DOWNTON ABBEY 1926
EPISODE 9 Chapter 5
Friday October 22
Cora and Violet
Cora sat across from her mother-in-law, balancing a cup of tea in her lap and taking note of the evidence of the older woman's fragility. Somehow, she looked smaller in the familiar wingback chair. Her carriage was not quite so erect and this was a sign in itself, for Violet had for decades been a terror to younger women with imperfect posture. Each of her granddaughters could attest to that. And perhaps Cora was imagining it, but the unshakable self-confidence that had intimidated a young American debutante now seemed a shadow of its former self to the assured, mature Countess of Grantham.
Violet was watching her keenly. 'No pity, my dear," she said, the solid timbre of her voice belying the apparent frailty of her frame. "I know how sentimental Americans can be."
Cora smiled complacently. Would anyone else invoke her American origins to justify and criticize everything she did once her mother-in-law was gone? Well, there was Mary. "Some Americans are sentimental," she said agreeably. "But we are also hard-headed realists. And I could never pity anyone leading the life you have, rich in so many ways." She deliberately employed the present tense. As far as Cora was concerned, there was always plenty of time to mourn later.
"Well, I agree with you there," Violet said, and her mouth relaxed into a smile.
"You've agreed with me on many things over the years, if you look closely."
"Please don't tell anyone."
Cora just shook her head. Mamma was incorrigible. "I do have something to say that I hope you'll accept in the spirit of goodwill in which I intend it."
It was not a surprise at all that this announcement should elicit a sigh from Violet. "Oh, dear. Then I have done something to precipitate this visit."
"I've come to see you because I wanted to see you," Cora said flatly. "Making a statement is just an added benefit."
"Go on, then."
Some of the levity faded from Cora's manner. Her subject was a matter of some consequence. "It's about your daughter. And I speak as the mother of daughters. We have that in common." She could see Violet restraining herself from a grammatical correction and, hoping to forestall such a digression, Cora pushed on.
"Rosamund needs to know that you love her, Mamma. I know you do. That isn't in question, not by me. But Rosamund isn't sure, not … viscerally, not emotionally. Robert … Robert has been at the centre all of his life."
"He was the heir." Violet said this not defensively, but reflexively.
"Yes." Cora knew all about that. "And he's had you, right here, beside him, showing him in a thousand ways that haven't needed words, how much you love him. Rosamund hasn't had that …that constant affirmation." She paused. "This is your last chance."
Charlie and Elsie and Dr. Clarkson
"You're not still grumbling about this." Elsie spoke from the counter by the sink where she was chopping vegetables.
Charlie looked at her through the glass he was polishing. It was perfect. And so was she. Except for her ideas about dinner guests. "I'm not grumbling at all. But I don't understand why Dr. Clarkson is coming for dinner."
"Because I asked him," Elsie said simply, as if that was an explanation.
He was perplexed. He had taken her to the pictures. She invited Dr. Clarkson for dinner. This was hardly an appropriate quid pro quo. This was perhaps unfair of him. His Lordship had spoken of a husband wooing his wife. He had said nothing of a wife wooing her husband. But, of course, Elsie had not been apprised of even the first part of the equation, so she should not be held account by it. Still….
"First, Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason…," he muttered.
"That was months ago! What are you on about? We have Daniel Rider here once a week. Can't we have someone else?"
"I thought you'd come round to Daniel," he said, deflecting.
"I like him well enough. I just don't understand why you're making such a fuss about Dr. Clarkson."
No, you wouldn't understand.
He ceased to object and removed himself to the sitting room to make sure everything was in order there. And then he sat in his chair and ran his fingers over Shep's silken ears. The dog had come to sit beside him, as he often did when Charlie got agitated about something.
How could Elsie understand? He didn't object to the doctor in general. They'd known each other for years, in a passing way. Dr. Clarkson had been at Downton Abbey for all major health events – births, illnesses, deaths – for thirty years. He'd attended Carson himself on the rare occasions – that strain during the war and the influenza afterward – he'd been ill. The man was capable, professional, and discrete.
