DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

EPISODE 6. Chapter 1.

Charlie and Elsie

Several months into retirement he still awoke at an early hour. In these pre-dawn minutes over his many years of service his mind would already be tackling the work of the day ahead as his body stirred. He wondered if it was a habit too ingrained to change. Not that he wanted to change it. In his world view, only the sick and infirm and appallingly lazy kept to their beds in the morning. So long as he could rise, he would.

But in that time between waking and rising his mind was no longer cluttered with a thousand details of a taxing job. Oh, his plans for the day still flitted through his head, but they were not nearly as absorbing as they used to be. There was less with which to be concerned. More importantly there were other, more appealing matters to contemplate now.

In drawing the curtains at night, he had taken to leaving a gap so that a sliver of silver moonlight might cut the cloak of absolute darkness that would otherwise have enveloped them. This fragment of light was never enough to illuminate their faces but did make it possible to discern shadows which, in their exaggerated reflection of the body, could convey heightened emotion almost as effectively as facial expressions. When they ... he still did not have satisfactory words to describe what others called making love - the term seemed almost vulgar to him... when they came together in blessed union ... he found the dancing shadows cast by their moving together intoxicating. He had not spoken of this to Elsie. She had evidence enough of his rapture.

And in the morning that same slit in the curtains filtered dawn's light and created a different configuration of those same forms and he took pleasure in watching them play out before the alarm clock, which neither of them needed, went off to signal the beginning of their day.

In this half-light, his eyes were drawn to the line of her body. She slept on her side with her back to him that they might fall asleep fitted together, he facing her, his hand moving rhythmically along her thigh until he fell asleep. In the night they drifted apart a little, giving him this slightly removed perspective from which to observe her at daybreak.

Sometimes she woke up first and then would gently turn over to face him and wait for him to stir. He would drift to consciousness leaning into the hand that caressed his cheek. More often, he would reach out to her, his fingers feathering the outline of her form - neck, shoulders, side, hip, thigh. He had come to prefer the warmer weather for then she wore the light cotton nightdress he had given her on their wedding night and through the fine fabric the contours of her body were more distinct. The flannel of winter muffled her.

Once in a while his exploring fingers would find that the nightgown had gotten hitched up in the night and then he would slide his hand beneath its folds and revel in the almost electric impulse that leapt from her skin to his fingertips. And then he would close the gap between them so that he might trace the slope of her hip and spread his fingers out over the curve of her belly. He delighted in this. Oh, there were other pleasures of the flesh in near proximity and sometimes he strayed there and a whole other ritual unfolded. But he did enjoy this half-measure. It was a vulnerable spot and that he might touch her there so casually bespoke the deep trust that lay between them and that had made physical intimacy at their ages not only possible but also so immensely satisfying.

No matter where this pre-dawn journey took him, he never failed to thank God for the blessing of this new chapter in his life. As he had lived so much of his life in ignorance of this bliss, unable to envisage what he did not have, now he could no longer even imagine how he had ever lived without it.

It was Monday morning and in a few minutes the alarm clock would go off. As he tucked his hand around her he felt the telltale tightening of her abdominal muscles signaling that she, too, was awakening, and then he leaned against her more closely still. His lips traced the tantalizing arch of her neck until his warm breath fell on her ear.

"Good morning, love," he said.

Anna and John

The only disadvantage to having breakfast at home before starting their day at Downton was the dishes. Anna's success as a housemaid had reflected a conscientiousness that carried over from her private life and part of that ethos was never leaving a mess behind. That being so, she always washed up before they left. It was an additional burden at the beginning of an always busy day.

"But I wouldn't have it any other way," she insisted when John urged her, not for the first time, to leave them for later. "It's the price of breakfast with my own family and I'll gladly pay it." She left John to dress Robbie while she attended to the kitchen.

She was just finishing up when the ruckus upstairs began. The two voices - the two male voices, father and son (oh! how that phrase thrilled her!) - were loud with laughter.

"John!" They were having fun and she was glad of it, but getting Robbie so excited right before they departed for the Abbey was not a good idea. Nanny would not thank them for it. She'd commented recently that Robbie, not quite nine months old, was a "real little boy," and said so in a tone that suggested this was not a good thing. Putting away the last plate, Anna cast her apron aside and darted up the stairs. She followed the laughter to their bedroom and then stood for a moment watching, with no little exasperation, father and son at play.

