Half the Story Hidden—Chapter 3 Part a. – The Follies of Youth.
Author Note:
Back again! Once more, this is a lengthy chapter and so I will break it into smaller sections. This method will suit the action across this multi-charactered scene far better than I feel it did when presenting the intensity of the emotions shared between Charles and Elsie in Chapter 2.
More details of Carson's birth are revealed across the sections of Chapter 3.
Kind regards,
BTF
oOOo
Date:
Early August 1927, the day after the Dowager Countess' funeral and the Carson's emotionally fraught afternoon beside the Stable-hands Stream.
Occasion:
Mid-Morning teatime and luncheon in Jackdaw's Castle, the rectangular, Corinthian pillared garden folly that looks back over the sweeping lawns towards Downton Abbey.
Attendees:
Mr and Mrs Carson*, Lord and Lady Grantham, and Lady Rosamund Painswick.
oOOo
"Well, well. Please do tell me that no one else here just discovered that they came perilously close to being seduced into marriage by their own half-brother's half-brother? Dear me, Jinx Hepworth!"
Lord Grantham and Charles both blanch white as Lady Rosamund blithely states this newest horror that neither of them had even considered amidst the thickness of their own anger and confusion. Elsie just looks down in order to suppress a smirk at the thought that even being first cousins has rarely deterred the aristocracy from making some strange inter-familial marriage arrangements.
In shining black satin, Lady Rosamund continues to stroll towards her instantly enlarged family with a somewhat ostentatious swagger. She flips the end of Dowager's silver-tipped ebony cane up and back with every elegant step towards the table set within Jackdaw's Castle. She has a most stately manner about her, and she is, of course, as fashionably late as ever. Hosted by Lady Grantham, this morning tea service and subsequent luncheon were requested by the late Dowager Countess of Grantham to occur just one day after her own funeral and wake. The event specified the attendance of the current grief-stricken party of the remaining Downton Abbey Old Guard.
"I do believe I barely dodged another bullet on that front!" Lady Rosamund continues gaily. "Dissipated, profligate, penniless, and now, related!" The Dowager could not have said it with any greater withering disdain and Charles and Robert both hitch a breath at the uncanny voice of the dead joining them in their shared distress. "And I do think, my dear brothers, that I may have sealed up and in my hand right now, the missing pieces of this rich and unfolding tapestry of our lives—if Mama is to be believed. My, my. What a to-do. Hmmm, and yet, I see that Mama's arch sense of irony persists, even posthumously, by having us all meet in the Jackdaw's** folly to discuss such matters.
"So it appears, sister–dear," Cora says with a grim yet quirking demureness as she rises from the morning tea table to kiss Rosamund on the cheek.
Charles, sporting a dark day suit with a black cloth armband back in place, has been standing to attention this whole time, through sheer force of habit, at the edges of the folly, with his back up against a marble pillar and shoulder to shoulder with Elsie—also in black again. Carson automatically sees to pulling back Lady Rosamund's seat as Robert similarly kisses his sister's cheek and hands her and his wife back into their chairs.
"Yes, Mama quite rightly, but as unnecessarily as ever, has directed my arrangements for this meeting. Dear me, even after all of these years of seeing warring factions through a multitude of fraught dinners in the house, she still cannot trust me to host a simple morning tea party!" Cora states incredulously, but with a note of affection in her tone. Cora will never have to bear the brunt of Robert's mother's disapproval again, yet she feels quite strongly now that she will indeed miss it. "Mama is, of course, correct in saying that the Abbey walls may not have ears, but the staff and the rest of the family certainly do. Out here we will be most undisturbed and certainly not overheard."
"Dear Carson, Mrs Carson," Lady Rosamund finally addresses them with a grief-wearied sigh. Everyone present suddenly sees the sunken tiredness about her that speaks more of her heavy loss than she will ever openly allude to in polite company. "What a sorry tale it seems you have both been drawn into. Please, surely, you too, must both be seated, for it appears we are all due to stand quite long enough upon this most uneven new ground together. Would you not agree, Cora-dear."
