Downton Abbey 1926

Episode 11

Chapter 4

Charlie, Elsie, and Daniel

On Monday, Daniel had returned to his research in the small library of the Abbey, but Elsie did not see him until Tuesday afternoon, for she was busy enough with her own work and he did not come downstairs at all. Mrs. Patmore, she knew, would have liked to discuss this development, but Elsie put her off. It was too sensitive. Her exchange with Daniel on Tuesday was as unsatisfactory as her look-in with Thomas had been on Friday. Daniel was polite but inscrutable, and then Her Ladyship had come in, hearing Elsie's voice, and that was that. She would have to wait until their dinner on Thursday evening when, with just the three of them in the room, no one would be able to hide.

Elsie had abandoned her earlier apprehensions about Daniel for warm consideration, welcoming his frequent visits to the cottage as much for her own enjoyment as for the pleasure they gave Charlie. But she was looking forward to this dinner with the same sense of foreboding as upstairs at the Abbey had done with Lady Merton's party. It was going to be a disaster. She knew it. And yet she was powerless to forestall it.

Charlie would have dismissed her feelings had she shared them with him. He'd seemed almost … light-hearted ... these past few days and she didn't like that at all because it was not consonant with the situation. He appeared to think that this evening would confirm normal relations. She wondered that he did not see how everything had changed, even if no one was as yet admitting it.

And had she mentioned Lady Merton's dinner, Charlie would have swept caution aside. "Look how well that turned out!" he would say. But tonight's circumstances were not at all comparable. A banker's fraud and subtle blackmail were straightforward matters. The issue at the heart of the Charlie-Daniel-Thomas triangle – as she had begun to think of it – was more fraught for being emotional in nature. And Charlie's delusional interpretation of events couldn't last. Of that Elsie was certain. In the end, all she could do was prepare a nice meal and hope for the best.

Elsie met Daniel at the door, hoping for … what? A moment to plan strategy? Well, she didn't get it. Shep, of course, nosed his way in and Charlie was right behind the dog, which made the passage a bit crowded. Charlie was perhaps a little too hearty in his welcome and Daniel even more polite than usual, if that were possible. They had a few moments in the sitting room, as Charlie had questions about notes for the history they were writing. Watching them, dark heads bent together over the pages, Elsie could only shake her head. Why did he come? she wondered, staring at Daniel. But she supposed she knew. Hope.

"The Dowager is … declining," Charlie said soberly, straightening up.

It surprised Elsie that he had not mentioned this to Daniel already, but then recalled how turbulent things had gotten since Charlie had had the news.

"She won't…." He paused. "Well, she doesn't appear to be suffering, at least."

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Carson."

And as Elsie watched, Daniel put a comforting hand on Charlie's arm and she saw her husband almost lean into it. Oh! she thought. Can he not see what he has?

And then they were coming in for dinner. The dinner itself was something Elsie could control, so she'd made a leg of lamb, usually reserved for Sunday.

"A Bordeaux," Charlie announced, passing the bottle along to Daniel as they sat. Of course, he'd already decanted the wine and it gleamed in the candlelight from a carafe on the table.

"A rich accompaniment for a modest shoulder of lamb," Elsie remarked.

"You've gone to a lot trouble, Mrs. Carson," Daniel said, taking in the spread.

"It's always worth the effort where good friends are concerned," Charlie intoned. Elsie and Daniel both held their breath while he poured, but he managed it smoothly.

"And how are you enjoying the wireless?" Daniel inquired of both of them.

A good neutral start. Elsie seized the moment. "The wireless was a surprise gift from Mr. Carson," she said. Daniel knew this already, but Elsie mentioned it as a prelude to answering his question. "If he'd asked me about it, I'd have dismissed it as an extravagance. But I like the music and the news and the radio plays. We're in a bit of a backwater here," – she ignored her husband's dissenting grunt – "and I like getting beyond it."

"It's an amazing thing," Daniel said. "For all the pleasure it gives, it has great potential as a democratizing tool, perhaps even more significant than the written word."

"What?" Charlie was taken aback.

"How do you mean?" Elsie was curious.

"Think of the revolution of literacy," Daniel responded. "Literacy, relying on handwritten manuscripts, was the purview of the privileged few. Print broadened that somewhat. But literacy has always been expensive and demanding: you have to have the skill of reading to make sense of it. Only in our lifetimes has print overcome the first challenge, becoming inexpensive enough to make it available to a mass market."