John was lying flat on his back on the bed and held Robbie suspended above him. He was raising and lowering Robbie, all the while making funny sounds – "Whoooo! Ahhhhh! Heeheehee!" - which sent Robbie into paroxysms of giggling. The bed, only recently made by her, was in disarray beneath them again. Robbie's clothes, pressed by her the night before, were crumpled.

"John!"

He hadn't heard her approach. That was no great wonder, given the amount of noise the two of them had been making. To her further irritation, he did not look at all abashed when he glanced over at her, despite the fact that she was now standing in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring at him.

"Is it time to go?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

Anna's only response was a low growl.

John lowered Robbie to the bed and then rolled himself to a sitting position. Robbie was still giggling and John couldn't help but smile indulgently. "We were having fun," he said, turning to Anna.

She was hard pressed not to smile with him. Was this not the scene - one of the many scenes - she had imagined and dreamed of in the long years of turbulence they had known? "What are you going to be like with two of them?" she demanded, half-amused, half-alarmed.

His eyes twinkled. "Even happier," he said, in that deliberate way he had. "Come here." He held one arm out to her.

"We've not got time for this," she said, but went to him anyway and allowed him to draw her into a half-embrace. "We'll all look like our clothes just came out of the laundry basket."

"I want to start looking at properties," John said, his manner sobering.

Anna raked a hand through his hair, an unconscious gesture of her deep-seated feelings for her husband. Looking down into his face she saw there, beneath the levity of his game with Robbie, a kind of urgency. "We haven't got the papers from the house yet," she said, reminding him of something he knew better than she did. They were not incautious people. But in this John had become restless of late.

"We won't sign any mortgages," he told her, acknowledging her concern, "but I want to..."

"Do something."

"Yes. I want to have our life...our new life all together, underway before our second child is born."

The intensity with which he said this touched her heart. She bent her head to his and he quickly kissed her.

"Can we talk about it tonight? I'd rather not lose the jobs we have before we move on."

He gazed at her with a smouldering longing. "Always the practical one," he said, with a sigh that made them both laugh and prompted a companionable gurgle from their son.

Anna swung Robbie onto her hip and then John stood, too.

"I want it as much as you do," she said, now looking up at him.

The ambiguity of her words made them both smile.

Tom

Sitting down at his own breakfast table on Monday morning, his daughter seated beside him chattering about the day ahead, Tom breathed a sigh of satisfaction. And relief. He was part of the Downton family and so had gone along happily to the dinner on Friday night. And he had enjoyed the shoot on Sunday afternoon and dinner afterward had been pleasant enough. But he'd been happier to duck out of the races on Saturday and to spend the afternoon with the children. (After seeing the White Horse of Kilburn, Sybbie and George were determined to find some likely spot on the estate and to carve their own version, only George wanted it to be a dragon instead of a horse.) But there was nothing quite like a quiet meal at your own table and Tom was pleased with himself for moving out. Henry, he knew, was envious.

They got the papers in the morning and over breakfast Tom liked to lay them out and talk to Sybbie about the big stories of the day. Even though he was more taken up these days with his own business and family affairs, he wanted to keep up with the larger world and to cultivate in Sybbie the habit of doing so as well. He and Sybil had cared about things beyond their doorstep and it was important that their child did, too.

Every morning since school had started, he had walked her into the village. He would rather have sent her on her way in the company of other children, but their cottage was set apart and most of her journey would have been alone. Eventually she would make fast friends with some of the other little girls and they would be willing to go out of their way a bit. He might have driven her but all the village children walked to school and he did not want either to set her apart or continue the custom of indulgence. And he enjoyed her company for those extra minutes, as well.

And then there was the shadow that hung over him. Thus far the pranks had been relatively harmless and aimed exclusively at him. But he had known antagonism and violence in Ireland to encompass whole families and he would take no chances with Sybbie. In the afternoons, his housekeeper, Mrs. Hutton, collected her again.

He returned to the cottage at a more rapid pace. His days were always full ones. His car was housed in a separate building that had once sheltered the agent's horse and which Tom had re-made for this more modern purpose. Opening the driver's door his eyes fell immediately on the object lying on the seat.

It was a dead grouse, no doubt one of the casualties of yesterday's shoot. At least this was easier to clean up than a cow patty. Tom took a sheet from the newspaper he had stuffed into his pocket and wrapped the bird in it. He would toss it in the rubbish heap. It was a shame to waste a good bird, but its provenance gave him pause. It would not be safe to eat.

Disposing of it, he returned to the car and sat heavily in the driver's seat. So the prankster had not gone away. Tom had hoped more than believed this was the case and now the evidence of a renewed campaign was before him.