Which is exactly why Charlie had broached with him a subject of great delicacy. On the eve of his marriage to Elsie, Charlie had sought advice and Dr. Clarkson had provided it.* It had been a thoroughly dispassionate conversation and the information conveyed had been helpful. Charlie was grateful. But he could afford to have such a conversation with the doctor because he was the doctor – not an associate, not a subordinate, not a friend – but a doctor. Someone who was by nature at arm's length.
Now, the man would be here, in Charlie's house, where he lived with the wife with whom he practiced the intimacies in which Clarkson had helped to educate him. How could he not be uncomfortable with that?
And there was the other thing. This was the only man in the world, apart from himself, who had seen and touched intimate parts of Elsie's body. The man had inserted a syringe into her breast, which could hardly have been done without some kind of contact. Charlie did not doubt that the man had maintained his professional demeanour throughout. It was just the idea.
But Elsie would probably dismiss all that with a laugh. Easy for her.
But there was nothing to be done about it, so he and Shep greeted Clarkson at the door with all the affability suitable to the occasion. Shep swarmed the man, clearly acquainted and prepared to welcome him. Clarkson, Charlie noted, smiled at the dog and rubbed his ears in a way that showed a familiarity with dogs. Elsie joined them for a moment in the sitting room.
"I've left word with the telephone operator that I'm here," Clarkson said. "I like to be available in case of an emergency. It's convenient that you have a telephone in the cottage."
"Lady Mary insisted," Charlie said proudly.
"I don't know why she bothered," Elsie said flatly. "She never calls. She just shows up at the door when she wants something."
Charlie gave her a disgruntled look. Lady Mary had installed it for their convenience, not her own. But Elsie was already excusing herself. And then there was several minutes of stilted conversation until Elsie joined them again. Alcohol usually loosened things up, but the man wasn't drinking. And he had opened a nice bottle of Bordeaux.
Over dinner, conversation flowed more smoothly, despite the absence of alcohol. Clarkson was clearly more at ease with Elsie. They laughed together, and made easy reference to things they had spoken about the last time they'd seen each other. Charlie wondered if he should be jealous. But he didn't really see it. Altogether, it came to him that the man was just starved for conversation and Elsie had a way of making someone else feel that what they said was important. She was a good listener. As well he knew.
They discussed the Health Minister, with both Elsie and the doctor agreeing that his zeal for reform was admirable.
"Though he's not quite his father's son," Clarkson added.
"Thank God for that," Charlie said emphatically. "Joseph Chamberlain was a maniac."
"As Colonial Secretary, yes. But as mayor of Birmingham he was quite progressive."
"That's not a polite word in this house, Dr." Elsie said this with a smile and then a warning nod to her husband.
"He wanted to better the lives of everyone in that city," Clarkson persisted.
"No matter who he trampled over to do it."
They shifted slightly.
"I think Mr. Chamberlain's program for reforming the workhouses is long overdue."
"Her Ladyship has taken an interest in the issue," Elsie said. "She's planning to visit the workhouse in Ripon."
Charlie gave her a doubtful look. The place had ill associations for them, and not for the usual reasons. Not to mention the fact that were they really talking about the workhouse, any workhouse, at the dinner table?
"Really?" Dr. Clarkson was taken aback. "I hope she takes care. It's a vile place. Pestilential, really. Not the sort of place for such a visitor, even with good intentions."
Elsie stared meaningfully at her husband. She had said as much to him when she had visited the workhouse, to investigate the situation of Charlie's old dance hall days' chum, Charlie Grigg. She'd been so appalled that she'd arranged for him to be released from the place. Charlie had had nothing to do with it and, though he'd decided to let bygones be bygones with the cad, he'd not forgotten that she'd put her oar in where it wasn't wanted.