"Most Certainly. Please," she gestures for her former heads of staff to be seated.
Charles tries not to audibly grumble as he sees to Elsie's chair, and then he sits stiffly to her left and to the right of Lord Grantham. It is all most irregular to be seated in Lord Grantham's presence at all, even now, as they each remain upon the edges of a ceremony that appears almost entirely defunct. Robert and Carson look at each other grimly. Both of them are pallid with exhausted grief and shock.
"My! But what have we here!" Lady Rosamund exclaims brightly as a shining black and tan marked whippet gaits prettily to her side and places its dainty paws up onto her lap. "My! But aren't you a pretty little one, my darling? Robert-dear, I did not know you were taking an interest in racing whippets too." Robert just manages to strike a small smile for his sister's show of pleasure. "And I hear the stables are coming along very nicely at the moment too, what with your young nephew now on board, Carson. Mary has spoken most enthusiastically about it all."
It seems silly to all present that they should speak on such seemingly frivolous matters in the midst of such weighty concerns. But, as is the nature of all small-talk at a table, the best hostesses know how to use small talk to soothe frayed nerves, and Lady Rosamund and Lady Grantham are both adepts in this subtle art.
"Thank you, Milady," Carson replies. "Hugh has indeed settled in well and he is making all of his family, including me, very proud indeed."
"Well I should think so," Lady Grantham adds, "And it seems you now have a namesake in the village, Carson, what with Mr and Mrs Barton naming their newborn boy for you. What a lovely Christening it was. I have just recently sent them a proper congratulations."
Charles cannot help but ripple with pleasure for the honour of having this new life named for him. Elsie looks toward her husband with a most loving and satisfied smile. Despite their late age for getting married, they have managed to very quickly build a happy family life around them and they have taken to their role as honorary grandparents with natural ease and no small amount of joy.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Robert blurts out suddenly, "how can we even pretend that we should be calling Carson 'Carson' anymore! He is our brother, Rosamund! And we have abused his good nature for far, far too many years as it is! I am…I am…almost… speechless with disgust right now!"
"But not quite speechless enough, it would seem, Robert-dear," Cora quietly chastises, looking up at him from beneath the tilt of her admonishing brow and the brim of her summer hat with that long-suffering yet good-natured way she always has with her husband.
"Milord, if I may speak freely."
"You should not even have to ASK Carson!.. Mr Carson…Charles…Ugh!"
Charles takes that as his permission.
"M'lord, I actually find it suits me better not to change our manner of address too rapidly or to something more familial at this stage. I think it will serve all of us better if we were to continue as we have always known one another—so as to help keep an even keel, so to speak, through these rapidly changing tides."
Elsie surreptitiously moves one of her folded hands from her lap and lightly squeezes the top of Charles' knee beneath the tablecloth.
"Huuughh…" Robert sighs out long "I suppose you are right, old chap". Elsie cannot help but smile at the similarities between the two men when they feel overwhelmed. She exchanges quite a knowing glance with Lady Grantham as they hear the two men sigh in unison at their current predicament.
"Lady Rosamund," Elsie speaks, trying to bring the tenor of the conversation down a little bit, "I think you will find that the Dowager Countess has gifted you with a new pet, much as she has always done so with his Lordship's dogs. His Lordship brought two pups with him to luncheon today. Come, Lass. Come now. Come out from under there," Elsie gently commands as she draws a magnificently gooby-looking pup out from beneath the table cloth at her feet. It is a very well-groomed Old English Sheepdog—about seven months old and quite tall now, but it has yet to fill out its lanky legs and oversized paws or its ruff of rapidly growing fur. "And so you see, it appears that Mr Carson has acquired his first ever pet courtesy from his mother, the Dowager Countess of Grantham", Elsie states with a soft but rueful smile.
"Well, isn't she a beauty, Mrs Carson! What a dear little thing."
