DOWNTON ABBEY 1926

Episode 10 Chapter 3

Wednesday November 3

Robert and Daniel Rider

Robert had had it in the back of his mind for some time to speak to Daniel Rider. The man was ensconced in the small library five mornings a week, hard at work in support of Carson's book project. That he had not as yet acted on the impulse to engage with the younger man Robert put down to having only a passing interest in the history of his own family. He thought he knew enough of it to be going on with and was glad that it would be written down for those with a greater enthusiasm for the subject, but he had not yet been gripped with such a passion himself.

His curiosity was piqued, however, by what Carson had had to say about Daniel Rider. A Cambridge man. A war record that included General Allenby's march into Jerusalem. Foreign places held no charm for Robert, but he had respect for any man who had fought for King and country. And Jerusalem! Of course, that business with the footman had stirred interest, too. And then the conversation at the Mertons' dinner party.

When Robert ambled into the small library on Wednesday morning, Daniel Rider was hard at work, as usual, half-hidden behind a pile of books, a stack of typed pages to one side, another of handwritten notes on the other. Seeing Robert, Rider got immediately to his feet.

"Good morning, Lord Grantham."

Lord Grantham. Not my lord. It gave away his middle-class origins, which was intriguing in itself. How did such a man end up here?

"I'm sorry I've not taken the time to speak with you before this," Robert said easily. "I ought to have done. You are writing the history of my family."

"I am doing my best to assist Mr. Carson in that endeavour," Rider responded. "It's a labour of love for him and I am glad to be a part of it."

There was no mistaking the air of respect he had for Carson. Robert appreciated this, realized how this would warm Carson's heart, and, knowing what he did about Rider, felt a flutter of disquiet. "You get on well with Carson," he said.

Rider smiled pleasantly. "I do. I enjoy Mr. Carson's company very much."

"I do, too," Robert said. What, he wondered, would Carson make of this man if he knew? Distracted, his eyes strayed to the sheaf of typewritten papers. "Have you discovered any dark secrets about the Crawleys?"

"No. Your family, Lord Grantham, has an honourable past. The Lords Grantham have supported a broad range of beneficial legislation in the Lords and have contributed generously to the local community and to Yorkshire generally."

Robert sighed. "That's too bad. I was hoping there might be some interesting bits."

This prompted Rider to laugh. "There are interesting bits. Your father's round-the-world trip with Prince Alfred, among them."

"He mentioned that once or twice," Robert recalled vaguely. "I think he frightened my sister with tales of sharks and pirates and then we never heard another thing. Well. Nothing that exciting has happened for decades."

"I doubt that's the case," Rider said politely. "And there is still much work to be done. You may hope yet."

"Are these manuscript pages?" Robert asked of the typed pages.

"Oh, no. Mr. Carson has not begun to write. These are transcripts of Mr. Carson's interviews with the Dowager Lady Grantham."

"May I?"

"Of course."

Robert began to thumb through the pages, pausing to read a paragraph here and there. He scanned an account of his father's campaign to restrict the use of animals in medical research.* He lingered more comfortably over the story of the founding of Downton Cottage Hospital. "I knew this," he murmured, "but…." Rider said nothing, understanding that Robert was talking to himself. A few pages farther on he read about a New Year's Eve party at Balmoral Castle. This made him laugh aloud.

"This is very well done," he said, looking up. "I can hear my mother saying these words."

Rider nodded. "Mr. Carson was very explicit on this point. He said we must strive to capture the Dowager Lady Grantham's distinctive voice because she has a style that is worth preserving."

The idea sobered Robert. "Yes," he said. "Yes, well, it's very well done. You have captured her in these pages." He stared, now unseeing, at the papers in his hand, and then rallied himself abruptly. "I'll let you get on. Thank you." And he withdrew.

Cora and Isobel

Cora returned to Grantham House on Wednesday afternoon to discuss with Isobel and Dickie their impending visit to the Union workhouse in Ripon which was arranged for the following Monday. She was immediately struck by Isobel's sombre demeanour. It was so unlike her.

