Chapter 11 Character Building

An Accident

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were together in the housekeeper's sitting room. In anticipation of the house party planned for the end of the month - the first since her appointment to the senior woman's position - they were going over the details. Mrs. Hughes wasn't adverse to the conversation and this pleased the butler. He saw that she was not so consumed with territoriality, and was more interested in getting the job done well. She might have been less receptive if he were the interfering type, but he wasn't. She'd already proven her competence in the day-to-day responsibilities, asking questions when she had them but not timid about putting her own imprint on those things with which she felt at ease. They were slowly mapping their working relationship, and there had been a few bumps in the road, but overall they were getting on.

He set aside the accounts book in which she had listed several expenditures relating to the upcoming event. "Your accounting is unimpeachable, Mrs. Hughes." He'd had a time of it with that name. She'd been 'Elsie' for the past few years and he had to keep thinking about it to get the formal title right.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. Maths were my strength at school."

He consulted a hand-written list. "So we've still got..."

A knock at the half-closed door drew their attention and Irene, one of the kitchen maids, put her head in. "Miss Mary's come down, Mr. Carson. Shall I fetch tea to your pantry?"

Miss Mary did not make appointments to see him. Nor did they have a regular schedule for tea. She turned up when she was inclined to, or was let, and he tried to accommodate her. He wavered for only the fleetest moment. "Yes," he said. "Thank you, Irene." He turned to Mrs. Hughes. "We were just about finished here anyway, weren't we?"

It wasn't really a question and she understood that. She glanced deliberately at the list in his hand and then, shrugging, got to her feet. "If you say so," she murmured, moving from the small table at which they had been sitting to her desk.

He didn't like that. She didn't approve of Miss Mary, he thought. But the child's visits were none of her business. He was wondering whether or not he ought to say something when there was a crash and a cry from the butler's pantry across the passage. He leaped to his feet and dashed to the source of the turmoil, with Mrs. Hughes at his heels.

He paused at the pantry door for a fraction of a second, long enough to take in the scene within. Miss Mary lay sprawled on the floor by the cupboard within which the several most precious pieces of silver and crystal were stored. The door of the cupboard itself, which was always locked, was wide open. There was an upset chair by Miss Mary's side and splintered glass lay all around. Carson strode to her side, crunching crystal beneath his shoes, and, reaching for her, swept her into his arms. She was eight years old, but still feather light to him, not least because of the adrenalin fear had pumped into him. He swung her clear of the damage and carried her across the room, depositing her on the chair where she usually took her tea. Her eyes were wide with alarm and she clung to him a little, even as he put her down.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson!" she blurted, her eyes fixed on his.

He swept aside the apology. His first priority was to ensure that she was all right and he dropped to one knee beside her, his eyes raking her from top to toe looking for signs of blood."Never mind that, Miss Mary. Have you cut yourself anywhere?"

She shook her head and he exhaled in relief.

He'd been vaguely aware that Mrs. Hughes had followed him into the room and then disappeared. Then she was with them again, a broom and dustpan in her hands. He scrambled to his feet.

"I'll do that."

She fixed him with a look and then her gaze shifted to Miss Mary, a wordless directive to attend to the child. He nodded and turned his attention to the girl once more.

"What happened?"

It was one of the management lessons Mr. Finch had taught him, to ask the neutral question - What happened? - rather than the one that implied blame - What did you do? Awaiting her response he saw her eyes glisten. Were those tears in Miss Mary's eyes? He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I was only getting my teacup out, Mr. Carson. And it was so high up. When I reached for it, I knocked the goblet over and then I fell trying to catch it.

His blood chilled when she said goblet and his head twisted around to scrutinize the cabinet. Which goblet? Not the Prince Alfred... His eyes sought those prized crystal pieces, a wedding gift to His Lordship and Her Ladyship from the Duke of Edinburgh and his wife, the Princess Maria Alexandrovna. Then relief engulfed him as he saw the pair of them still sitting on the high shelf, and he closed his eyes for a moment in a prayer of thanks to a kind God. When he opened them again, he found Mrs. Hughes staring at him, in her hand the dustpan filled with the crystal that had shattered across the floor.