"Och, I fear she may not be a wee thing for long " Rosamund and Cora glance at one another, still a little unaccustomed to the relaxation of Mrs Carson's Scottish brogue now that she is no longer Mrs Hughes—housekeeper of the Abbey.
"Oh, but you will keep her, will you not? She does suit you so, Carson. Most admirably."
Charles reaches down to ruffle the dog's ears as a boyish smile lights his eyes.
"She is indeed a fine animal, Milady. The Dowager Countess always had a good eye for such things."
"Yes, but I cannot help but wonder at the fur, Charles," Elsie breaks in, "It is not as if The Dowager Countess was unaware of my chagrin at trying to keep the Abbey carpets free from dog fur! This lass looks like she will be ten times worse than a Labrador! Oh. Oh my…I-I do beg your pardon, Milord"
Charles quirks an eyebrow at Elsie for her faux pas so that she can also read his eyes as saying, "Yes, I know, the Old Bat got us good and proper with this one, Els, but please don't make me give her up."
"It is no matter, Mrs Carson," Lord Grantham states surely as he reaches to scuffle the dog's head too. "I think that you will find that the benefits far outweigh the trials of owning such lovely dogs as these." Tiaa nuzzles into his leg, feeling bereft of attention from her own master at that moment.
Elsie lightly rolls her eyes at both men as their gaze is taken up with appraising the new pups, knowing that neither of them will ever be too involved in the particular trial of keeping a monstrously large house or even her own small cottage parlour clear of pet hairs. But she smiles at Charles, nonetheless, as he lavishes even more attention on their new pet. Of course, she will not deny him this joy. They have spoken many times about keeping a pet since retiring, but they have already spent quite an amount of time travelling here and there to see various sights and to visit her family and their new babies, and so they have avoided committing to owning one just yet. But now, with Lizzie and Hugh well established at Brounker Road with the beginnings of their own young family, they have a place to leave the lass should they travel again in the future. And Elsie cannot help but agree with Lady Rosamund's assessment of the pup. It does suit Charles to an absolute 'T', what with its slightly droopy, soulful eyes that regularly glint with playfulness, and the lass is clearly a very friendly and gentle-natured creature whom she is sure, will be an ever diligent protector of their growing family flock. Elsie already adores the fact that the dog is, most endearingly, just a little bit goofy and clumsy at times and that she has a deep and authoritative bell ring of a bark developing. And she is all big and cuddly to boot! Elsie particularly loves the fact that the last of the wee lassie's black and white puppy coat is changing and she is now almost completely white and silver—just like her Charles! If they can keep her well-trimmed and groomed Elsie is sure their pup will look as regal as he is. She smiles down at their new pup and has already forgiven her for every muddy paw print, every strand of hair, and every drool mark she will be bound to leave upon Elsie's skirts and their settee and rugs. If the lass can only bring that charming boy-like smile to her husband's eyes each and every day, all is easily forgiven.
Thankfully, the small talk about the new puppies has further calmed both men, and Lady Rosamund seems reasonably at ease too. Her new whippet is also a most fitting and elegant choice for a vigorous yet calm and graceful Lady of the metropolis. Sleek, thinks Elsie. Very fashionable, indeed!
"It is good for you to finally have a small slice of the country life available to you in the city, Rosamund," Robert states assuredly.
"Yes, well…after some of my more dubious forays into making a romantic attachment, I have to wonder that this may well be the far better choice of companion in my declining years." Rosamund states with a bluntness of wit that is once more quite obviously borne out of her late mother's influence.
Charles and Elsie's new lass silently follows Charles' every move with her bright eyes but she sits poised and silent like an obedient footman near Elsie's side as Carson rises again to tend to all of their cups of tea. Robert strangles a cough low in his throat. He still feels quite irregular as Carson affects that most familiar of postures for him, leaning to the right side of each table guest, his left hand resting at his lower back as he bends deferentially at the hips to proffer the cake stand to them each as they make their selections. When Charles has seen to all of the ladies at the table, Lord Grantham cannot help but huff uncomfortably as he selects something from the tiered china stand. Then he makes another selection and rather pointedly plonks it onto Charles' plate.
