*Edit: I wasn't quite satisfied with this chapter, so I went in and adjusted and added a few things.

The Return of the Native

Spring 1920

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with him being in the same classroom as those delinquent children, Elsie," said Carson. He took a seat at his desk and quietly he began rummaging through the papers in front of him. He sighed; with Lady Sybil about to give birth, they were all certainly in for a long night. But it was his own child he thought about in that moment. "We may want to have a word with Mrs. Shelton about it on Thursday."

Elsie followed him to his desk. "I think it's good he's interacting with children his own age."

"Yes, but to associate himself with such a shameful girl and... and with boys who steal dogs," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't like it."

"I do wonder about Sarah," she confessed, and he looked up at her. "He never mentioned her to me before—and I thought I knew all his friends at Lloyd Andrews."

"Perhaps he never mentioned her to us because he knew we would disapprove..."

"I don't disapprove of their friendship, Charlie," she said with a sigh. She hesitated before continuing, "Do you think you ought to speak with Hughie about... well, you know."

"About... what exactly?" he said, raising a brow up at her.

She glanced cautiously at both of his closed doors before turning back to him. "About—well, about intimacy, Charlie," she whispered.

"Oh." He shifted in his seat. Thirteen years of marriage and the word, and any word similar to it, still made him feel uncomfortable when spoken outside of their bedroom, no matter how polite. "Are... are you quite sure? It's a bit soon, isn't it?"

"He is twelve—and I know boys learn about it sooner than most girls do," she said, her face turning a slight pink. She grabbed his hand, and he found comfort in her touch. "I just don't want him hearing the wrong things from the wrong people, that's all." He must have looked pale or sickly to her, for she looked down at him with concern. She stroked his hand lightly. "If you're not comfortable speaking with him, I will..."

"No, no," he said firmly, giving her hand an assuring squeeze. "I should be the one telling him. It is... after all, a father's duty to have this discussion with his son." He sighed, and then he nodded. "I'll have a word with him before we leave." The thought of those delinquent boys at Lloyd Andrews having already tarnished his precious little boy's mind with filthy words quickly brought Carson's heart down to his stomach. What horrors and lies would they have told him?

"But don't just brush over things with him, Charlie," said Elsie. "Take your time with it—and answer any questions he might have."

Would such a boy his age have many questions? He again nodded—feeling the sweat forming on his forehead—as a knock on the door pulled his attention away from her, and Mr. Molesley opened the door. In his hand, he held what appeared to be an opened letter.

Elsie pulled her hand away as Molesley entered.

"Er—are you busy, Mr. Carson," Molesley said meekly.

Carson cleared his throat. "No, Mr. Molesley," he said. "What is it?"

"It's just—I've had a letter from Mrs. Bird," he said, lifting the letter.

"Mrs. Crawley's chef?" asked Elsie. "Whatever for?"

"Well... that's the thing—she isn't working for Mrs. Crawley's anymore," he said, handing Carson the letter.

Carson quietly read the letter to himself. And it appeared to be a regular letter: she was wishing Mr. Molesley farewell, for she had gone off to her sisters in Manchester... and she was leaving because Ethel Parks was now—He looked up from the letter, an uneasiness settling in his stomach. "Mrs. Crawley has hired a prostitute to manage her house?" He could not hide the horror in his voice from Elsie. First, pregnant teenage girls befriending his vulnerable blind son in a school that is suppose to keep him safe... and now Ethel Parks, the former prostitute, was representing House Crawley. What was the world coming to?

"And that's why Mrs. Bird felt she had no choice but to hand in her notice," said Mr. Molesley.

"Nor did she, poor woman," said Carson.

"But Mr. Carson," said Elsie, "this is Ethel we're talking about. Our Ethel."

"Don't tell me you knew about this?"

Elsie shook her head. "I hadn't heard about Mrs. Bird leaving," she said, "but Mrs. Crawley did inform me she hired Ethel on, yes." Carson huffed. "Mrs. Crawley was just trying to give her a helping hand. Is that so wrong?"

