In Response to Guest Reviews: To the guest who thought it was just desserts for Alice to get stuck in the closet, I completely agree! Moreover, I just had to reference the Triumvirate one last time –– it's too hilarious a name not to :)
Moreover, it's definitely makes sense about Jekyll & Hyde. I have a personal fondness for that song because that version is what introduced me to barbershop years ago. Nevertheless, I'll certainly have to give the Forbidden Broadway version a listen! And, yeah, I just couldn't let anything get in the way of this last concert.
Author's Note: In the words of one of my other favorite OTPs, it's about time! Would you believe that we're going to be scattering references from all four stories throughout this last chapter as well as references to the show?
Now, because I've found weddings tend to be a blur when it comes to timing, there'll be no time-stamps today. At least, not after the first one.
There also may or may not be a song sung today (I know, it's a mega plot-twist ;) ). If such a thing were occurring, I'd say to look up "Dashing Away with the Smoothing " and look for VA Tech Chamber Singers' version.
And finally, to any future guest reviewers: your reviews will be answered at the bottom of this chapter.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: "Damn it, Jim! I'm a singer, not a wedding planner!" (this is, of course, what Bones always said. None of that doctor stuff!).
_._
Saturday, the 20th of June, 2020
11:02 p.m.
Charles Carson had been known to say no to Elsie Hughes on occasion.
This was not one of those occasions.
"Aren't you supposed to be at Beryl's watching Bake-Off reruns?" It was astonishing he sounded so calm, what with his hands clamped over his eyes, his posture more rigid than a first-time auditioner. He could only pray she was doing the same –– the eyes shut part, that is, not the ridiculously nervous posture bit.
Charles wasn't one to normally go for superstitious rot, but what if this was the one occasion where it mattered? What if seeing each other now meant misfortune in the future? Or what if something horrible happened tomorrow –– like Alice barging in and protesting their marriage at the last second?
"I know," He could hear her hesitation, the tinges of something else buried deep in that lilt. "I just had to–– to know that tomorrow's real."
Right. He couldn't send her away now. Not when he could hear her berating herself for something that wasn't foolish in the slightest.
"Of course it's real." Keeping one hand over his eyes, he proceeded to stretch the other out in an attempt to not bang into any of the furniture as he fumbled his way over to her.
Seeing as how he'd still bumped into the sofa, it hadn't been his best attempt.
Her light peals steadied him as the man rubbed his ankle, managing to keep his eyes shut as he recovered from the incident. It'd also given him the chance to hone in on where she stood, telling him exactly how far he had to go and which furniture he still needed to avoid.
"I suppose you're right," Well, now! She had to be in better spirits if she was three seconds away from teasing him, "You've never done that in any dream of mine."
"Oh? And what have I done?" Because he could play that game. He could adjust the key of the conversation, make it so that their cheeky exchange held overtones of a mischievous nature. And if change stilled her enough, flustered her enough, that he could gracefully approach his future wife, then all the better.
"I suppose," Elsie began again, much less flippantly this time, "I'll have to show you. Tomorrow night, mind."
They may have been sharing a bed for almost a year, but there were certain traditions her fiancé had maintained. Something she hadn't minded, but something that led to terribly risqué dreams in the process.
And if they weren't careful–– right. She had to stop those thoughts right where they stood. She knew that if they continued to part with tradition tonight of all nights, her man would only become even more distressed than he already was.
"I look forward to it." There was a husky quality to these words. One that almost coaxed her into opening her eyes, if only to memorize everything she could, to understand exactly what he meant. Without a demeanour to watch, this all felt like her first attempts at sight-reading.
Except, sight-reading had never had her blushing.
Nor did it fill her with desire.
Oh, she couldn't walk away now. Not without something. She would take hand-holding if she had to –– she could only assume how scandalized he'd be if they did anything else –– but she needed something. Something to reassure her that this was happening, that this wasn't a dream, that it was indeed possible and true. Elsie normally wasn't one to indulge in such foolish concerns, priding herself on her pragmatic nature.
This wedding of theirs was chucking all of that off to the side.
"Charles," She reached out a hand, knowing the movement was loud enough to be heard. "Do you not suppose––"
A soft moan escaped her as his lips brushed up against hers, her future husband intent on far more than mere hand-holding. She felt a hand drift from his face and cup her cheek, a familiar lack of distance enveloping them both as every enriching sensation deepened.
"There now," His murmur caressed her more tenderly than that kiss, "That's nice, isn't it?"
It was the same thing she said that night in that Green Room. When the storm had stopped them from leaving the school, when they'd taken to the sofa and when they realized just where it was they wanted to go.
How he could recall that entire conversation when he couldn't even remember yesterday astounded him. