The Return of the Native

Spring 1920

"This is nice," said Elsie. She examined the food on the table, making sure she hadn't left anything behind, before sitting in her designated chair across from her husband. Her hand found the napkin on the table and she elegantly placed it on her lap. "When was the last time just the three of us sat down for a meal together?"

"Last Christmas, if I'm recalling correctly," said Charlie, inspecting the bowl of vegetables before him. His brows rose, but when he caught Elsie's eye, he masked his distaste.

"Well, yes... but Hughie's friends were with us," she said, "along with a room full of strangers."

Reluctantly, Charlie began dishing his plate with vegetables. His eyes drifted to the steak, and he seemed more pleased with it.

Elsie sighed, taking a good look at her two boys beside her. "This may very well be the first time since—well, since..." She stopped, her head bowing slightly.

Charlie looked up, glancing briefly at Hughie before his eyes set on Elsie. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He slid the vegetables to her side and she dished Hughie's plate before dishing her own.

"Will Lady Sybil be having her baby at Downton?" Hughie asked. His bandaged hand searched around the table until he found his own napkin. And less elegantly than his mother, he placed it on his lap.

"It appears that way, yes," said Charlie.

Elsie took a sip of her water. "It'll be nice to have a baby in the house—after everything that's been going on lately."

"That is... if the baby survives," said Hughie. He grabbed his fork and it clanked on his plate, in search of food.

Elsie and Charlie shared a look of concern before turning to their son as uncomfortable silence filled the air. Hughie must have sensed the tone shift, for his head tilted in the direction of mother.

"It happens," he added quietly.

"Yes... unfortunately sometimes it does," his mother agreed, "but we should always pray for the best."

"But if the best never comes... you'll feel disappointed."

Elsie again turned to her husband. His eyes focused down on his plate of food, but he sat frozen. Finally, after a long moment, he began cutting his meat. "This is Hughie's last night at the cottage," he told Elsie formally. "We might as well clean out his drawers here and bring it all back with us tomorrow morning. That way we can head straight for the station come Thursday."

Elsie hesitated for a moment. Her eyes glancing at Hughie, who searched for his water glass. It was just a bit out of reach, so she pushed it towards him. He grabbed it and took a small sip. "If that's what you want," said Elsie.

Charlie's eyes glistened. "It is."

"There we go," Elsie said after buttoning the last button on Hughie's pajama top. She examined the sleeves, which were too short to cover his wrists fully. Hughie had grown since arriving at Downton. He now stood right at Elsie's shoulders. "We'll have to get you a new wardrobe before too long." She grabbed his good hand and gently she stroked his palm with her thumb.

Hughie pulled away from her touch, and quietly he made his way towards his bed. She watched as he pulled back the sheets and tucked himself in.

Charlie entered the room with Hughie's suspenders in his hand. "Here we are," he said, placing them on top of a pile of Hughie's clothes. "Have we gathered everything?"

Elsie nodded. "I believe so."

He glanced briefly at Hughie. "I'm off to bed, then," he said. "Goodnight."

They both waited for Hughie's response—when he said nothing, Elsie turned to her husband. "I'll come up after I've finished packing."

With one last look at Hughie, Charlie nodded and left the room.

Elsie quietly made her way towards the stack of clothes on the table. As she began folding a button down white shirt of his, she turned to Hughie. His eyes were open wide and his head tilted in her direction—and his blind stare almost felt like he was looking into her soul.

"But it is disappointment, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean, dear," said Elsie in reply.

"The emotion."

Her mind suddenly drifted to the conversation at dinner. She set the now folded shirt down and made her way to his bed, sitting comfortably beside him. "I imagine anyone in that situation would have many emotions—disappointment could very well be one of them," she said, wrapping her arm around him, "but it's best we not think about those things."

"Why not?"

She kissed his forehead. "Because it's sad to think about."

Carson had been concentrating on a book when Elsie entered their bedroom some thirty minutes later, already in bed with his pajamas on. The buttons on the front of her dress were already undone, her corset peeking through for only him to see; anywhere outside of the bedroom, he would deem the look too risqué for any woman, much less his wife. She let out a tired sigh as she examined herself in the mirror. He returned to his book.

After a moment, she spoke: "Anna seemed pleased to receive those letters from Mr. Bates the other day."

"Didn't I tell you everything would sort itself out," he said—his eyes focused on the words before him.

"I wonder what happened."

"Its no business of ours, Elsie."

"Well, it's good to see her in such high spirits again," she said. "Perhaps this means they'll be releasing him soon."