"I do not criticize her for her charity," said Carson. He could feel the sweat drip from his forehead. "But she hasn't considered her actions. No respectable person, certainly no respectable woman, can now be seen entering her house." And suddenly, he recalled the many times his own wife set off to do an errand in the village in the past week, and he wondered if all those times she had gone to see Ethel and Mrs. Crawley.

"But Ethel's given all that up," said Elsie.

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't think she was running a brothel in Mrs. Crawley's kitchen."

"Can't we say nothing for now?" offered Elsie. "Mrs. Bird's gone and I don't remember Ethel as any great cook, so it may sort itself out."

"Very well," he said, standing. It was hard to say no to his darling wife—not impossible, but hard, nonetheless. "We shall keep silent for the moment." He turned to Molesley. "But I don't want the maids going into that house on any pretext whatsoever. Is that clear?"

"Quite clear, Mr. Carson," said Mr. Molesley with a nod.

"Or the footmen," he added quickly—that rambunctious Jimmy Clark coming to mind.

Mr. Molesley nodded, and then quietly he exited the pantry.

Carson turned back to his wife. She gently wiped the sweat away from his forehead. "Perhaps Hughie forming friendships with pregnant young girls is a good thing after all," she said.

"How so?" he asked with hesitancy.

"It may allow for grumpy old butlers to sympathize with their situation a little more in future," she said, and he frowned.

"Has their work suffered because he's here?" Mary asked—who seemed as persistent as ever. They entered the library with Edith and his mother already gathered around the fire. "The fact is, papa, this isn't your decision to make. You're forcing him out..." Mathew was near a collection of books on the far end of the room, and when he heard Mary argue, he quickly made his way to the sofa.

Robert rolled his eyes. He wondered if he could have at least one moment of peace on such a hectic night.

"What's this?" asked Robert's mother.

"The Carson boy, granny," said Edith. "Mary seems to think he should stay."

"Oh, Hughie Carson," Robert's mother said with a slight chuckle. "The blind boy—soon to be blind man."

"We've been over this, Mary," said Robert firmly. "I refuse to go back on my word. The boy is leaving on Thursday, and I don't intend for him to come back."

Mary opened her mouth to say more, but the door opened and Cora entered the room with Sir Philip and Dr. Clarkson arguing behind her. Why his wife insisted on bringing more unnecessary drama to that night, Robert did not know.

"How is she?" asked Mary, her stubbornness all but forgotten.

Dr. Clarkson gave Cora a concerning look as Sir Philip made his way to Robert.

"It's my belief that Lady Sybil is at risk of eclampsia," said Dr. Clarkson.

"What is that?" asked Robert, turning to Sir Philip.

"A rare condition," said Sir Philip, "from which she is not suffering."

"Tell him why you think she may be," Cora said to Dr. Clarkson.

"Her baby is small, she's confused, and there is far too much albumin—that is protein—in her urine..."

"Dr. Clarkson, please," said Robert. "Have you forgotten my mother is present?"

"Peace," said his mother. "A woman of my age can face reality far better than most men."

"Look, the fact remains if I am right, we must act at once," said Dr. Clarkson.

"And do what?" asked Mary.

"Get her down to the hospital and deliver the child by Caesarean section."

"But is that safe?" asked Mathew.

"It is the opposite of safe," said Sir Philip. "It would expose mother and child to untold dangers. She could pick up any kind of infection in a public hospital."

"An immediate delivery is the only chance of avoiding the fits that are brought on by the trauma of natural birth," said Dr. Clarkson firmly. "It may not work, but—"

"Honesty at last," said Sir Philip. "Even if she were at risk from eclampsia, which she is not, a Caesarean is a gamble which might kill either or both of them."

"I think we must support Sir Philip in this," said Robert.

"But it's not our decision," said Mary—and there her stubbornness appeared again. "What does Tom say?"

"Tom has not hired Sir Philip, he is not master here, and I will not put Sybil at risk on a whim. If you are sure, Sir Philip?"

"I am quite, quite certain."

"You're being ridiculous," said Cora. "Obviously we have to talk to Tom."