"First time for everything isn't there, old chap? It is more than time that I shared my food and my table with my brother. Please do sit down, Carson. We can all serve ourselves instead."
"As you wish, Milord."
"Carson" Robert breathes out incredulously as he shakes his head at the man who has ever been positioned at his right hand.
oOOo
They all sip and eat in silence for a time and try to restore some of the energy they have lost in this last week since the Dowager Countess died and they saw Downton through a major funeral, morning tea service for all of the village and local surrounds, including many of the tenants and even some former servants and other staff of the estate too. This was followed by a stately mourning luncheon for a monstrously large number of the peerage. Barrow and Baxter and Mrs Mason, and Daisy, of course, all did the Abbey very proud indeed. Charles and Elsie stood to the sides of it all, back in full black once more, but they could not help but cast an approving eye over all of the fine work they could see laid out before them. Old habits most certainly die hard for both of them.
Cora is the one to quietly break the stilted silence that hangs between them all.
"Rosamund-dear, I suspect, from what we have been able to glean from Mr and Mrs Carson just before you arrived, that both Robert and I know much the same amount as they do. Namely, that Carson is indeed yours and Robert's half-brother through an ill-advised dalliance Mama started with the 4th Earl of Hepworth during the London Season of '55, before Mama married your Papa. It would appear that your father saved Mama from quite the scandal when Lord Hepworth refused to marry her, and then your Papa took Mama on a honeymoon Grand Tour for much of 1856 to hide her confinement and Carson's birth. Your Papa also saw fit to ensure Carson could grow up protected with a loving family on the estate here, and he was eventually placed under the tutelage of Mr Peters to replace him as Butler when the time came."
"I suppose it might have been a Catholic orphanage in France otherwise," Robert pipes in grimly.
With equal solemnity Carson finds his voice, "And might I say, Milord, that when the harsh facts are laid out as such, I do find it somewhat easier to accept and appreciate the choices that the late Earl and the Dowager Countess did make on my behalf to ensure that I could lead a healthy and long life here in England.
"Still, Carson, you might have easily become the Earl of either Hatton Park or Downton in my place!"
"Robert," Cora quietly curbs him with a warning glare.
"Huuggh…but…similarly, as Cora last night reminded me, this is not helpful to think on now, for if things had gone a very different way for Mama, then Rosamund and I would likely have never existed at all." Lord Grantham casts a loving eye over the green vale that stretches up to the grand front doors of the Abbey he has always called his home—the land fought so very hard to protect and maintain for his entire lifetime.
Charles follows his gaze and nods in approval and pride. It has been my home, Charles reaffirms for himself. It has been a good life.
"Indeed, Milord. I too have found that it always pays for me to head the wise counsel of my wife. Might I suggest we would both be best served to continue following that edict in this somewhat fraught situation we now find ourselves in?"
Elsie and Cora exchange astounded looks with one another whilst Rosamund, still silent, looks on—quite bemused by it all.
"Indeed, old chap. Hmm… But, I must say, it is true that Lord Hepworth did have a tendency to make excessive demands for more and more heirs from his two wives. He had rather a reputation for wearing them out, I am afraid. It is no wonder his estate could not support them all! Fourteen children! And so, if it had been Mama's lot in life, she would likely have been dead and possibly penniless before she turned thirty." He says the latter qualification as if it is still the greater of the impediments to life, and so, once again the Dowager's voice seems to have manifested most bluntly in one of her children's forms of address.
Charles looks quite pale again at these implications being made in front of the ladies, but Cora quickly reassures Charles.
"Carson, it may be a blunt assessment on Lord Grantham's part, but I think it would really serve us all better to recognise that there is not a lady present at this table who has not already faced the harsh realities of their particular lots in life. We must be able to speak freely of such things, however distasteful they may be if we are to deal with all of the facts of what Mama has left us with."
Charles uncomfortably clears his throat but nods his acquiescence to the terms of the discussion.