He looked up. Her hair was now fully down, and her dress was pooled at her feet—with her corset and underclothes now on full display. "One can only hope," he said. "Did you get everything packed all right?"

She nodded. "I believe so," she said. "I really should have him try everything on first, but I'm too tired to do all that tonight."

"You ought to take his measurements tomorrow," he said.

"I'm amazed at how much he's grown in only a few months," she said.

"Yes, well, it's best we wait to buy him new clothes," he said—watching as she carefully removed her corset. She let out a breath of relief before her attention went to removing her underclothes. "We don't want to buy him a new wardrobe only for him to outgrow it in a month or two."

And there she stood, naked and beautiful and entirely his. She went to her drawers to throw on a nightgown.

"I wish you would tell me what's happened between you two," said Elsie softly. "You haven't read to him in days."

He bowed his head, returning to his book. "I'd prefer not to have a conversation about my shortcomings with you this evening, darling."

Silence filled the air as Elsie made her way to her side of the bed. She snuggled close to him and he set his book down on the side table.

"I would give him my eyes if I could, Elsie," he told her.

She patted his arm. "I know you would," she said, "but he doesn't want your eyes, Charlie."

Mrs. Patmore watched as Jimmy, the new footman, swaggered on passed the kitchen with a group of giggling maids following him close behind. The young man was like a lighthouse, and the maids were his pretty little boats attracted to his light. Mr. Carson was already appalled at the maids' behavior.

Anna entered the kitchen with an amused smirk on her face. "Jimmy seems to have found his cluster," she said.

"He certainly is popular with the maids," retorted Mrs. Patmore. "Mr. Carson's started sweating bullets."

They shared a laugh as Miss O'Brien entered. "May I borrow some soda, Mrs. Patmore," she asked.

The cooks brows lifted. "You're going to give it back, are you?"

Miss O'Brien remained expressionless, and Mrs. Patmore went to retrieve it for her. Ivy entered the kitchen with a tray full of empty tea cups and a tea kettle with Mrs. Hughes following her in.

"Have you finished your order list yet?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"I thought you didn't need it until the end of the week," said Mrs. Patmore.

"Yes, well, we're taking Hughie back Thursday, and I don't know how long we'll be away," she retorted, and she frowned. "I'd prefer today, if you can."

"I'll have it for you by the end of the day," said Mrs. Patmore.

Mrs. Hughes nodded and she quickly left the kitchen, heading in the direction of her room. Mrs. Patmore handed Miss O'Brien the baking soda.

"I'm sad to see Hughie go," said Anna in a low voice. "He seemed to be doing so well."

"He were doing well... until his little accident, that is," said Mrs. Patmore.

Miss O'Brien huffed. "I'd hardly call it an accident," she muttered.

"What?" said Mrs. Patmore.

"What are you hiding, Miss O'Brien?" asked Anna. "You and Mr. Barrow seem to know quite a bit more than you lead on..."

Her eyes drifted to the baking soda in her hands. "I don't know anything," she said softly, and then she quickly turned her heel and hurried away.

Anna turned back to Mrs. Patmore just as Mr. Carson and Hughie entered. Hughie wore his faded red coat while Mr. Carson had on his less extravagant black coat. They both had their hats in their hands and resting on their stomachs—the mirrored image was almost enough to make Mrs. Patmore laugh; how could Hughie mimic his father without even seeing him?

"We're going for our afternoon walk," Mr. Carson told them. "If you need anything, tell Mrs. Hughes."

"All right, then," said Mrs. Patmore with a nod. Her eyes drifted to Hughie's bandaged hand; what was the mystery all about?

"I don't want you leaving Downton with the impression that I hate you," Carson told his son gently, "when that is far from the truth."

"I know you don't hate me," said Hughie.

Carson cleared his throat. "And I... do like you," he added, "very much so. I'm hard on you sometimes... because—this world... it can sometimes be unkind, and I only want what's best for you."

Hughie kicked the dirt below him, and Carson thought he might have accidentally stumbled—but he continued the same pace as his father. "The older children say Mrs. Shelton was a pirate in her old life, before coming to Lloyd Andrews," said Hughie after a long moment of silence. "They say she has tattoos all over her arms and body—that's why she never shows her arms... and why she wears long dresses."

"I don't want you participating in such tasteless gossip when you return to Lloyd Andrews," ordered Carson with raised eyebrows. "Mrs. Shelton never shows her arms and she wears long dresses because she is a respectable woman... not because she is some former pirate."

"I know that," said Hughie, "but sometimes children like to make assumptions about her that aren't very true."

Carson hummed in response.

"Carson," said a voice behind them.