His eyes drifted down to his mother. "Well, don't look at me," she said. "Cora is right. The decision lies with the chauffeur."

Robert turned to Mary, who raised her eyebrows at him in a mulish way. He was the master of that house, after all. He knew what was best. For both his youngest daughter, and for his butler.

"How are things going?" Elsie asked as Anna reached the bottom step.

"I'm not sure," said Anna. "The doctors are arguing, and that's never a good sign."

Charlie emerged from the servants hall. "Is everything all right?"

"Unfortunately, it seems it is not," said Elsie.

The three stood in silence for a quick moment before Alfred joined their small circle to ask for a quick word with Mr. Carson. The butler guided the footman to his pantry.

Anna turned to Elsie. "This might not be the right time, but I was wondering if..." Anna stopped, bowing her head slightly.

"Yes?"

"Well, it's just..." She glanced into the servants hall just as a few maids let out soft giggles when Jimmy said his farewells to them as he left. "I don't think Hughie's fall was entirely an accident."

Elsie felt her stomach twist. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I haven't got any proof," she said softly, "but Mrs. Patmore and I... well, we heard Miss O'Brien, and..."

"Anna, are you trying to say Miss O'Brien pushed Hughie down?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know," she said, "but I do know Miss O'Brien, and I think Mr. Barrow, know more than they say they do."

The pain in Elsie's stomach only grew stronger. "Thank you, Anna." She entered the servants hall with a fire growing in her chest. Hughie sat in her chair talking with Daisy, who stood beside him. Miss O'Brien sat alone a few chairs away from them. "A word, please, Miss O'Brien," said Elsie calmly. Hughie's head jerked towards her just as Miss O'Brien stood.

"I've already told you—I don't know anything," insisted Miss O'Brien.

"Well, Anna seems to think you do," said Elsie. Miss O'Brien blinked, shifting her stance. Elsie waited for a response. When Miss O'Brien refused to speak, she decided to rephrase her original question: "Are you aware of something that I and Mr. Carson are not, Miss O'Brien?"

"I wasn't involved."

"But... you know what happened?"

Her door opened without a knock first, and Charlie entered her room quickly. His face was pale and a panic shone in his eyes.

"I apologize for interrupting," he said breathlessly, glancing quickly at Miss O'Brien, "but I'm needed back upstairs."

"What's happened?" asked Elsie.

"I don't know," he said. "Nothing, yet—I don't think. But I need you to keep an eye on everyone down here while I'm tending to the family."

Elsie nodded. She turned back to Miss O'Brien as Charlie hurried away. "We'll discuss this later, Miss O'Brien," she told her firmly. Elsie made her way towards the door.

"I suggest you speak with your son," said Miss O'Brien. Elsie turned back to her, and for once Miss O'Brien looked sincere. "If it's the truth you're looking for."

"That's it." Carson practically skipped his way into the servants hall. Everyone but Hughie stood. "The baby is born," he said as sighs of relief filled the room. "It's a girl. Now you can all go to bed."

He smiled down at Hughie, who sat in Carson's own chair. He then directed his attention to Elsie, who guided Hughie up to a standing position.

"Time for bed now, dear," Elsie told him gently.

"It appears Dr. Clarkson caused quite a lot of unnecessary chaos tonight," Carson whispered to his wife as the three of them headed for the stairs.

"I wouldn't call it unnecessary, Charlie," she told him. "It never hurts to be cautious, now does it?"

"No, I suppose not," said Carson. They reached the steps. A few of the maids hurried passed them and ascended towards their bedrooms. He smiled. "But once again his diagnosis has been proven wrong."

"Are you headed up to bed?"

"I'm going to finish a few things down here first and then I'll go up," he said.

Elsie glanced at Hughie. "There are some things I wanted to discuss with you, but I suppose it can wait until the morning."

If they were alone, he would kiss her. Maybe even stroke her arm and allow for the kiss to linger a bit. But, to his dismay, they were surrounded by servants, so instead he only nodded. He cupped Hughie's shoulder. "Goodnight, Hughie."

"Goodnight," said Hughie softly.