"Your dinner was a great success," Cora began, thinking a compliment always the best place to start.

Dickie, who seemed not share Isobel's mood, responded with a warm smile. "I believe it was. We enjoyed all of our guests and my son behaved himself. Would that we could have said the same for his wife."

Cora returned his smile and forebore to comment on either Larry or Amelia Grey. Larry was Dickie's son, after all.

"Yes," said Isobel, making an effort. "Carson made it possible to slay the dragon."

"Butlers have always made me a little uneasy," Cora admitted, with a self-deprecating smile. She spoke in general terms, but she meant Carson. He was and always had been so clearly the creature of her mother-in-law, her husband, and her eldest daughter, that Cora had sometimes felt an outsider in her own house. She had learned to value him, but at a distance.

They spoke of their plans for Monday. Cora had reserved the car. She tried, unsuccessfully, to elicit a smile from Isobel by telling her that Mary was worried someone would see the car outside the workhouse and connect it to the family. She then related the agenda, which didn't involve much – speaking with the superintendent, touring the facilities, and perhaps a conversation or two with inmates.

"I mean, residents," Cora corrected herself. "Inmates makes it sound more like a prison or an asylum."

"I believe it is a difference in degree rather than essence," Dickie remarked circumspectly. "That will become clearer to us on the day."

Dickie did not linger over his tea and Cora was not unhappy when he excused himself and withdrew. Cora was troubled by Isobel's mood and determined to get to the bottom of it. But first she tried distraction again.

"I've invited someone to join us on our workhouse tour. Her name is Frederica Daring and she's a friend of Mary's. I hope you and Dickie won't mind."

The question was perfunctory. Isobel never minded such impositions. "It's not exactly a case of the more, the merrier, but why not? We'll have a proper delegation."

"I think you'll like Mrs. Daring," Cora went on. "She's a modern woman. She's the accountant for her family's agricultural machinery business, she drives her own car, and she wants to run for Parliament."

This was a startling recital, indeed. Isobel's eyes widened. "I wouldn't have thought she sounded like Mary's type at all."

"She's the granddaughter of the Viscount Havermore and she's hoping to secure the Conservative nomination."

"Ah!" Isobel's eyes did recover a little of their glitter. "That makes her almost more of a radical than were she to run for the Liberals or Labour."

"What has happened with Larry?" Cora asked, because she wondered. "Have you heard anything from him since…?"

"Not a word," Isobel replied. "Would that it would stay that way, although I know that's asking too much."

"If I may say so, you don't seem particularly pleased with yourself," Cora said gently. She had an idea of what lay behind Isobel's subdued manner. "Have you seen Mamma since Friday?"

Isobel's eyes flashed, but she recovered immediately. "Yes. Yes. We had tea."

Cora smiled sympathetically. "Are you sad about Mamma, Isobel?"

How to answer? Isobel's countenance betrayed her confusion on this. "I don't know what you mean," she said cautiously, but clearly agitated.

"Mamma has not made the state of her health explicit to Robert or Rosamund or Mary or me. But in a world where words are few and silences speak volumes, I think we can admit that Mamma's health is in decline."

Isobel stared at her. "Decline. Is that how you put it?"

On surer ground now, Cora abandoned discretion. "We know she's dying," she said bluntly, "though she hasn't put it in words. Robert and I have talked about it, but we've not spoken to Dr. Clarkson or anyone else."

"No."

"But she has told you." It wasn't a question.

Isobel merely nodded, her lips pressed tightly together to contain an impulse to emotion. "She said she hadn't told the family."

Cora gave a wan smile. "I think she may be trying to protect her children. Or perhaps to ward off any display of sentiment. But we all know. And we've agreed to let her play it out as she sees fit."

"I should have seen it," Isobel murmured, troubled. "I'm a trained nurse. She shouldn't have had to tell me."

"You're very close to Mamma," Cora said kindly. "That always blinds us."

Isobel gave a half nod, acknowledging this but not entirely convinced.

"Telling you … being able to tell you…. That was probably good for Mamma. She's coming to terms with it."

"Oh, she is."

The forcefulness with which Isobel spoke these words startled Cora, but she put that aside. "Rosamund returned on Monday. She'll be with Mamma now, 'til the end. Isobel." Cora's voice took on an earnest tone. "You are very dear to Mamma and to all of us. Act wholly in accord with your own feelings and needs going forward. You are as welcome as any of us at any time at the Dower House."

This brought a ghost of a smile to Isobel's face. "Thank you, Cora. Thank you for that."

Charlie and Elsie

Their timing wasn't quite perfect. Mr. Branson was just leaving when Shep's bark alerted Charlie to the fact that Elsie was home from work. Elsie and Mr. Branson exchanged cordial words at the door. Elsie had always liked the man and the revolution in his social standing had, if anything, only increased her regard, something Charlie could not fathom. But as pleased as she was to see Mr. Branson, Charlie could hear the bewilderment in her voice at finding him in her cottage. Her husband was not as fond of Lady Sybil's widower as she was, presenting a confounding situation. This only made Charlie smile. All the better for his surprise.

He reiterated his gratitude to Mr. Branson, who responded with a cheerful – and knowing – smile, and then was gone. As the door closed behind him, Elsie turned to her husband and said, without preamble, "What was he doing here?"

"Helping me." He grinned as her perplexed look.

"Helping you what?" It was clear she could not imagine the form such help might take.

"I wanted something in York. Mr. Branson drove me there and advised me on my purchase."

A truly astonished look came over her face. "You've not bought a car!"

This would have been startling indeed. They both knew he could not drive and had no desire to learn. Not to mention the fact that cars were prohibitively expensive. But he laughed at her reaction.

"No. Well, I'd not be able to fit a car in the sitting room, would I?" He held out his arm and she took it, at least a little relieved, but still nonplussed. Shep helped, nudging Elsie along with his nose, his tail swishing in enthusiasm.

At the door of the sitting room, Charlie paused and Elsie obligingly looked beyond him, wondering what he could fit into the sitting room. The mystery was resolved at a glance as her eyes fell on the polished wooden cabinet that now occupied a prominent place across from the fireplace. Her mouth fell open in a gratifyingly vivid expression of astonishment.

"A radio!"

Charlie took her hand and led her over to it. Instinctively she reached out to run her hand over the shining surface, as he had done in the shop. But she hesitated over the dials, as he had done as well. It was a little intimidating, this technological wonder. And then her eyes shifted abruptly to his.

"What on earth possessed you?" she demanded.

He knew what she was asking. Radios were expensive. More, only months ago he had expressed such grave reservations about having one under the Abbey's roof. I feel the ground shaking beneath my feet. His boyish enthusiasm for a surprise gave way to a gentler, more sentimental semblance.

"I thought we might enjoy it," he said quietly. "You're home in the evenings now. There's all sorts of entertainments on offer – music, theatre, news." There had not been much space for it in their lives, but they had both always had an eye turned to the world beyond Downton. Each had availed themselves of the privilege of borrowing books from the Abbey library, novels mostly, but sometimes history and books of art and travelogues. His Lordship had everyone record their selections in a book by the door and on more than one occasion in his years as butler, Charlie had perused the list to see what others were reading. He knew precisely where Elsie's interests lay.

"I'm sure of that," Elsie responded, her eyes straying to the thing again. "But…."

"I know it's extravagant and I know I should have spoken with you first," he said preemptively, anticipating likely objections. "But … Elsie, I want to live now and…."

He stopped speaking as she slipped an arm about him and drew him close, leaning into him, even as she continued to stare at the radio. He knew from the warmth of her embrace that she was pleased. More than pleased. Delighted. His arm encircled her in response, and they stood there for a long moment. And then Shep barked. He planted himself before them, his whole body wriggling with excitement.

Elsie laughed. "He wants to show it off," she said, giving the animal an affectionate pat. Then she glanced up at her husband. "Do you know how to work it, then?"