Carson turned to see Lord Grantham and Mr. Crawley walking towards them. He stopped, grabbing Hughie by the shoulder, and he pulled him close to assure that he too would remain still.

"Lord Grantham. Mr. Crawley," he greeted them with a slight bow of his head and a tip of his hat.

"Hello Carson," Lord Grantham greeted formally. He briefly glanced down. "Hughie."

Hughie made no effort to acknowledge his lordship. Carson cleared his throat, annoyed at his son's disrespectful behavior. "Actually, Carson, if I could have a quick word—Mr. Crawley can watch Hughie for a moment."

"Of course, milord," said Carson quickly, stepping into the grass with his superior.

Mathew Crawley stood in silence with the young blind boy beside him. The boy grabbed his damaged hand and he began fiddling with the bandages, and Mathew noticed the speckles of blood on it. "You really shouldn't do that," he told him. And the boy stopped and let his arm fall to his side. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat. "It was... quite the nasty fall, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Hughie quietly.

Another moment of silence filled the air before Mathew cleared his throat again. "I understand you attend Lloyd Andrews Learning Community near Sheffield," he said.

"Yes," said Hughie just as quietly as before.

"I should think you'd be overjoyed to go back," he said, "given all the chaos you've had to endure here."

"It's the School for Unwanted Children," said Hughie, "no one's overjoyed to be there, much less the children."

"Do they not treat you well at Lloyd Andrews?" asked Mathew. "I always got the impression they were one of the better facilities."

"They treat me like I'm human," said Hughie, "but... it isn't home."

"There we are," said Robert as both he and Carson rejoined the pair.

"We really ought to start heading back," said Carson firmly. He grabbed Hughie's hand. "Good day, milord—Mr. Crawley."

"Good day, Carson," said Mathew tipping his hat just as Carson did the same.

Robert and Mathew watched as butler and son started along the path back to Downton. "A Butler with a son," Mathew commented in a slightly amused tone when Carson and Hughie were well enough away, "I never thought I'd see such a sight."

"Nor did I," said Robert, "but I suppose the world's changing—there are many sights I never thought I'd have to see."

"I think I'd rather be in a city if I were having a baby," said Ivy as she cleared the servants table. "Where they've got all the modern inventions."

"Far away from everyone you know and trust?" questioned Anna. "I don't think I would."

Mrs. Patmore entered the room. "What are you talking about having babies for, Ivy? I think we can leave that for a little further down the menu, thank you."

"It's always an idea to be prepared," said Jimmy.

"I expect you're always prepared," Mr. Barrow told Jimmy.

"I try to be, Mr. Barrow."

Carson looked up from his papers and he felt the awkward tension in the room. He turned to Hughie, who sat beside him with his new Braille writer in front of him—a boy of twelve was far too young to be hearing such banter.

"I don't like the direction this conversation is taking," he told everyone firmly, glaring at Mr. Barrow. "Could we all begin the day's tasks, please?" Everyone, except for Hughie, followed Carson up as he stood. "And remember, Lady Sybil is in a delicate condition, so no noise on the gallery."

"It's exciting, though, ain't it?" he heard Ivy say. "To have a baby in the house."

"It won't make much difference to you. Now get back in the kitchen and do as you're told," said Daisy—she was morphing more into a tiny Mrs. Patmore with each passing day, it seemed.

"Well, I think that message got through," he heard Miss O'Brien remark as he exited the room with Elsie at his side.

"I've no objections, Mrs. Hughes," he told her calmly as they made their way to his pantry, "but I don't see the point in him writing—er, typing—a letter to his friends when he'll be seeing them in just a few days."

"Honestly, Charlie, there's no harm in it, is there?"

He shook his head, but made no arguments.

"The point is, milady," said Anna as she brushed Mary's hair, "Vera Bates planned the whole thing—she meant for Mr. Bates to take the blame."

"What a terrible act of revenge," said Mary, looking at Anna through the mirror. "Have you told Lord Grantham yet—he'll surely want to hear this."

She shook her head. "I haven't found the time."

"Find him after supper," she told her. "He won't mind if it's something this important." She watched Anna carefully as she delicately started tying up her hair. "I spoke with Mr. Crawley earlier," she started, and Anna looked up. "And he had a rather strange encounter with little Hughie the other day."

To Mary's surprise, Anna only smiled. "He's a sweet boy, but he isn't the best conversationist, milady."

"Yes, well, he told Mr. Crawley that he wasn't too eager about going back to Lloyd Andrews," said Mary. "He referred to it as the School for Unwanted Children. I wonder if there was any truth to it."

