I LOVED HER FIRST

Chapter 7 Riding Lessons

By convention, married women were permitted to take breakfast in bed. The Viscountess regularly took advantage of this, as an indulgence of rank. But Carson suspected it was one of the few ways available to her to avoid her mother-in-law. Although Downton Abbey was a large house, there was no house big enough to accommodate a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, especially when so great a gulf separated them socially, intellectually, and culturally. Carson understood this, sympathizing, in this instance, as he rarely did, with the younger woman. Usually he stood resolutely with Her Ladyship, the Countess, a woman he had come to admire greatly.

Her Ladyship rarely exercised the privilege of eating breakfast in bed. Although she affected an air of wifely subordination, fooling neither her husband nor her son, nor, for that matter, anyone else, she played a robust role in the affairs of the estate and the village, debated matters earnestly if discreetly with her husband (and to a lesser extent with her son), and was avidly interested in developments well beyond the boundaries of Yorkshire. She read the paper assiduously, if discreetly, and was always well informed. This being the case, she did not like to miss breakfast in the dining room where much good conversation was usually to be had.

On those occasions when she was not present, His Lordship and the Viscount took the opportunity to discuss a laundry list of items they did not want to talk about in front of her. In doing so they relied, as they always did, on their butler's discretion. He stood by the sideboard, almost unmoving, unless they needed him. He heard everything and they knew it. But he said nothing, either to them or to anyone else, and they trusted in that.

"Robert, we must get the matter of the heir settled." His Lordship made this pronouncement without lifting his eyes from the interior pages of The Times.

The son, who might have expected a lead-up to this statement via pressing estate business or even a reference to the Royal Family, was startled by his father's bluntness. "It is settled, Papa."

Now His Lordship's eyes shifted in his son's direction. "But you haven't had a son."

"No," Robert said firmly. "And I won't be having one either. I have three daughters. Reconcile yourself to the fact that Cousin James is the spare and that his son Patrick will eventually assume the title in his turn."

The Times fell flat on the table with His Lordship's hand and he turned his full attention to his son. "James is a brittle man who will run roughshod over the tenants. Next thing you know there will be demands for land reform as in Ireland and we'll be out on our ears."

Robert Crawley had a well-developed capacity for equanimity, a necessary virtue in a house ruled by a father inclined to benevolent tyranny and a mother committed to spirited resistance. "Papa, if James is running Downton, we'll both be dead and it won't matter much to either of us."

"Even in the grave, I will suffer the misfortunes of Downton," his father intoned.

"He's my age," Robert reminded him, taking another tack. "Perhaps I'll outlive him, and Patrick will inherit."

"Perhaps Patrick might marry Mary," His Lordship mused.

"What?"

The butler looked up sharply at His Lordship's words, as startled by them as Miss Mary's father had been.

"Patrick and Mary," His Lordship repeated. "As a girl cannot inherit a title, the least she might do is marry it back into the family."

"Papa, she is five years old. Patrick is six."

Carson was His Lordship's man, but in this instance he was on the Viscount's side. He knew the aristocracy did odd things such as pledge their children to one another in their cradles, but it did seem rather premature. He moved to the table to pour more coffee. His presence distracted His Lordship.

"It's a great day, Carson. My granddaughter is having her first riding lesson." He spoke as though this was a matter of intrinsic interest to the butler, and it was, both because of Carson's own family background in the management of Downton's stables and in the knowledge of His Lordship's particular enthusiasm for riding, although it would hardly have mattered to any other servant in the house.

"Indeed, my lord."

His Lordship appreciated his butler's attentiveness. "There have been Carsons in the stables for decades," he announced, although everyone present was aware of this. "You won't want to miss this. Why don't you come along? Say about ten?"

It was Carson's business to accommodate His Lordship's wishes, but he was acutely aware that they were speaking of the Viscount's child. His Lordship had drawn him into such family affairs before, and he felt uncomfortable presuming on the young father's preserve.

"I might be able to get away," he murmured noncommittally.

"See that you do," His Lordship said crisply. And then he moved on. "Lord Kitchener is certainly making a name for himself," he said, picking up The Times again.

The conversation turned to Britain's military adventures in the Sudan. It was a safer subject between father and son, and one on which the Viscount had a superior knowledge.

Carson adjusted some of the tableware and retreated to his post by the sideboard. His Lordship's invitation sat uneasily with him and he took the opportunity, when the men rose from the table and went their separate ways, to approach the Viscount.