"I agree with you there," Charlie said loudly. "About Her Ladyship. She's likely to catch lockjaw."
"Have you been busy of late?" Elsie asked Clarkson, shifting the conversation again.
He shrugged. "It's flu season. Again. We struggle with that every year. And we will for the foreseeable future. And there's been some sporadic outbreaks of the infantile paralysis in the northern counties, though I've not seen a case." He frowned thoughtfully. "And that's interesting, because this isn't the usual time of year for it. Summer is more common"
Charlie steeled himself. He sensed a medical lecture coming on. He was right.
Clarkson put his head back and discoursed as though he were in a lecture hall. "It's a deceptive disease and therein lies the danger. Some people hardly notice it. Other have severe symptoms, but recover. Others remain paralyzed for life. And still others die. There's no predicting how you will be affected."
"One pities the children," Elsie murmured, nodding at the doctor's words.
"But it isn't a child's disease, despite the name – infantile. And neither are measle or mumps. They're all viral diseases. But the ones we associate with children are the ones that have been around so long and that come in cycles so that, usually, most of the adults have already had it so it strikes only the children. Polio has been around since the dawn of creation, too, but it's lain dormant for longer periods so we haven't achieved the herd immunity of the other illnesses. Influenza mutates rapidly so we get a different strain every year. The epidemic in 1918 was a novel kind and severe, hence the devastation worldwide." His bright, clear gaze focused suddenly on Charlie. "You were one of the lucky ones. Of course, millions didn't die. But we'll probably never know how many millions did die. Polio may be on the rise."
Death. Disease. Disaster. And Elsie wondered why the man didn't have any friends. Perhaps she sensed her husband's dismay, for she intervened in the conversation and astutely turned it in a different direction. She nodded at Shep who had traitorously positioned himself by Dr. Clarkson's side. The man was absent-mindedly stroking the dog's head.
"It's one of the pleasures of having our own house, the dog," she said.
"We had a collie when I was a boy," Clarkson said.
"We did, too," Elsie responded. "He's a good companion, never leaving Mr. Carson's side."
"With the obvious exception of tonight," Charlie muttered. "I wasn't suffering for companionship," he said more loudly.
"You've not wanted a dog?" Elsie asked the doctor, giving Charlie a look.
"It's not practical," Clarkson said with a shrug. "Not with my work at the hospital. I don't believe in having a dog sitting alone all day. It should be with you, out and about. Shep has the ideal life here."
"How are things at the hospital, with the reorganization?" Charlie didn't know why Elsie frowned at him about that. If the man wanted to talk about his job, wasn't it all right to question him about it?
"I'm not fond of the administrative foresight by people who aren't practitioners. But people are still having children, breaking bones, needing treatment for minor conditions. That and the round of seasonal illnesses keeps me busy. There's a bit of a lull right now in terms of that administrative side of it. Lady Merton seems to be a bit … preoccupied … with a social event."
"A society dinner party," Charlie clarified.
"I wouldn't have thought that something that interested her," the doctor said offhandedly.
"It doesn't." Charlie said flatly. "That's why I'm organizing it for her."
"Well, then it will be a success. I saw your article in The Sketch."
Now, this was an unexpected turn to things. "Did you?" Somehow Charlie couldn't imagine the doctor reading such a thing.
"A local man getting published in a London magazine," the doctor said. "I thought it worthy of attention. And then there will be your book. The Dowager has been taking great pleasure in it."
"And I in the work."
"Lady Edith has been trying to get Mr. Carson to write a piece on Shep and his ability to identify when Mr. Carson is going to have one of his spells."
Charlie was not at all pleased to have attention drawn to his infirmity and even less so when it sparked another disquisition from Clarkson on the potential use of dogs in divining all sorts of medical maladies. There was nothing concrete, but anecdotal evidence was approaching a significant level.
"Whatever that means," Charlie whispered to Elsie as they carried dishes to the kitchen, he risking a broken dish in order to commiserate with her. But they were not to have any shared amusement over the doctor's musings as they had over the film three nights earlier.
"That wasn't quite as difficult as you made it out to be, was it," Elsie said, only slightly sarcastically as they prepared for bed later.
"I never said it would be difficult. I said I wasn't keen," Charlie responded. He put on his pajamas and then sat on the edge of the bed, on her side, watching her brush her hair before the mirror. "You're not a very good match-maker, you know."
"What?!"
"Mr. Mason and Mrs. Patmore, for one. And Clarkson and me, for another."
"What?"
"I know it's different. But that's what you were after, wasn't it? You were trying to make us friends. If Clarkson and I were destined to be friends, we would be."
"Oh, if we're talking destiny. You mean like you and I were destined to marry."
He was puzzled by this. "But we did marry."
"Thirty years after first meeting is not destiny. It's … having no other options." Oh, she laughed at that.
"You'd never have made it on the halls," he informed her drily. "Besides, you're the one he's interested in."
"What?" Now, she turned around to stare at him.
"Not like that," he said easily, waving away her indignant look. "I only meant that he clearly enjoyed talking to you. With me it was all a bit formal."
"He read your article, for goodness sake! What more could the man do to win your undying affection!"
"I appreciated that," he conceded. "But …his conversation generally was rather heavy on the medical and rather dreary medical at that."
"That's what interests him. You used to talk about the things that went on at the Abbey."
"Well, not only that," he said, slightly ruffled. "And I used to talk about them with the housekeeper. We both enjoyed it."
Her expression froze for a moment, and then smoothed out again. "You should have talked about the Christie mysteries you've read. Or that dog book Lady Edith gave you."
"I did. You were in the kitchen. He likes Jack London stories. All brutal adventure stories set in an Arctic wasteland where things don't turn out well for the dogs."
"Which is quite different than brutal adventure stories set in African jungles where things don't turn out well for the natives. Or the lions."
H. Rider Haggard's novel was still on his bedside table.
Charlie sighed. This was not quite the direction he had hoped their post-guest conversation might take. "Did you want to read for a while?" he asked without enthusiasm for Haggard.
Elsie had resumed brushing her hair and had her back to him. "I don't think so. I've not really got anything interesting at the moment." She paused. "Would you like me to give you a massage?"
Looking up, he caught her eye in the mirror and considered her words. Massage was one of the particular pleasures of marriage. No one could appreciate a massage more than one who had spent a lifetime in service where the ache of muscles pushed to the edge of endurance every day was one's lot. Although he had for decades accepted and abided by the dictum that servants not marry, he now thought this rank foolishness in so many ways. Not least because it deprived one of the soothing touch of another's hand.
He got up and went to stand behind her, sliding his hands over her shoulders, catching one thumb in the neck of her nightgown and tracing it around to the hollow at the base of her throat, so that his hand lay lightly across her breast. He had a sudden longing to press his lips to that very spot. When Elsie worked out the knots in the muscles of his neck and shoulders, he almost often fell asleep, such was the extent of the relief this brought him. When he massaged her, however, quite the reverse occurred. As his hands moved over her neck, shoulders, back, thighs…, he grew more alert to the contours of her body, more sensitive to every sigh of gratification his touch elicited from her. And one thing led to another.
"No," he said, affecting a casual air. "No, thank you, love. Why don't I massage you?"
He studied her reflection carefully. She wasn't looking at him. But when he said this, a small smile took form on her lips. "Yes," she said. "I would like that.
Anna and John
Anna was in bed when John came in.
She still brushed off what she thought was his excessive encouragements to take things easy. "I'm not an eggshell," she would say, sometimes in mild irritation. But if he thought she wasn't going to take care of herself and this new baby, then he was a fool. She was the one who had suffered the various miscarriages, after all. And while they pained him emotionally, the miscarriages, like … that other terrible thing that had happened to her … had physically happened to her. Anna knew the perils far better than he did. So, she had begun to take advantage of her evening dispensation from Lady Mary's service to get her rest. But she still stayed awake, if she could. After all, they had little enough time together alone.