"I'll throw this out," she said, gesturing with the pan. At his nod, she moved to the door, slipping past the kitchen maid arriving with the tea.

The very conventionality of this ritual restored Carson somewhat. He picked up the chair Miss Mary had fallen from and set it in its place. Then he reached into the cupboard for the child's tea cup and his eyes went to the now-empty space immediately adjacent to it and his heart sank once more. One of those goblets. Well, there was nothing he could do about the loss in the moment, so he composed himself and returned to the table, Miss Mary, and their tea. Without conscious thought he had closed the cupboard door and pulled the key from its slot, as he had done hundreds of times before, slipping it into a pocket in his waistcoat.

She still looked stricken. "It was an accident, Mr. Carson," she said earnestly, her eyes following him.

"I know it was," he said quietly. "Don't distress yourself over it."

But she was not calmed and clearly needed to explain herself further. "I thought I would get things ready," she went on. "I got the key to the cupboard and tried to get my teacup myself."

The key. He nodded again. "Have your tea," he said, pouring the milk and tea and pushing her cup over to her. Then his gaze turned to the cupboard once more. He'd never broken anything in the several years he'd been at Downton, not even as a footman. And since he'd become the butler, no harm had come to any of the valuable pieces under his immediate supervision. He'd made certain that everything was handled with extraordinary care. It pained him to have failed. It wasn't just a matter of treating things carefully but of ensuring that others took care as well. The damned key.

Her eyes followed his line of vision. "Actions have consequences."

The words stirred him from his uneasy reveries. "I beg your pardon, Miss Mary."

"Actions have consequences," she said again in a sombre tone. "That's what you told me when I... I locked Edith in the cowsheds." She faltered a little as she referred to that incident. She had not explicitly told him, even then, that she had done it on purpose though he was sure she had. He wondered at her acknowledging it now. And yet he not did not react to her confession. They had dealt with it and moved on.

"So they do," he said, and waited to hear what it was she really wanted to say.

She took a deep breath. "You told me I couldn't come for three weeks, then. So...this time I think it must be one month complete, Mr. Carson. As a punishment for taking your key and breaking the goblet. Do you think that's enough?" She spoke solemnly, but her dark eyes were fixed on his in a silent appeal.

He almost smiled at her imposing exile on herself. And thinking hurting him a more serious affair than tormenting her sister. "It was an accident, Miss Mary. That wasn't so with the cowsheds." A more contrite look came over her face at his acceptance of her admission.

"But I must pay for it somehow, Mr. Carson." She thought for a minute. "I'd shut myself up in a convent for a month," she declared, making what appeared to be the supreme sacrifice, and then added, more than a little bewildered, "if I knew what a convent was."

Now he did smile, despite the situation, though he was as puzzled as she was. "Where did you come up with that?"

Miss Mary groaned. "Fraulein Kelder," she said darkly, referring to the governess who now gave lessons to her and Miss Edith. "She says they're good places for bold girls!" She made a face. "I shouldn't want to spend a week in one of them."

"No fear of that, Miss Mary. His Lordship would never agree." He looked at her for a long moment. "It was an accident," he said firmly. "Though you must remember not to touch any of my things again without permission."

She nodded vigorously, eager to please him and not unhappy about escaping punishment.

It wasn't the best tea they'd ever had together. He could not keep his gaze from straying to the empty space on the shelf and it was more of a struggle than he'd anticipated to keep his temper in check. She, in turn, was subdued. When she had gone, he moved to his desk. He had work enough to occupy him but he could hardly think of anything but the broken goblet. And the key. How could he have been so negligent?

Voices in the passage, laughing,... no, giggling...drew his attention. Lunging to his feet, he stormed into the corridor and found himself in the midst of what he could only describe as a gaggle of housemaids. "What is going on here?" he demanded in an intemperate roar.

The maids quieted immediately and clustered awkwardly, compounding the unattractive image of geese. He had a fleeting impression of wide eyes and startled countenances and then another voice broke the taut silence.

"What is going on here, Mr. Carson?"