"My lord."

Robert waited for Carson to reach him. "Yes, Carson. What is it?" He might have been irritated, but there was no hint of it in his demeanor. The Viscount's manners were always exemplary.

Carson could be as subtle as the Viscount was polite. "I may find it difficult to slip away this morning."

Robert shook his head, discerning the butler's meaning. "You are more than welcome to attend Miss Mary's lesson this morning, Carson. I'm sure she would be pleased to have you there."

And Carson would be delighted to observe this milestone in the child's life, but not at the Viscount's expense. "I do not want to impose, my lord."

Robert nodded his thanks, and then added, "But I agree with His Lordship. I would have asked you myself if he had not pre-empted me."

Carson bowed his head. A relationship such as theirs was necessarily built on honesty and trust. He took the Viscount at his word and at the appointed hour, went to the stables. It required him to shift a little of his work, but it was no trouble to do so. He had not been to the stables in two years, not since his father had died there. Of course, he'd grown up in that milieu, spent his childhood among the horses and always pitched in when he was home from school. It wasn't what he'd wanted for himself, but he'd never disliked that world. Now, though, it was tinged with that last memory. But he did not like being so beholden to feelings. Better to go and face them, and perhaps replace them - or at least counter them - with other feelings connected to a little girl and to a happier event.

He was the first of the house party to reach the stables and extended a greeting to Mr. Hart, the head groom who had replaced his father, who was waiting there already.

Hart stared at him in a somewhat frosty manner. "I was unaware that the butler of the house marched attendance on riding lessons," he said, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Carson understood a little of the man's inhospitableness. The Carson name was one of some standing on the estate. Frank Carson had been known all around for his work with the horses, and stepping into those shoes would have been a challenge for any man. And although Carson had foresworn his father's vocation to take up a position in domestic service, there, too, the family name was one of significance. Everyone on the estate was aware of the appointment of the younger Carson to the post of butler at the Abbey well before he could have any realistic aspirations to the job. This spoke of His Lordship's regard, which was not something to be lightly dismissed. In their own circles, the Carsons were people of influence. But these were the facts of life and Carson thought Hart would do better to concentrate on carving out his own reputation than dwelling on the accomplishments of others.

"They don't, usually," he said evenly. "But I do."

That ended their conversation and they waited in silence for the Crawleys to appear.

When he heard them approach, Carson looked up with interest, delighted as he always was at an opportunity to see Miss Mary. It took him a moment to realize that the picture before him was not entirely correct.

Miss Mary was dressed in a riding habit, specially made for her, and riding boots so small Carson could easily imagine them to have been made by elves. She pranced down the path beside Nanny, who held her hand and appeared to be imparting a series of last-minute instructions. Beside them, somewhat removed, was the Viscount. Every once in a while he glanced over at the child, who made spirited responses to her nursemaid. Neither father nor daughter addressed each other.

When Miss Mary saw the butler, her expression came over with glee and she ran to him.

"Mr. Carson! Look at me!" She twirled on the spot.

Nanny looked somewhat disapproving of this display, but she was out of her element here, and after speaking with the Viscount disappeared back in the direction of the house.

"You look very sporting, Miss Mary," Carson said warmly. She glowed.

Carson's gaze circumspectly navigated the immediate area. His Lordship was nowhere in sight. He said nothing about it, but the Viscount noticed.

"He's not coming," he said flatly. "He didn't come for my first lesson either."

Carson remembered this. "But you are here for Miss Mary, my lord."

Robert gave him a grateful smile. "And you," he said. He nodded to the groom and Hart disappeared into the stable. A moment later, he re-emerged, leading a black Shetland pony, the leather and brass of saddle and bridle highly polished.

Miss Mary ran to the pony's side and began stroking the sleek neck. "What's his name?" she demanded.

"Shadow, Miss," said Hart. He looked uncertainly from the child to the Viscount. It struck Carson that the man was not entirely comfortable with children. This would have been the first time Hart had to deal with a child and it was, possibly, a daunting occasion for him. Not everyone got on with children.

"Shadow!" She glanced excitedly toward her father and Carson. "He looks just the same as my horse in the nursery! His name," she told the groom, "is Midnight." Miss Mary had no difficulty speaking with strange adults. Hart did not know how to respond.