"The penny press," Charlie said disdainfully. "With a consequent deterioration of English literature, reduced to serial publication in subscription journals of dubious quality."

"And yet you couldn't wait for the resolution of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd," Elise said drily as an aside. The novel had been appeared weekly in The Times and Charlie had read the installments assiduously as they came out. "What were you saying about democracy?" she asked Daniel, returning to the subject.

"Making print accessible to the masses is fundamental in a democracy," Daniel went on, nodding to Elsie, but addressing this to Charlie. "The advent of the penny press wasn't just about making money. It was explicitly embraced as a tool to educate the masses. An educated workforce is a necessity of both an industrial economy and a political democracy."

"As far as I can see, it's only made politics grubby," Charlie said.

Daniel, warming to his subject, smiled. "Politics have always been grubby. The expansion of the press has only made that apparent to a wider audience."

"But for what purpose?"

"Mr. Carson thought it a bit of a stretch for Daisy to learn more than her A, B, Cs," Elsie told Daniel, smiling at her husband. He raised his eyebrows, as though to confirm his reservations in the matter of Daisy.

"For one, the broadening of the franchise. It's possible for the greater population to participate in democracy when they are better educated and informed."

"I take it this is an endorsement of the Reform Acts?"

"It's all of a piece, Mr. Carson."

"This is your education we're hearing," Elsie said. "We're listening to a lecture from a Cambridge scholar at our own table!" Invoking Cambridge was a deliberate ploy. Charlie, she knew, had respect for the institution. She had begun to hear a familiar note in his voice, one she had not heard before with Daniel. Hitherto, this young man had gotten away with arguments that favoured a more liberal bent, remarks that from almost anyone else had drawn a sharp rebuke from her Mr. Carson. That leniency appeared to be on the wane. She wanted to head that off.

Daniel looked a bit sheepish at her words. "Then I apologize for that."

"Not at all! Now tell us about the wireless."

"Print is now cheap, but you still have to know how to read. But see how the wireless overcomes that! Anyone can listen and understand a broadcast. Think of the implications: government can speak to the whole nation, not just those privileged to attend the House of Commons or to read the debates in the papers. And think of the cultural implications. Men and women exposed only to the conversation of their peers can now enjoy the cultural riches of the nation, and perhaps the world. Shakespeare was always meant to be performed for a mass audience and now he's got one beyond his wildest imaginings."

Despite her concerns, Elsie was delighted by this. "Come, Charlie," she said, trying to draw him into the conversation. "You must see the advantage of that. We've certainly been enjoying those wider offerings." She won a smile from him. When would they ever have had the opportunities to dance together that the wireless gave them in their own homes?

"And there's more," Daniel said. "The BBC is in the process of adopting Received Pronunciation as a standard for its radio personnel. Not only will all of England be able to enjoy the culture of the nation, but will also be exposed, as a regular thing, to a standard form of our language. It's a building block to national unity, binding us together, diminishing local differentiations and dialects."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Elsie frowned a little. "I like the regional variations in language. There may be a national culture, but I hope it is the assembling of many diverse offerings, rather than some kind of amalgamation into a homogeneous whole. I like the local accents and think them worth preserving." And she put a bit more of a burr into her r-s for emphasis.

"Would that everyone spoke the King's English," Charlie intoned, which surprised neither of his listeners. "I wouldn't mind that. In fact," he added, "if I never heard that grating Mancunian twang again, I would be grateful indeed."

It was a trifling thing, the sort of remark that might be passed over easily in other circumstances, coming from another person. But for those present at the Carson dinner table it carried a weight all its own and suddenly the incident of the week before, which Elsie had begun to hope they might avoid, was there on the mat before them. There was a moment of silence.

"Is the Dowager suffering from a particular malady?" asked Daniel in a rather deliberate tone.

Charlie was diverted. "I don't know," he said. "She … she told me herself that she was … that…." He cleared his throat. "But she did not say precisely."

"I've enjoyed her stories," Daniel said solemnly. "She has created a legacy."

"Yes, she's quite a few tales to tell," Elsie said, thinking especially of the last one she had imparted to Charlie. He gave her a look. Well, she hadn't expected that he'd tell that story to Daniel.

"Our work must go on nevertheless," Charlie declared. "After all, it is a history of the Crawley family that we have been commissioned to write." He paused. "And it is a task sufficient to fill our time. Let's drop that other project, the cataloguing of the Abbey's artwork and such. We really haven't time for it and, as he was only too clear upon when first we discussed it, the butler has quite enough to do without arranging your access to the upper floors."

"Yes. We've quite enough work as it is," Daniel said agreeably, though he did not look at Charlie as he spoke. Instead, he raised his glass and took a sip. "This is indeed a fine wine, Mr. Carson."

It was a safe topic. Elsie breathed a sigh of relief. Charlie could go on for hours about wine, and though she did not always encourage him to do so, here was an opportunity. "And where did it come from?" she asked.

"His Lordship recommended it," Charlie responded with a deep satisfaction. "It was the original and primary function of a butler to manage the lord's wine cellar. I spent nine months in France learning the management."

"I understand His Lordship has a fine cellar."

As Charlie had put it together, he might have accepted the remark as a compliment, but he took it in a different direction. "He does, though keeping it secure has sometimes been a challenge. I tried and failed, for the first time, to rid Downton of Mr. Barrow for stealing wine, but he ran away to the war before he could be made to pay the consequences."

"A war for which he volunteered and in which he paid a physical price," Elsie said acidly.

"Did he tell you that?" Charlie ignored her and spoke to Daniel.

"No." Daniel sat very still, not looking at either of them.

"Of course not. And not before attempting to frame Mr. Bates for the thefts, too."

"Charlie."

"It's only the truth." But her abbreviated admonition seemed to have an effect. He subsided. For a moment, Charlie ate, while Elsie played a bit with her food, and Daniel remained unmoving.

"Mr. Molesley's pageant was a great success."

Oh, not the pageant! Elsie glared at her husband, to no effect.

"You had much to do with it, I gather," Charlie went on.

Daniel appeared to rouse himself. "No, not at all. It was all Mr. Molesley's doing. He prepared the children well. I only helped with some of the organization." With an effort he turned to look at Charlie. "Mr. Molesley has quite an eye to history and he admires Lord Grantham. He might have been a worthy collaborator on the family history."

"Oh, no," Charlie said dismissively. "Of course, he's otherwise occupied in any case. But he would drive me to distraction. And," he added, with a benevolent air, "I could not be more satisfied than I am with the assistant I've got."

A week ago, this compliment would have been genially offered and warmly received. Now, to Elsie's ear, it sounded more a bit of a caution.

"How did Mrs. Patmore react?" Daniel asked abruptly, addressing Elsie. "Mr. Molesley had very clearly put the boy, Mark, off of telling the story."

Elsie seized on this. "She was pleased. And so was her sister, Mrs. Philpotts, who had come for the occasion. They were both quite moved, in the end."

"I'm glad of it. Mr. Molesley was scrupulous in getting the permission of the families involved. I imagine he was distressed about it."

"It all worked out," Elsie said.

"Regardless of the outcome, the boy ought to be reprimanded," Charlie put in sharply, "else he will grow up thinking he can violate rules at will." There was a hardness in his voice all out of proportion with the schoolboy's transgression. "Behavioural transgressions ought to be condemned…."

"Charlie…."

"On which subject … you are a generous soul, Daniel, but I feel obliged to warn you to be on your guard with Mr. Barrow."

He had done it now.

"There was an incident, a few years ago, with a footman which almost brought a grievous scandal down on the house, with threats of police intervention. We managed to hush it up…."

"With promotions all around, including of Mr. Barrow to the post of underbutler." It was the wrong way to arrest this conversation, but offering even a feeble defense of Mr. Barrow was all Elsie could come up with in the moment.

"The point is," Charlie reiterated, facing Daniel, "that Mr. Barrow has been known to impose his ways on others, affecting to misinterpret kindness for likemindedness in some distortion of…."

Elsie got abruptly to her feet, clattering her silverware. "I am feeling not at all well," she said loudly.

Both men looked at her, startled by her pronouncement.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Rider," she said, meeting his gaze and hoping to convey the depth of the sentiment with her eyes. "I don't like to disrupt our dinner, but I'm going to have to retire." And lest Charlie seize upon the opportunity to harangue Daniel further on his own, she added, "You'd best go, Daniel." There. Using his given name as she had so rarely done said more than all the words she might have mustered.