"He clearly misses his friends, but I haven't heard him call it that, milady," said Anna, shaking her head. "Although—he's hardly spoken to me since his fall..."

"That's right. He fell," said Mary. She turned to Anna. "How is he? Who's been tending to his wound since Lady Sybil went into labor?"

"Mrs. Hughes, I believe," said Anna.

"What a terrible accident it was," said Mary, turning back to her mirror.

"Yes, milady, it was," agreed Anna, frowning, "only..."

"Only what?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's best I keep my mouth shut until I have proof of any wrongdoing."

At that, Mary raised her eyebrows, but she chose to ignore the comment. And she took a quick moment before speaking again, "What would you do if you gave birth to a blind and dumb baby, Anna? Or, at least, something of that sort?"

"I should think I would love it, milady," she said. "The baby, I mean."

"Yes, of course, as any mother would," said Mary, bowing her head slightly. "Do you think... Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes want him to stay?"

"I know Mrs. Hughes isn't too pleased he's leaving," answered Anna, "and Mr. Carson only wants to please his lordship. I can tell deep down he's also sad to see Hughie go."

"Well, we can't have that," said Mary. "If the Carsons want their son to stay, then of course he should stay. I'll speak with Lord Grantham."

"Let's see here," Carson mumbled, as his finger brushed against the dots on the paper. "Dot... one, two, three—er, five, I think," he said. He turned to his son for confirmation.

"That's right, Five," said Hughie. "Now move your hand over."

Carson carefully glided his hand over to feel the next few bumps. "Er—there appears to be three dots on this one," he mumbled. "Two vertical and two horizontal."

"Now what does that mean?"

"I... I really don't know, Hughie," he said with an exasperated sigh. He removed his hand from the paper, and checked the time on his watch. "And I really haven't got the time—I should be upstairs."

"I'll give you a hint, then," said Hughie. "It's your name."

"It's my name?" Carson said, sitting back. "Five and... I don't know, is it a C? For Charles?"

"No... dot five F—it means father," Hughie explained.

Carson smiled gently. "I thought my name was dad."

"That's a little more complicated," said Hughie. His hands found his Braille writer. "It'd be D-A-D"—he typed quickly, and Carson tried following along, but a Braille writer was far more complicated than any typewriter he had encountered; it didn't even have the correct number of keys to type properly—"but that takes up too much space on the paper. Typing 'father' is simpler—dot five F."

"They both look rather complicated to me," said Carson, examining the dots on the paper quizzically.

"That's because you're just learning," said Hughie. "You'll understand it eventually."

The door opened and Elsie entered. "Mr. Carson—why on earth are you still down here," she spoke in a strict tone. "Alfred and Jimmy went up ages ago—they're waiting for your orders."

Carson stood abruptly. And after mumbling a few inaudible words, he quickly hurried out of the pantry.

"How long does it take for a woman to give birth to a baby?" asked Hughie.

The Carsons were sitting together in the servants hall, enjoying an afternoon cup of tea. The room was mostly empty with Anna sitting alone in the middle and a few maids sitting off at the far end of the table.

Elsie sipped her tea. "It really depends," she told him gently. "It can take hours or even days—sometimes even longer than that."

"It didn't take Sarah nearly as long as it's taking Lady Sybil," said Hughie softly—and the comment nearly made Elsie choke on her tea.

Charlie looked at him, horror in his eyes. "Sarah? Who's Sarah?"

"My friend," he said, "from Lloyd Andrews."

"You don't mean to tell me you've actually befriended one of those... girls," said Charlie in a low voice, disgust in his voice.

Elsie rolled her eyes.

"Yes," said Hughie.

Charlie shifted in his seat, and his eyes looked suspiciously around the room in fear someone might have overheard Hughie's confession. To his relief, Anna and the maids seemed too preoccupied with their own tasks to notice.

"Well, I don't want you associating yourself with her—or any girl like her, for that matter—when you return to Lloyd Andrews. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sarah's not in Lloyd Andrews anymore," he said. "Her parents took her out in January."

"How... old is Sarah," Elsie asked gently.

"A few years older than me," said Hughie, and Elsie felt sad for the young girl, and for all young girls like her. She even thought of poor Ethel. "Did I take too long?"

She smiled, remembering that cool February day as if it were only yesterday. "You took about fourteen hours."

Jimmy and Mr. Barrow quietly entered the servants hall. Jimmy took his seat, but Mr. Barrow remained standing, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. His eyes drifted down towards Hughie, and then at Anna, who was watching him carefully.

He lit his cigarette and smoke filled the air. Hughie's head tilted and his nose wiggled slightly.

