gotten a mini-cliffhanger, but we most certainly got at least one answer!
Now, I'm thinking we should see if we can do updates every 5-7 days. Worst case scenario, we go back to weekly Tuesday updates.
In any case, as always, I hoped you enjoyed this and have a lovely day! 'Till next time.