Daniel got immediately to his feet. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Carson." He, too, put more into those words. "Thank you for the meal. I hope you're feeling well soon." He gestured to Charlie. "No need to get up. I'll see myself out."

The Carsons remained as they were, Charlie in his chair, Elsie with her hands bracing herself against the table, and listened to their guest make his way down the passage. Shep trailed him to the door, as though assuming the duties of host that master and mistress had abdicated. They heard the door open and close and Daniel was gone. Behind him the Carsons stared at each other.

Elsie knew that the worst argument of their marriage was about to erupt, knew it because she was angrier with her husband than she had ever been and saw no reason at all not to let him know it.

"What do you mean by ruining our dinner?" Charlie demanded preemptively. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"If you think that, Charlie Carson, then you know nothing of the woman who stands before you." There was fury in her voice, but her tone was tightly controlled. "If anyone ruined our dinner, it was you. What do you think you were doing?"

He said nothing, only staring at her defiantly. She stepped into the void.

"I want to say that you have been treading on thin ice, but it's well beyond that. You've broken right through." She wanted to let loose at him, but she felt that she was on a bit of thin ice herself. The elephant in the room was so substantial they could hardly breathe for the pressure of it, but they were ignoring, must still ignore it. Charlie had made no direct accusation. Daniel had admitted nothing. She was still constrained.

"What was that about?" she demanded instead.

"You know," he said coolly. "That business in the graveyard."

They had not spoken of it in the week since, each for their own reasons.

"They are friends," Elsie said grimly, hearing the falseness in her own words but unable to say anything else. "They were both in the war. The pageant was traumatic for them."

"Mr. Barrow would take advantage of any situation and sentiment to advance his … ways," he countered, "including capitalizing on Daniel's own distress. And he is not at all above exploiting the kindness and generosity of others." He drew breath. "Don't look at me that way, Elsie. I'm only doing Daniel a good turn. And he's seen it himself, hasn't he? Hasn't he pulled back from Barrow? Taking his meals at the cottage and staying home in the evenings?"

She wondered in passing how he knew this. Perhaps he'd been inquiring of Mr. Molesley. But she dismissed this from her mind. "You're wrong," she said forcefully. "Wrong about Thomas and wrong about Daniel." And so he was, though she did not wish to parse his errors.

He made a dismissive sound. "I have only acted to protect Daniel. He wasn't seeing Mr. Barrow as he is."

"Rubbish! That's merely an excuse for you to vent your own spleen about Thomas, whom you've never liked."

"That is entirely…."

"Daniel doesn't need your protection, Charlie. He's a grown man. He went to Cambridge, fought in a war, worked in the Colonial Office. I daresay he knows more about how the world works than a man who's spent his life in the wine cellar of a great house." It was a cutting remark, but she was angry. "You can't tell people what to do, no matter how much you affect to care for them."

"Affect?" He was affronted.

But she wasn't finished. "And it's not your business to inform Daniel of Thomas's past indiscretions."

"But it is," he broke in. "His indiscretions – theft, deceit, defamation, importuning – are many and substantial, and they illuminate character. Or lack of it. Daniel's acquaintance with Mr. Barrow is built on a foundation of sand, the glib façade the man presents. Had he been aware of these shortcomings, Daniel would have had nothing to do with such a foul creature as…."

"You are speaking of the butler of Downton Abbey!" Elsie shouted at him. This was such an anomaly in their relationship that a frigid silence fell upon them. From the ends of the table, they glowered at each other.

Elsie was shaken. She took a deep, calming breath. "If you can't hold your tongue for the sake of the man for whom you profess to care, then do so for yourself. You haven't damaged Daniel's friendship with Thomas with this … tirade, Charlie. You've only driven him from you."

Charlie got slowly to his feet, his face florid. "We'll see about that," he said, throwing down his words as though in challenge.

But Elsie had had enough. "Yes, we will," she said quietly. Her gaze fell to her plate. "I've lost my appetite."

And it had been such a good meal.

Author's Note: This is and will be the only single-scene chapter in Downton Abbey 1926. It was too long to tack onto either the previous or subsequent chapters.