He whirled to find Mrs. Hughes coming out of her sitting room, a frown on her face and her cool blue eyes fixed exclusively on him.

"What's all this noise about?" he snapped, suddenly defensive. "Why are all these things in the way?" He gestured at several buckets and mops standing to one side, and cast a dark look at the now motionless housemaids before focusing on the housekeeper once more. "This is the passage, not the scullery!"

Mrs. Hughes's gaze lingered on him for a moment and then she turned to the three young women who were watching this exchange with a sort of fascinated horror. "Come along now, girls. Get the cleaning things put away and wash up for your tea." She spoke with a forced calm. The housemaids hastened to obey, gathering up their tools and disappearing down the passage without a peep out of any of them.

Annoyed by every aspect of this encounter, Mr. Carson turned away in a huff, retreating to his office without a word to the housekeeper. To his greater irritation, she followed him.

"It wasn't their fault," she said to his back.

He stopped behind his desk and turned around. "They were blocking the passage, making an inordinate amount of noise, and not going about their work," he said forcefully, staring right back at her. He did not like the look she was giving him.

"They have been hard at it all day, they've come down for their tea, and they put their things down for just a moment." Her voice was as brittle as his. "And may I remind you, Mr. Carson, that the maids are my responsibility, not yours."

He bristled at this. Of course, she was right there. "They were in everyone's way," he said acidly.

"They weren't in anyone's way," she responding, waving dismissively. "They were just an easy target. And, let me repeat myself, it wasn't their fault."

"I don't know what you mean." He wasn't given to disingenuous statements, but occasionally he lapsed.

"Oh, I think you do."

They stared boldly at each other for a long moment and then he looked away and sat down.

She approached his desk and, even without looking at her, he could tell her temper was shifting even as his deflated. "Was it very valuable?" she asked quietly.

Of course that was it and they both knew it. So he surrendered. "It wasn't priceless," he said, with a sigh, "unless you're counting sentiment." At Mrs. Hughes's inquiring expression he added, "It's one of a set given to Her Ladyship by her paternal grandmother. She is fond of them beyond their simple monetary worth." He exhaled heavily. "I won't trouble her about it tonight when they've got guests. I'll tell her in the morning."

The housekeeper lingered. "Miss Mary will be in for it then, I imagine," she said.

He was distracted by this. Did she want the child to be in trouble? But he said nothing.

"You are going to tell them she did it, I hope." Mrs. Hughes's tone was curt. "You can't take responsibility for her wrongdoing!" She was staring at him, aghast at the thought.

"But I am responsible, Mrs. Hughes." He spoke evenly, not responding to her indignation. He had recovered his poise and remembered exactly who was at fault. "As I am responsible for everything that occurs under my supervision."

She made an exasperated sound. "She took your key, opened your cabinet, and broke a valuable piece of crystal. Those things are locked up for good reason. How did she get the key anyway?"

It was the very thing that had been weighing on his mind. He kept the key in a concealed compartment in his top desk drawer. Her cunning little fingers had discovered it in an early exploration of his desk. He had never explicitly identified the key or its use, but she had seen him take it from there on more than one occasion and knew its purpose. And he did not need Mrs. Hughes to exacerbate his sense of culpability.

"I am sorry I spoke of turn to the maids," he said, turning the conversation. "I don't think we need discuss this any further," he added coolly, giving her a meaningful look.

But she was determined to have the last word. "You're doing her no favours, Mr. Carson." And then she left before he could respond, which was just as well, as her words spiked his temper again. After all, he knew Miss Mary much better than she did.

And he had more pressing matters before him, not least of which were the preparations for the small dinner party that evening. Before he did anything else, however, he removed the key from his waistcoat pocket and fixed it to the chain of his pocket watch. He had trusted to the security of the desk, as Mr. Finch had before him, but Mr. Finch had never played host to a curious little girl. He ought perhaps to have anticipated that, but he would certainly not be caught out that way again.

Called to Account

He spoke to His Lordship and Her Ladyship the next morning after breakfast. It was not an unpleasant interview, although he found it uncomfortable both because he did not like to make mistakes and because Her Ladyship was distressed. Afterwards he returned to the butler's pantry and to the wine inventory which was his task for the morning. He did not know that he had expected Mrs. Hughes to look in, but sighed with an air of resignation when she did so. She was more curious than Mrs. Dakin, he thought, and he was not at all sure he liked that.

"How did it go?"

Well, at least she made no pretense about her purpose.

"I've not been sacked, if that's what you're wondering," he said drily.

She did not grace this with a reply, but only waited for him to expand on his statement.

"Her Ladyship was disappointed," he admitted, and then gestured her into the pantry. If she was determined to have a conversation about this then they could at least conduct it discretely. "His Lordship made light of it - We'll have to have parties of ten, rather than twelve, when we use them, he said - And they both acknowledged that accidents occur." He paused and stared meaningfully at her. "I assured them nothing like this would happen again."

"And you left out the part about Miss Mary," she said, apparently determined to press the issue.

For a long moment they dueled with their eyes.

"You think I'm being foolish," he said finally, a little rankled by her disapproval, but with no intention of changing his mind either.

"No," she said quietly. "Not foolish, Mr. Carson. Just misguided."

They parted again.

Taking Responsibility

The butler of Downton Abbey did not serve tea to the family. They had their hour with the children, during which the staff enjoyed their own tea, and then the footmen served His Lordship and Her Ladyship, while the butler attended to the preliminaries for dinner. Carson was, then, slightly disconcerted when Geoffrey, who was supposed to be upstairs, appeared at the pantry door.

"His Lordship would like you to come up, Mr. Carson."

Perplexed, he went.

He entered the library to find His Lordship and Her Ladyship seated on the sofa, their tea in hand, and Miss Mary sitting across from them. She should have been upstairs with the other girls, but he supposed he knew what this was about. They all looked up when he came in and Miss Mary stood. This in itself was out of the ordinary, and her hands fluttering uncharacteristically by her side testified further to the novel circumstances.

"Thank you, Geoffrey, Stuart," His Lordship said, with a glance at the footmen.

The two young men, understanding this as a dismissal, withdrew, though not before exchanging apprehensive looks. Carson knew they thought this private conference was about them and some failing on their part. He would set them right about it later.

"My lord," Carson said. Miss Mary had turned her dark eyes, round with agitation, on him, but he attended to His Lordship.

"Carson, Miss Mary has informed us that there is something she has to say and she wanted you to be here when she said it." His Lordship spoke lightly, untroubled by his daughter's peculiar request. Her Ladyship appeared less sanguine. The disquiet in her countenance was mirrored in that of her child.

"Go on, darling," His Lordship said gently, encouraging her.

Miss Mary addressed her mother. "You were very cross about Mr. Carson breaking the goblet, Mama," she said, with a child's bluntness.

A faint blush tinged Her Ladyship's cheeks. She had responded to Carson's announcement that morning with a controlled disappointment, in keeping with the dispassionate behaviour expected (if not always observed) by the well bred ruling class, but Carson was not surprised that she had expressed her displeasure more vehemently when alone with her family.

"But he didn't break the goblet," Miss Mary went on. "I did." Now that the words had been spoken, she seemed to lose the fretfulness that had gripped her. Her shoulders relaxed and her hands stilled. Only her gaze, fixed on her mother, retained any sense of uncertainty.

Her Ladyship stared, uncomprehending, but His Lordship looked puzzled. "What?"

Miss Mary took a deep breath and embarked on what Carson thought sounded like a planned recitation. "I was waiting for Mr. Carson to come into the pantry so we could have our tea. I wanted to get out the special cup I drink my tea from, so I took the key out of his desk and opened the cupboard. Only my tea cup was so high, I needed a chair. And when I reached for it, I knocked over the goblet."

The pantry was the butler's preserve, but it was not sacrosanct. His desk was something else. "You shouldn't have been going through Mr. Carson's things," Her Ladyship said in admonishment, frowning a little.

Miss Mary nodded. "I know, Mama. Mr. Carson told me I must never do so again." Now she turned his way. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I didn't want you to be sent away for something I'd done."