Carson watched as they ascended the steps, feeling a warmth inside him.

The news came as a shock; he was half expecting to awake from a terrible dream. Everyone gathered in the servants hall, except for blind Hughie—no, Hughie... he was just Hughie now. All the fire in his soul seemed to extinguish the very moment Mr. Carson spoke those terrible, terrible words. Lady Sybil was...

But that can't be. She couldn't be... could she? He had just seen her—they had all just seen her.

"Is there anything we should do, Mr. Carson?" asked Daisy beside him, though her voice was muffled.

Mr. Carson told her something; he might have told everyone something, for he looked at them all—his mouth moved and his eyes sparkled, but Barrow only heard his own heart beating in his chest.

No. It was all some sort of nightmare; it must be. Barrow quickly fled from the room, from the crowd of servants.

"Thomas?"

He had not realized he was crying until she was standing there witnessing him weep. And he sucked it all up, for her sake and for everyone else's—men do not cry, his father often told him growing up.

"I don't know why I'm crying, really," he murmured softly. "She would't have noticed if I'd died." He hoped what he said was a lie.

Her hand found his back; the touch nearly made him shiver. "You don't mean that," she said.

He whimpered, shaking his head. "No," he said. "No, I don't." He sniffed. "In my life, I can tell you, not many have been kind to me. She was one of the few."

Her other hand found his arm, and she embraced him. It was far from a mother's touch, or even from a lover's touch, but her warmth was nice. She pulled away as Mrs. Hughes appeared, and Barrow quickly straightened himself out—he made himself look more like a man, more like the person his father always told him to be.

"Oh, don't mind me," said Mrs. Hughes quietly. "The sweetest spirit under this roof is gone... and I'm weeping myself."

Elsie entered Charlie's pantry. He stood gaping at the wall like some lost puppy. "Oh Charlie," she whimpered.

He pulled her into his arms and she softly wept on his robe as he placed light kisses atop of her head.

He pulled away to wipe her tears, and then a little of his own. "What... what about Hughie," he asked her.

"He's still asleep," she told him. "I... didn't want to wake him."

"Perhaps that's for the best. We can... inform him of the news in the morning," he said, trying to sound firm but the shakiness in his voice revealed his true emotion to her. He had known her the longest than anyone downstairs; he had watched her grow up.

"I'm going up to lie with him for a bit," she said softly.

He nodded. "I'll come to your room after I've gotten everyone settled down here," Charlie said. He grasped her hand firmly, and he stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. "I don't think you should be alone tonight, Elsie."

She kissed his lips lightly. "Nor should you, Charlie," she said. "Nor should anyone in this house, for that matter."

Hughie's small bed occupied most of the left side in his mother's bedroom. Elsie's drawers and her mirror were pushed together in one corner to fit the bed more comfortably. A single candle on Elsie's side table illuminated the room. And Elsie cuddled with Hughie in his bed when Carson entered her room half an hour later. The two of them in the same small bed looked more than a bit crowded—especially because of how much Hughie had grown in the past few months—but Elsie seemed determined to make herself fit. Carson found a chair discarded in the corner and he sat down beside his wife and their sleeping son.

Everyone had gone back to their bedrooms, but he knew hardly anyone would sleep soundly that night. Hughie perhaps would be the only one.

He cupped Hughie's face and, ignoring all the rules his own father and grandfather had taught him, he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead. His eyes then looked up at Elsie, and he kissed her lips—and he allowed for the kiss to linger before pulling away.

She snuggled in closer to Hughie. "I don't want him to go, Charlie," she whispered to him.

"I know you don't, Elsie," he said, his hand rubbing Hughie's arm. But Hughie's needs far outweighed both of their wants combined, they both knew.

"And if you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask them," Elsie said softly. Hughie sat across from her, eating his breakfast. He seemed to be the only one in the house who had an appetite that morning. Everyone else looked uninterested in the food plated for them. The news of Lady Sybil's death was shocking, to say the least, and no one seemed to want to do anything but mourn.