She called out quietly to him as he came up the stairs, so that he could put on the small lamp while he got ready for bed. It was easier for him to hang his clothes properly when he could see what he was doing. John was meticulous about the uniform he wore at the Abbey. Anna appreciated this from a professional point of view. Some servants struggled with that. It didn't come naturally to them. John had been trained to it, first in the army and then in service. For Anna, though, such precision was innate. She hadn't had many things as a child, but they had all been in order.
John moved about the room and Anna's eye followed him lazily. She loved the look of him in his white cotton undershirt, with his suspenders hanging loosely from his waistband. Because of the intimate nature of her work, she had seen Mr. Henry and Mr. Matthew before him in their silk pajamas, seen the way that fine material fell along the lines of their bodies. But she preferred the look of John in his undershirt, the fabric all stretched out of shape in places so that it distorted rather than illuminated the body that lay beneath it. Even so, occasionally he would reach for something or lean over and the material would draw tight and then suddenly she would catch a glimpse of a powerful shoulder or the deep chest that she knew so well.
She was so focused on his physical attributes that she didn't take note of his mood until he sat down heavily on the bed and his shoulders sagged as though burdened with a great weight.
"What is it?" she asked, edging over close enough to run a hand over his muscled forearm.
His eyes slanted in her direction. "I can't help thinking about the Dowager." He had told Anna some of the conversation of the day before.
"Well, you knew about that from the start of, didn't you," she said, drawing herself up to sit cross-legged beside him. "And … anyone with eyes can tell she's fading."
"I know. And I did. But four months ago, when she told me, it was too much to grasp. It wasn't real. Now it is only two months more. Maybe. New Year's, if she's lucky. And … I won't see her again."
Anna smiled sympathetically. "You hardly set eyes on her ever before."
"True. And I know the usual rationalizations – she's old, she's lived her life. But somehow, that sort of things only matters when it's someone else's grandmother or friend or … commanding officer. When it comes down to an individual that you know, it doesn't matter whether they're fifty or eighty or a hundred-and-twelve. Whatever the Dowager is." He gave her a quick grin at that.
"And then there's the other thing," he added.
"Your job. The job she's having you do."
"Yes. It will change things. It can't be helped now. She's chosen that path and I've given my word to make is so. I encouraged her to it, in fact."
"Will someone get hurt?"
"Be hurt, maybe. But get hurt, no. And they'll survive it." He leaned toward her and she leaned into him. "The benefits of an uncomplicated life," he murmured, blowing a wisp of hair from her cheek.
Anna sat up abruptly. "An uncomplicated life? What's that like?!" She could say that jokingly, but only because the great complications of their lives were at some distance now.
He seized one of her hands and held it tightly. "We are going to be simple innkeepers from now on," he said firmly. "We'll have regular problems like … our son not doing his homework or our daughter falling out with one of her friends."
"Our daughter." She was amused by this. Absently, her free hand fell to her abdomen.
"Our eldest daughter," he corrected himself, putting a hand over hers.
"Our eldest daughter."
"The eldest of four."
Anna's eyes went round with mock astonishment. "I don't want to ask if there will be more boys."
"Of course, there will be more boys."
"Then I hope your next wife will be very happy with all these children. I may be in America."
They laughed. He encircled her with an arm, pulled her close, and kissed her with a slow-burning passion.
"How are you going to manage with such a crowd of children?" she murmured against his lips. "You're no good with crowds."
"I will talk to them one at a time," he said.
Anna collapsed with laughter and pulled him down beside her.
*Author's Note: On Charlie's conversation with Dr. Clarkson, see Getting Married, Chapter 6 "The Doctor's Advice."