Elsie also nods lightly in approval of Lady Grantham's approach, for it is unlikely that Lord Grantham, and most particularly, Charles, would say anything near what they need to in the presence of the three ladies in such a setting if Lady Cora did not, as their hostess, give them express permission to do so. Elsie lightly squeezes above Charles' sore and clicky knee again. He is handling all of this so much better than she could have hoped, given the hurdy-gurdy of emotions they worked through yesterday out by the stable hands' stream.
"So, Rosamund-dear," Lady Grantham continues, "Please tell us what message Mama left for you last night."
"Well, it sounds much the same as each of you. And I cannot deny I am still in shock. Although, I am also rather at a loss as to why she has felt the need to reveal any of this at all now that she is gone, and least of all to me."
"I think that is a question we have all asked ourselves," Robert shakes his head gravely. "Why now?"
Various glances cast around the table reveal that no one is any the wiser on this front.
"Well," Rosamund responds, "I think Mama gave me a few additional details. I feel I barely slept as I read the details over and over. I suppose she wanted to keep me occupied. You know, Cora, she wrote to me not to disturb you or Robert as you received your own letter."
"Typical of Mama! I am sorry we were not able to comfort you more, Rosamund, but likewise, Mama set her own strict directives to me about how last night and how this day should unfold for all of us."
"Thank you, Cora. I am sure we were all thinking of each other. Anyway, my understanding is that Mama has tasked me with revealing the more intricate details of the events of Carson's birth to you all. I must say, it made for a fascinating read."
"Perhaps she was more comfortable writing of such details to another lady?" Elsie offers.
"Perhaps so. What has been revealed to me so far is that Mama was a good five months or so pregnant with the 4th Earl of Hepworth's child when she married Papa early in '56. Her youth and the fashions of the day meant that Mama's condition was adequately concealed at the wedding. Subsequently, they managed to secrete Mama away with some Nuns in a cloister in Troyes in France for the remains of her confinement whilst they affected a Grand tour of the continent as a ruse.
"Born in Champagne country it would seem, Carson. I recall that Papa spoke fondly of the '56 Veuve Cliquot he brought back from their Grand Tour." Robert mentions it as a rather pointless aside.
But Charles seems to take some small pleasure in this incongruous fact. "Quite so, Milord. I have read Mr Peter's notes on it. Almost like apple pie, he said. Hard to forget a note like that. I don't think we have encountered any quite like it, have we?"
'Hmm.. apple and bread, and even pear and bread often enough, but not apple pie, no."
"Indeed"
All the women look incredulously at the two brothers sharing their mutual interests as easily as they ever have. Charles quietly astounds Elsie yet again with his capacity to start seeing this whole scenario as something that at least offers an interesting foray into the sorts of historical minutiae that have always given him such great pleasure and comfort. Often she had thought Charles' attachment to historical data was because of its unchangeability; however, everything now seems changeable in the blink of an eye and these new circumstances offer so many new perspectives that recolour everything they have ever thought about the past. And yet, he still somehow finds comfort in it all. Strange. Quite strange. But he will be all right—my Charles.
Rosamund coughs lightly before she continues. She views her brother and the man who is probably his closest confidante, beyond Cora and Mama, with brand new eyes—My Brothers. Gosh!
"Well, what I have also been told is that the wet nurse they found for Carson was an abandoned young mother who had lost her own child not long after its birth within that same township. The Poor Clares, or the Salesian Sisters, who are normally a fully cloistered set of contemplatives, had only just moved to Troyes and were not yet formally established there by Rome.*** Apparently a hefty donation from Papa convinced them to secrete Mama into the cloisters, along with the fallen woman to wet nurse for Carson during Mama's recovery. This girl then travelled below decks with Carson on a steamer back to Hull and then on to York and, of course, to Downton. Mama has said that Papa needed to return to Downton for the harvest that year, otherwise they might have tried to hold out until Christmas on the continent and claimed that Carson was sired and born within the whole year on tour… But, then again," Rosamund continues with a cool fascination, "No doubt Papa always wanted to sire his own son and heir and not raise another man's as his."
Charles' eyebrows furrow deeper than Elsie has likely ever seen them and she feels for him— that his very birth has been considered by others in such clinical and unfeeling terms on far too many occasions across his life. Well, his birth will always matter to me. He can always be sure of that. She continues to stroke comfortingly at the inside of Charles' knee as their new lassie's wet nose investigates the movement of her fingers from beneath the table cloth.
Regardless, Rosamund, once again channelling aspects of her mother, barrels onwards, and Elsie has to accept that they did all agree to the terms of this discussion and so there is nought to be said or done about it all now. "Although, I would wager that it would always have been rather difficult to pass off a nine or ten-month-old baby, by Christmas-time, as a relatively newborn infant." And still, Rosamund does not see Charles' look of almost nauseous consternation.
Cora and Elsie seem to hum soto voce in understanding whilst Robert looks toward Carson—a little lost by these gestational mathematics.
"And, I do apologise for my candour, yet again," Rosamund finally qualifies, "but Mama has alluded to the fact that you were quite a large baby, Carson, and that the birth was…quite difficult. She spent much of her time in Troyes until late July recuperating with the Poor Clares…and hence," Lady Rosamund taps the Dowager's silver topped cane twice upon the marble floor of the folly and the whippet quickly stands to heel next to her chair, "this."
"Yes, well, I would not wonder that the corsets in Mama's day were no small part of the issue too. They looked far worse than what even the ones I wore with the girls." Cora adds in a most uncommon manner for her as she takes the conversation to an even greater level of candour. The ladies glance with interest as these two stoic men take such sharp breaths in through their teeth at the thought of any lady being in such painful and embarrassing circumstances, least of all their very own elderly and late mother.
Need we really mention my mother's… feminine concerns….and… and…corsetry, dear?! Robert's eyes cry out to his wife.
But Rosamund thinks it is best to bound forward with more home truths at this minute, to get the gritty details out of the way as quickly as possible for the men.
"Anyway, Mama and Papa managed to surreptitiously install Carson with Mr and Mrs Carson using quite a sophisticated ruse, as it was. For, apparently, Papa consulted with Frank Carson in the month or so prior to the wedding and tour. It seems that Mr Carson and his wife had been unable to have children, always losing their babies quite early in the term. So, it was agreed that Elizabeth Carson would be sent to stay at her sister's in North Riding from at least late November of '55. Papa had already arranged to marry Mama in early January '56. Elizabeth Carson was to see out a supposed pregnancy in the care of her sister, one of the few other people who apparently ever knew of Carson's true maternity. Then, later, it was timed so that Mrs Carson would quietly return to Downton as soon as the steamer made landfall in Hull in the early August of '56. By then, they managed to pass off the then five-month-old Carson, born in March, as the Carson's supposedly three to four-month-old infant, purportedly born whilst Mrs Carson was at her sister's home.
"Quite elaborate indeed!" Elsie pipes in. "And it seems I know where to attribute my husband's strong sense of loyalty. That was a very big commitment for the 6th Earl to request of Mr and Mrs Carson."
"Perhaps the benefits of being able to love and nurture a child as their own was incentive enough," Rosamund says quietly, poorly concealing an ever unspoken pain of her own since she and Marmaduke were never blessed with a child of their own before his all too early death.
"Of course it is, Milady, " Elsie says quietly, looking down at her hands, now somewhat abashed, and knowing, of course, that it is indeed blessing enough if that is what a couple truly wants in life. She is once again struck by the vastly different path in life she willingly committed herself to and that she has had only rare and mild regrets about in all of that time.
Rosamund lightly clears her throat and mind of these still unexpectedly painful memories about all that she and Marmaduke had dreamed of sharing together but could not have. She carries on, somewhat stiffly, "Well,...then the wet nurse from France became Mama's most trusted lady's maid, for apparently her previous lady's maid was lost to smallpox whilst still in France. And so, it was arranged that Joubert would see to nursing Carson in the very early morning and the last thing at night at the Carson's cottage as Carson was being weened. Do you remember, Joubert****, Robert?" Rosamund asks quite brightly.