But...who was it? The bird must have come from those taken the day before. No one else was allowed to shoot grouse on His Lordship's estate and the creature was too fresh to have come from farther afield. The birds had been distributed in the village. Anyone could have got one. That didn't really narrow the field of suspects.

Aggravated, Tom slammed the car door and put the vehicle into gear. The best that could be said about it all was that it was, like the first few incidents, fairly benign. But this was hardly comforting. The one thing he knew about his stalker was that he could make no assumptions.

Robert and Violet

Violet was delighted to have her son for tea on Monday afternoon and not a little gratified to find him at odds with his wife. She did not believe in lasting quarrels within a marriage, but in the moment was irritated with Cora herself and glad of an ally.

"It's frustrating," Robert said, pacing the floor while she sat regally in her favourite chair. "And unfair," he went on. "She's flung herself into public affairs with this hospital and health care business and now the Poor Law and the workhouse..."

"The workhouse." Violet was still recovering from Cora's announcement on Friday night of her intention to visit the Union workhouse in Ripon. "Robert, what is she thinking? You must put your foot down." Violet was a paler version of herself in some ways but could still marshal impressive forces of indignation.

Robert shrugged glumly. "We are beyond that, Mama. Cora goes her own way." He said this as a matter of fact and gave no indication of disapproval because he did not disapprove, not of Cora's independence anyway, though he had misgivings about this workhouse visit. "But now I have an opportunity to serve my country beyond merely being a good and loyal subject, and she would have me throw it over because of some aspect of the man that I did not myself see. And," he added earnestly, "it's not as though I share that attitude."

"As should be obvious, especially to Cora," Violet agreed. "I hope her objections won't put you off."

"No." Robert abandoned his pacing and took a seat across from his mother. "They won't. No more than my objections do her. I've decided to let it lie for another two days and then write Ambassador Houghton on Wednesday."

Violet smiled, pleased. They had not served at the highest ranks, the Crawleys, but they had always played their part and she was glad to see Robert so engaged.

"And how are things here?" Robert asked lightly, his tone masking a deeper concern.

Violet saw the worry in his eyes. "Oh, very well," she said reassuringly. "There seems to be some turmoil downstairs, but it's still simmering."

"Denker and Spratt at it again." Robert shook his head.

"Carson would never have had it at Downton," Violet said, agreeing with his unspoken dismay. "But this is a smaller house and I need my amusements. How did Carson respond to the Ambassador's proposal?" She knew that her son had spent the morning, after seeing the ambassador off on the early train, tramping the paths of Downton with Carson as he did every Monday, and was confident that he had briefed his old butler on this important development.

"Supportive," Robert said. "I'm afraid I was a bit grumpy though."

"I'm sure he can be a bit of a bear sometimes, too." Not that Violet had ever seen this side of Carson. But one couldn't run a ship the size as Downton as efficiently as Carson had done without a few irritable moments. And everyone had a bad day.

"He's almost universally cheerful these days," Robert said, and then added, "for Carson, that is."

Violet took this news as a personal victory. Carson had not taken well to retirement and she had played a critical role in dispelling his depression. And then there was his marriage, too. "Yes," she drawled, "newlywed bliss seems to have lingered longer with him."

This made Robert smile. Carson, the most unlikely candidate for late-in-life marriage, had indeed taken to his new state with zeal. Or perhaps passion was the best word for it.

"Perhaps. But more recently it's that he's quite taken with this assistant of his." Robert paused. "Have you met him, this young man?"

"Oh, yes," Violet said. "They're to come to me regularly now so that Carson may get my story. That will give me an opportunity to get a closer look."

For a few moments they enjoyed their tea in silence.

"Your father was a good man," Violet said suddenly.

Robert looked up at her, bewildered. As far as he was concerned, this was simply a fact.

"I think perhaps I've not said that often enough," Violet went on. "We understood each other. And we got on. Yes, we were well matched in so many ways."

Perhaps it was the nostalgic note in her voice, the sudden far-away-look in her eyes. Robert leaned more closely to her.

"Mama," he said gently. And in his eyes the questions and concerns of the past several weeks stared starkly at her.

"All is as it should be," she said, smiling kindly into the face of the sweet child she had adored since first she had felt him move within her.

They had never been demonstrative in their deepest affections.

Author's Note: I thought we were all due for a bit of fluff, after chapters of plotting. This is the last of the chapters I have prepared. All else is an unorganized heap of scenes. So it will be a week or so before I post again.