"Will we have to wear those armband things for a while?" Hughie asked. He wasn't cheery, but he seemed much more put together than everyone around him.

And a few somber faces looked up. Elsie blinked.

"Yes," said Charlie firmly. "Lady Sybil was an important figure in this household... and she will be greatly missed. We should all honor her memory in any possible way we can."

"But I don't like the way it feels on my arm," said Hughie.

"Well, you're going to wear it for Lady Sybil," said Charlie, attempting to hide his frustration. "And you're not going to complain about it."

Charlie fell silent again, his eyes drifting down to his own untouched plate of food—and Hughie's knife and fork clacking on his plate was the only sound remaining.

Mr. Barrow sniffed slightly—the poor man had been crying the most downstairs. "I suppose you're used to constant death," he said to Hughie sourly. "The School for Unwanted Children must have three, four deaths a week, don't they?" Elsie glanced at her husband, who looked at Mr. Barrow with distaste.

"Not really," said Hughie, unfazed—and Charlie softened. "I've only known about two deaths. The sick children are mostly kept separate from everyone else. But there was this one girl called Dagmar—she had epilepsy, so she spent most of her time in bed or in hospital." He paused to take a sip of his water. "Last year she became well enough to attend a week of classes. Mr. Davies had the class in groups for a project that week. And she was placed in my group. The whole week she seemed fine, but on Thursday she didn't show up—and on Friday Mr. Davies pulled us aside to tell us she had died in her sleep the night before. She was nice and the whole thing was a bit sad, but we really didn't know her. And I'm glad they didn't make me wear the armband thing for her."

Elsie found Hughie's hand just as the bell for the front door rang. Everyone looked up. "Who could that be?" she asked Charlie, who looked just as confused as everyone the others.

"Mr. Murray," Anna told them, and they all turned to her. "Lord Grantham must have forgotten he was coming today—should we tell him to come back sometime later, when we're no longer in mourning?"

Everyone, except for Hughie, stood with Charlie. He waved them all down. "I know Mr. Crawley is up," he said after a moment of hesitation. "I'll see what he thinks is best."

His daughter cooed in his arms as he wept. He wept for his poor Sybil, and he wept for himself, but mostly he wept for the precious angel in his arms. She seemed so oblivious to it all, and he envied her. She could not be called Baby Branson all her life, but all Tom could think about in that moment was his darling Sybil.

He heard the door open, and he turned from the window. And after a moment, he sniffed. "Are... are you lost again?" he said, trying to hide the sadness in his voice.

"No," said Hughie softly, "or... maybe I am. Where am I?"

"You're in the nursery," he said with another sniff. As if on cue, his daughter began crying—and softly he began rocking her.

"I'm sorry, er, sir—I didn't mean to disturb..."

"You haven't disturbed me," insisted Tom. He continued to rock his poor child, even after she stopped crying. "She liked you very much, you know."

Hughie mouth twitched slightly, as if it were about to form a smile. "I'm sorry that she died," he said.

He nodded. "Me too."

"I wish I could remember the time when she and I were friends," said Hughie, and Tom smiled.

"You were little," he said, "and you had other things to worry about. She doesn't—that is, she didn't—hold it against you for not remembering her as well as she remembered you."

"Sometimes young girls go to Lloyd Andrews to have babies," said Hughie. "My friend Sarah was one of those girls. Her parents took her out in January, but while she was there we were inseparable. She called me her blind baby brother and I called her my pregnant older sister. She had her baby in November." He paused, opening his eyes—and Tom became mesmerized by their beauty. "But the baby died shortly after..."

Tom blinked. "I'm very sorry to hear that," he said, looking down at his own baby. What would he have done if he lost both of them?

"I asked her how she felt... you know, after. And she just told me she was disappointed," he continued.

"I'm feeling a bit disappointed myself," said Tom softly—and he realized he had stopped crying.

"But that's not all you're feeling?"

"No," said Tom, and he sniffed again. "I'm feeling a great many of things right now."

"She named the baby Carson—after me," said Hughie. "Most of us go by our last names at Lloyd Andrews—I was Carson there."