Both men are now beet red and quite flustered with all of this talk of …of….breastfeeding!
"Well of course I do, Rosamund!" Robert splutters out totally aghast at the nature of this conversation, despite his knowledge of his own three girls' births and feedings (with Cora, no less!). Not to mention his own daughters' various ill-advised romantic liaisons, indiscretions, childbirths and the subsequent nursings and wet-nursing dilemmas of his own grandchildren. But, to Robert's mind, tawdry does not even begin to cover the extremity of what his own mother was involved with. "Gosh, Rosamund! Along with Nanny, Mademoiselle Joubert practically raised the both of us! Well,… at least until I went to Eton. Mary is, in part, named for Marie Joubert, if you must finally know the truth, and not just for Mama's grandmother.
Rosamund looks a little taken aback at all this, whilst Cora just smiles knowingly at her really very sentimental husband. She always found the notion very sweet, not to mention silently revolutionary, to have their first born (and a daughter, no less!) surreptitiously named for Great Grandmama Mary Dumbarton, merely a country peasant girl prior to her own son's raising to the Baronetage of Feversham, and their Mary was also named for a foreign and Catholic servant girl. If only Mary knew! But now, it seems likely Mama would have guessed at the connection to Joubert anyway! Cora realises and cannot help but shake her head in disbelief at her canny mother-in-law. Nothing ever got past her! Well, I hope she appreciated our gesture.
Elsie can sense Charles stiffening and holding his breath and she gently interjects. "I am afraid that these are all details that the Dowager Countess neglected to mention in her letter to us, Lady Rosamund."
"Yes, well, it would appear that Mama felt, at this stage, I am a little more detached from the larger issues at hand and so I am the one more able to reveal such things to everyone here."
"And I suppose these particulars might mean more to you with regards to the staff you and Lord Grantham were closest to, Milady." Elsie provides helpfully. "To us, the late Lady Grantham merely mentioned the fact that they could conceal the birth in France and that they managed to get Charles back to Downton and settled in with the Carson's without raising suspicions."
"And that was quite enough to deal with in one sitting; I must say," Charles speaks gravely, and then he quietly clears some of the heaviness caught high up in his throat. "I do remember Mademoiselle Joubert from when I was first a boot blacker and then a hall boy after my father died, right through until I became the fourth footman. She…she was always very… very kind to me after my mother passed," he finishes quietly, his voice almost breaking across the top of memories never voiced before.
"How lovely for you, Carson," Cora adds sympathetically. Charles smiles slightly at her through his suddenly glassy eyes. He has sometimes found Lady Grantham's American manners a little unsettling—perhaps a little too exuberant and emotive at times, despite her capacity to appear almost excessively demure in the right company. But in truth, Charles Carson has always observed that Lady Grantham has been the epitome of what he believes a Countess of the realm should be, and that is despite his own strong allegiance to the Dowager Countess and all of the years he had heard that lady suggest otherwise about the character of her own daughter-in-law. Lady Grantham has always been a fair and polite employer to him, and Charles knows, first-hand, the positive influence she has had upon Lord Grantham across all of these years. But at heart, Charles is also a rather pragmatic person when it has comes to the continuation of Downton. It has always been his home and it is at the core of his livelihood—his very being. In the very threads of me. Elsie said that to me. She did. And she is seldom wrong about such things. And so, how could Charles not work all of these years with whatever Downton offered up as a means for it to continue when the 6th Earl was ailing and the young Viscount Downton was overdue in seeing to it that the family line would continue? For, in all truth, the marriage of an Earl into vast pools of American money was hardly an uncommon occurrence in the 1880 and 1890s, when the agriculture of all of the Estates of the peerage was critically undercut by the vast resources of North America cornering the continental market. The sixth Earl and the young Viscount just kept their various concerns afloat, but they had few choices for Downton at the time than having the latter marry the highly eligible and tremendously rich, Miss Cora Levinson. And really, once Lord Grantham was sure of his attachment to Lady Cora, Charles has rarely ever doubted the strength and sureness of their marriage. Lady Grantham has more than kept up her end of the bargain, even if a son and heir always eluded the couple. But it is only in this quite singular moment that Charles is struck fully by some of the similarities Lady Cora Crawley bears to his own dear wife. Her kindness, first and foremost, for Lady Grantham has always been thoughtful about how her family's demands may impact the staff and Charles wonders if many British-born subjects would have been so generous in their thinking. Charles also recognises her capacity to see and quietly acknowledge another's pain whilst always trying to see the best of a given situation in order to rebuild something lasting and good from it. Just like Elsie. And, as always, Lady Grantham is the perfect hostess, so she deftly turns this conversation so that Charles may take a little time to compose himself again.