"Hello, Mr. Barrow," Hughie said softly.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Barrow said formally. He took a seat next to Jimmy—and the young footman almost looked uncomfortable that Mr. Barrow chose to sit next to him. "Hughie."

"It could certainly overturn the case," said Robert, taking a sip of his tea. "Murray's coming tomorrow—he'll talk with Anna, and then head over to see Mr. Bates."

"Mr. Bates might finally have something to look forward to," said Mary. "He wouldn't tell Anna the full story—but it seems the prison had been keeping him away from Anna for the past month or so..."

The door opened, and Branson entered. Both Cora and Mary stood, and Robert set his tea cup down.

"How is she?" asked Mary.

Branson smiled. "Desperately wanting the baby to be out already," he said. "But otherwise fine. Sir Phillip says it'll still be a while."

"These things take time," said Cora as she and Mary both sat back down, a smile forming on her face.

"It all sounds quite exhausting," said Mary.

"I imagine you'll be in the same position before too long," Cora told her—and Mary bowed her head slightly.

Robert took notice, and he lifted his brows at her. She ignored his look, sitting straighter. "There was one other thing I wanted to discuss with you, papa."

"Oh, what's that?" he said.

"I think we should invite Hughie to stay," she said, and Robert rolled his eyes. "It's clear Carson and Mrs. Hughes want him to..."

"Well, as it so happens, I've spoken with Carson, and he agrees with me that the boy should leave."

"Of course he's going to go along with whatever you say," said Mary. "You're his commanding officer—he's bound by duty to obey you."

"I don't blame the boy, but he has long overstayed his welcome, Mary," said Robert stubbornly. "What made them decide to bring him back anyway?"

"Well, I suppose I can tell you now," said Cora. "Mrs. Hughes had a bit of a health scare, and she wanted poor Hughie close by."

"Really?" said Branson, a look of concern on his face. "I hope she's all right now."

"Oh, yes," assured Cora. "She's perfectly healthy, but the news was quite worrisome at the time."

"Hughie should stay," said Branson. Robert opened his mouth to object, but Branson continued. "And I speak for Sybil—not myself, because I know my opinions aren't as warmly welcomed here... Sybil would want Hughie to stay. And if she weren't upstairs having our baby, she would be down here telling you."

"I agree," said Mary. "Sybil would be overjoyed if you allowed Hughie to stay."

Robert picked up his tea cup and he took a long sip. "I'm not going back on my word," he said firmly, shaking his head.

Anna entered the kitchen quietly. Mrs. Patmore was quite frantic—cooking dinner never seemed like an easy task for her. Her eyes shot up when she heard Anna's footsteps, but she made no effort to acknowledge her. Instead, she turned to Ivy, and ordered her to stir something boiling on the burner. And Daisy was near the spices, examining one spice and then another—and then finally satisfied with the third spice she examined, and taking it off to shake it on a tray of raw fish.

Mrs. Patmore looked around the kitchen in search for something. She opened and closed a few cabinets before turning to the young kitchen maid— "Ivy, what've done with the tea tray and kettle? You've washed it, haven't you?"

"No," said Ivy nervously. "It's still in the servants hall—we just got so busy..."

"I'll fetch it," Anna assured her, turning her heel and quickly making her way down the hall.

Hughie sat alone in the servants hall with the tea tray in front of him. His hands searched around the tray, touching each of the items—he grabbed a small white tea cup and placed it close to him, and then he reached for the kettle.

Anna ran to him in a panic, but he did not wince or cry out in pain—the kettle had not been hot since that afternoon. When she realized he would not hurt himself, she stopped to observe him.

He lifted the kettle off the tray, and the hand not holding the kettle grabbed the cup. He carefully, after a few hesitant dips, poured the liquid inside the cup—and only a few drops splattered onto the table. He set the kettle back onto the tray before wiping the spilled liquid around the cup with his bandaged hand.

"It's not going to be any good," she told him.

He tilted his head towards her. "I didn't do it to drink it," he said.

"I'm afraid the tray's needed elsewhere," she said. "I hope you won't mind."

"No," said Hughie softly.

She lifted the tray up, and she turned to make her way back to the kitchen, but she quickly stopped and she turned back to him. "Miss O'Brien—or Mr. Barrow... or the both of them, maybe—did something to make you fall the other day, didn't they?"

Hughie said nothing, and Mrs. Patmore's frantic screaming from the kitchen forced Anna to hurry out of the room. But she glanced back, watching him carefully as he fiddled with the bandages on his hand.

This fic is slowly winding down. I'm not sure how many more chapters this fic has left, but it's not many. Thank you guys for all the great responses you've left for this fic!