He saw the mischief in her eyes. As though he would purchase the thing without instruction to operate it!

"Yes. The man in the shop went through it with me and Mr. Branson reviewed it thoroughly after he'd set it up." With confidence, he turned the knob and it clicked satisfyingly. There was a hum and then a crackle and then … music, brassy and lively.

"Who's that?" Elsie asked, without thinking.

"I don't know," Charlie said. "Not yet. But I'm confident that we'll get up to speed quite quickly on the latest bands as we dance our evenings away." So saying, he drew her into the middle of the room and into his arms.

"I've not even changed my clothes," Elsie protested, but it was a feeble protest. She was excited. He could see that.

And it did not matter to him what she was wearing. He slipped easily into a comfortable step in perfect time with the music and, to his delight, Elsie let herself go and followed him into this wondrous moment. She relaxed in his arms and laughed as they whirled about the room. It was exactly as he had pictured this moment. There weren't many opportunities at Downton to display talents not directly associated with their work, but the annual servants' ball had let them dance and, in this, Charlie had excelled. But it was only once a year.

They gave it up when the piece came to an end with an unspoken understanding that this was not the end of it that evening, not by a long shot. But Elsie did want to change her clothes and they had dinner to eat.

"What on earth possessed you?" Elsie demanded of him again as they sat down to their meal, the exhilaration of his unexpected act still evident in her tone.

"I want to live now," he repeated, putting down his utensils to concentrate on this speech. "We've both of us led sparing lives all our lives. Oh, I know a butler has it better than most of the other servants," he said quickly, anticipating an oft-made critique. "But we've had little opportunity and less time to enjoy ourselves." He paused. "Every day can't be like Scarborough, but we can have a little of Scarborough in every day."

They exchanged warm smiles at this. The week in Scarborough to start their marriage had been like something out of another couple's lives.

"We have a window of opportunity now, Elsie. I want to savour it." He spoke passionately, persuasively, as though he thought she needed persuading. But she didn't.

"I agree," she said simply. "I'm only surprised it should take this particular direction."

"I've been thinking about it for weeks," he admitted. "And then I saw Mr. Branson by chance one morning last week and that decided me. It is a big purchase and I wanted to get it right. He knows about radios and he knew what shops to try in York."

Elsie was beaming at him and not just because of the radio. He knew this.

"He was always a pleasant chap," Charlie conceded, without begrudging Mr. Branson the compliment. "When he wasn't trying to overturn the British Empire. And he's fond of you." He sobered a little. "I know it's a lot of money, Elsie, and I ought not to have put it out without consulting you…."

But she cut through his contrition. "It's a wonderful surprise. A woman likes that now and again. And you're not a spendthrift at any time. Let me appreciate the gift you've made to both of us. Thank you."

He breathed easily again. "I enjoy dancing," he said, as though she didn't know this.

"I'm fond of it myself," she responded, with an impish look.

"I'm sure I can find us something else to which we might dance," he said invitingly.

They got up from the table, leaving the dishes sitting there for once. He did find another tune and in another moment they were flitting about the sitting room, dodging furniture. He made a mental note to clear a bigger space next time. In the moment, however, his thoughts strayed elsewhere.

"Do you remember our last evening in Scarborough?" he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

She rolled her eyes. "Do I look like I've lost my mind? Of course, I remember it!" But her feigned exasperation softened. "You're a romantic, Charlie Carson."

"I hope so."

"The cinema. Now the radio. I'm feeling quite indulged. Do you have any more romantic surprises up your sleeve?" She was teasing him, but she sounded hopeful, too.

But he came over more circumspect. "I might have."

"Well. Something to look forward to."

* Author's Note: I have lifted this reference to the anti-vivisection movement from the biography of the 4th Earl of Carnarvon. Both the 3rd and 4th Earls were committed to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and supported anti-vivisection legislation in the Lords. Though how they reconciled this campaign with fox-hunting and the seasonal grouse slaughter is beyond me.