"Well," Cora continues more brightly, "It would seem that Mama thought thoroughly about how we might each take in such momentous news."
Charles manages to quietly swallow the lump of gratitude he feels high in his throat—for all of the kindnesses of the women he has lived in close proximity to over all of his years under Downton's sure protection.
"Yes, indeed," Rosamund agrees with Cora, also noticing the need to take up an end of the conversations for Carson's sake, yet she is still unable to avoid voicing the broader truth of the current circumstance they all find themselves in, having had no one to confide in about the matter last night and so much is playing upon her mind. "Although… I cannot help but worry that we must still face more difficult issues that are yet to be revealed."
The ladies all nod in sure agreement while Robert and Charles look like a couple of stunned trouts on a hook, gaping at how these three women can possibly guess at any more agonies to be revealed about their pasts.
With that indomitable determination of the Crawley women, Rosamund continues leading them along their rocky path.
"And hence, Cora-dear, I have been tasked with revealing the final of facts of the whole affair in this particular setting and from this letter." Rosamund's manicured fingertip taps at the thick envelope sporting the Dowager's neat and sure looping script that has been burning into their eyes from atop Rosamund's side plate. "Shall we begin?" she asks with a glance around the table.
All of a sudden it feels like the five of them are entering into a game of Russian Roulette, but it is surely an upside-down game where only one of the chambers of the pistol has been left empty.
With the odds squarely stacked against each and every one of them, Elsie states with similar determination and pragmatism, "There can be no avoiding it for long, and I would wager there will never be a so-called 'better time' for such things to emerge."
"Indeed," the other four agree in grim unison.
oOOo
*BTF author's gripe # 6089 (or so!): That Mrs Hughes was not called Mrs Carson from the moment of her marriage to Mr Carson really sticks in my craw. In addition, why was Anna never referred to as 'Smith' when she became a lady's maid to the Crawley sisters? Now, I can just accept that the Bateses would be known as Bates and Anna at work so as not to confuse these two servants when the family were asking for them by their surnames. However, there is no reason that people of that era (or even our own) would at all stumble upon calling Carson 'Carson/Mr Carson' and then calling Mrs Hughes 'Mrs Carson' while at work in the Abbey or in Downton Village. The pre-nominals would distinguish Mr from Mrs Carson when calling upon them (take that JF and Donk!). If I were Mrs Hughes, I would have found this inability of the family and staff to make the switch to her new name really rather insulting. I think she would have been pleased and proud to take on their husband's name, both personally and professionally, as ALL women would have done, without question, right up until about 40 years ago when it became a 'thing'.
**Small point of interest: The symbolism of the jackdaw is often associated with shrewdness, intelligence, mischievousness, and even narcissism.
*** This is the monastery where I pretend that Charles was born in 1856
clarissesdetroyes. wixsite english
**** I imagine this French name, Joubert, would be pronounced as Zhoo-Bear.
~ I think I could have tightened up on the editing in this chapter a lot more, but I also need to publish something at some point. It will have to do.
Kind regards,
BTF