"A sidesaddle," Carson noted, thinking perhaps that a little conversation might ease the situation.

"Yes," Robert mused. "Her Ladyship would have nothing else. I'm not sure it's safe."

"It is, if properly adjusted."

Robert glanced at the butler. "Then let's hope Hart is as competent as your father," he murmured.

"Isn't he handsome, Mr. Carson?" Miss Mary called out.

"He is very handsome," he said obligingly.

While the child danced around the patient animal with enthusiasm, the three men stood about awkwardly. Carson understood Hart's unease. The man had been hired from outside Downton and thus was not as comfortable with the family as a member of staff who had a longer acquaintance would be. Not every lord was as amiable as Robert Crawley. Self-consciously the man mentally measured Miss Mary's leg length and made appropriate adjustments to the saddle.

"Right then," he said at last, his voice sounding artificially hearty. "Come along, Miss Mary, and we'll have you in the saddle."

She danced up to him. But as she did so, Carson noticed the Viscount twitching in agitation.

"Would you mind? Hart?" The Viscount had stepped forward. "Only Mr. Carson is here at my invitation because he held the pony's head at my first lesson. It's...a bit of a tradition."

The butler and the groom locked eyes for a moment, and then the latter yielded, if a little stiffly. "Of course, my lord," he said, possibly more genially than he felt.

Carson took the pony's reins. Miss Mary's dark eyes went round at the appearance of her favourite. She giggled.

He ought to have been more considerate of the groom. It was a byword of service that one did not tread lightly on another's territory. But where Miss Mary was involved, Carson was beginning to realize he was capable of bending the rules, even against his own better judgment. He smiled back at her. Watching her, he saw her gaze shift to her father, falter a little, and then turn quickly back to the horse, who she began to pet again.

He didn't know if it was the child's manner or the way Hart approached her with so much uncertainty that he hardly cultivated Carson's confidence in him, but he had a sudden impulse.

"Mr. Hart," Carson said abruptly, "I ... realize this may sound irregular, but perhaps His Lordship could assist Miss Mary. My lord?"

Robert Crawley had been hanging back. He knew the protocol with servants as well as any of them. They had their jobs and a good lord permitted them to get on with things. If questions or problems arose, then it was the responsibility of the senior staff - butler, housekeeper, head groom, head gardener, whatever the case might be - to address them. This wasn't a problem, of course, but any interference on his part might be construed as an imposition on the staff member involved. He did not want to put Hart out.

Carson had no such qualms. He knew that Miss Mary longed for more attention from her parents, and it seemed to him that her father wanted to give it to her but hadn't quite figured out how to do so. Here was an opportunity. He caught His Lordship's eye, gave him an encouraging nod, and smiled when the man moved almost eagerly to the child's side.

In another moment, Miss Mary was in the saddle and her father was adjusting the leather with more facility with those small straps than Carson had anticipated of him.

With a glowing smile that matched the one on his daughter's face, the Viscount stepped back. "Show her how to hold the reins, Carson," he said, not taking his eyes off the child and quickly forgetting that Hart was present at all.

Carson paused only long enough to draw the Viscount's attention. Then he held the reins out to him. "I believe you are more capable in that matter than I, my lord."

This time Robert Crawley did not hesitate to act. He took the reins from the butler and burst into enthusiastic instruction, threading the reins through the little girl's hands and telling her why it was important to hold them in just the right way.

Miss Mary listened, as she listened to Carson when he talked to her about place names in their atlas or told her stories about her family, struggling to understand things that were just a little beyond her, but relishing the attention and affection that framed the information. Carson knew that look in her eye, but recognized, too, that there was something special in the way she looked at her Papa.

It wasn't necessary for the Viscount to be here. Mr. Hart could have managed the thing and while it might not have been the most pleasant of lessons for the small child, there were many of those ahead of her in other aspects of life, and she would have gotten on anyway. But it was important that Miss Mary's father wanted to be here. Carson appreciated this. He had enjoyed his parents' attention in all the small joys and challenges of his childhood. He knew what it meant.

And he knew, too, that he had played his part. He withdrew quietly, content to let them enjoy this rare moment of togetherness. Behind him he heard their laughter - the high-pitched trilling of the excited child delighting in the presence of a much-loved parent and the lower, heartfelt chuckle of the father, liberated for once from the restraints that circumscribed so much of his life. Carson was happy for them both.