There was a tightness in his chest. He was very proud of her. But he only inclined his head, as he would in acknowledgment of a comparable statement from her parents. "Thank you, Miss Mary," he said solemnly.

Accustomed to his undemonstrative manner in this room, she gave him a little smile and then returned her attention to her mother. "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to break your goblet. I won't do anything like that ever again."

"I believe you," Her Ladyship said, any irritation at the incident subsiding with her daughter's apology, although she glanced somewhat more critically at the butler.

"I have already made adjustments," he intoned, responding to this.

And then Miss Mary hugged her Mama, and her Papa, too, for good measure, and, reassured that Carson would not be going anywhere, she skipped from the room, relieved of the burden she had carried for a day.

"Carson." Her Ladyship's tone was less disappointed this time, than disapproving. "Why didn't you tell us that Miss Mary had broken the goblet?"

"It was an accident, my lady, and one for which I bear responsibility. I left the key where she might find it and I never made clear to her that she must not use it or that the pieces in the cupboard were out of bounds to her."

He could tell that this did not satisfy Her Ladyship, but His Lordship intervened.

"I think we've said enough about this," he said. "Thank you, Carson."

Carson nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, Carson," His Lordship added, as though just remembering it, "there are some things in the small library that need clearing. I was going to ask the footmen to attend to it, but..."

"Very good, my lord." Carson withdrew to the alcove off the main library where there were, indeed, some few dishes that had escaped the staff's morning sweep. He would have to speak to the footmen about this oversight.

Out of sight in the small library, Carson could still hear what was being said in the larger room.

"Really, Cora."

"Robert! Your butler was covering up for Mary!"

"Your butler. Oh, my darling."

"Couldn't he have given us an honest account?"

"But he did. In Carson's mind, he does bear responsibility for the incident and I'm not completely disinclined to agree with him, although he cannot be expected to anticipate a child's every action. And when it comes to it, I'm glad he said nothing."

"Why?"

"Because Mary could have let him take the blame. She didn't have to own up to it. But she put the truth and her regard for Carson ahead of her own well-being, and that is something we ought to welcome."

"I think the butler ought to put truth first, too."

His Lordship sighed. "Carson is who he is and frankly I've no complaints about him. But Mary is our concern. It was important for her to tell us herself, to risk our wrath in owning up to the truth.

To have spoken up today, that is a display of character, Cora. And I think that's worth a dozen goblets. And a butler whose feelings sometimes cloud his judgment."

Their voices dropped and Carson thought it discrete to withdraw, leaving His Lordship and Her Ladyship to their privacy. As he descended to the servants' floor, it occurred to him that His Lordship was well aware of the acoustic idiosyncrasies of the house and knew as well as anyone that a conversation in the library could not help but be overheard in the annex.

He did not have the opportunity to speak privately with Mrs. Hughes again until the end of the evening, when once again she looked in on him before going up for the night. Mrs. Dakin had always taken a moment with the butler at the end of the day, in case either of them had any concerns about that day or the next, and Mrs. Hughes had absorbed the habit.

"I've got one of the maids coming down with a cold," she told him. "I've told her to stay in bed tomorrow morning, so there'll be a little catch-up for the others."

He nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. If it makes things more convenient for your staff, you may leave the dusting up of the pantry to the last. I've no objections." His accommodating manner was poor recompense for his earlier behaviour, but the gesture was a necessary one.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

She turned to go.

"Miss Mary confessed," he said abruptly.

She glanced back over her shoulder. "I beg your pardon?"

He didn't know why he'd blurted that out, but now he had to explain himself. "Miss Mary told her parents," he said awkwardly and then stared at her, daring her to challenge him.

"Did she."

Mrs. Hughes, he had noticed, played her cards close to her chest. He could not tell what she was thinking. But now that he'd opened the door, he realized there was something he wanted to say to her.

"There is more than one way of teaching responsibility, Mrs. Hughes."

Now she nodded, acknowledging his words, but still giving away nothing. "Well," she said finally. "Perhaps you're right." She met his searching gaze with a keen look of her own. "Good night, Mr. Carson."