The door opened and Mary entered. She stopped when she saw Hughie—his eyes had closed again, along with the secrets they were sure to hold—and she turned to Tom for answers.

"Hughie wanted to meet the baby," said Tom.

Mary bowed her head. "Yes, of course," she said. She paused for a quick moment before turning back to Tom. "I don't want to press you, but have you thought of a name yet?"

"As it so happens, I think I have," he said, looking down at his beautiful daughter. "I want to call her Sybil—after her mother."

Robert watched as Carson poured his drink for him. "A Catholic Crawley," he muttered, taking the drink from his butler. "What has this world come to, Carson? There hasn't been a Catholic Crawley since the Reformation..." He took a long sip and then he looked up. "I'm sorry to put all my troubles onto you like this, Carson. You hardly deserve it."

"That's quite all right, milord," he said with a slight bow. "As butler of this house it is my duty to make your troubles my own."

Robert blinked. "I've invited Mr. Travis for supper tomorrow night," he said. "In hopes to persuade the others—although I doubt Mr. Branson can be easily persuaded... Inform Mrs. Patmore—we don't need to have anything extravagant. Just make sure we have enough for him as well."

"Yes, milord," he said dutifully. "Will that be all for the evening?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Carson bowed his head slightly and he turned to leave. But as he reached the door, another thought popped into Robert's head.

"There was one more thing," he said, stopping his butler in his tracks. "Lady Mary has been very persistent these last few days." Carson raised a curious eyebrow, and Robert realized Mary had yet to inform Carson of her little plot to get Hughie to stay. "About Hughie," he added.

Carson's breath caught. "She needn't worry, milord—Hughie will be back at Lloyd Andrews within the week," he said. "We only pushed his return back so he could attend the funeral..."

Robert raised his hand to silence his butler. "You misunderstand me, Carson," he said softly. "She doesn't want Hughie gone. In fact, she's quite insistent he stay."

His brow continued to be raised, but his mouth twitched slightly. "I can assure you, Lord Grantham, I had no knowledge of this," said Carson firmly. "I would never undermine your—"

He set his drink down. "If you want the boy—Hughie, I mean... If you want Hughie to stay, then of course he should stay, Carson," Robert said, his own words nearly surprising him.

Carson straightened. "Milord, this is a prominent household..."

"Downton Abbey has had its scandals in the past, and I'm confident the future will only bring more. A blind boy is the least of our worries," said Robert, and Carson opened his mouth to protest. "Lady Sybil would want him to stay," he added softly, and Carson bowed his head. Robert turned to examine his drink on the table. "The truth is, Carson, I now understand how it feels to lose a child. I can't imagine life without my dear Sybil—but now I must. And I don't wish to put any other father through that pain."

Carson bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, milord, but... I'm afraid the decision on whether he stays isn't quite as simple," said Carson softly, and Robert turned back towards him—not bothering to hide his shock.

"You and I can go down to the schoolhouse on Friday and speak with Mr. Dawes... if it's his education you're concerned about," said Robert. "I'm sure he'll be happy to make any special arrangements needed for the dear boy..."

"To be honest, milord, that isn't all that troubles me," said Carson. "Hughie needs care that we simply cannot provide for him here. But Mrs. Hughes and I... we are very grateful to you and to her ladyship..."

His dear Cora. Would she ever love him again? Robert raised his hand to silence his stubborn butler. "Before you decide on anything, Carson, discuss it with your wife. She may think differently." The look on Carson's face told him Mrs. Hughes did, in fact, think differently. He paused for a quick moment before picking up his drink again, taking a quick sip. "But I want you to know... you have my full support, whatever you decide."

This chapter was difficult to write. I finished it on Thursday, but I didnt get around to doing edits on it until yesterday and earlier today because I was so unsatisfied. I think it's because so many things are going on, and I couldn't really find a satisfying end to the chapter.

Also, the last scene with Robert and Carson was always meant to happen. Robert was always meant to change his mind after Lady Sybil's death, so I hope his dialogue doesn't sound forced or out of character.

Anyway, don't mind my rambling. Thanks for reading!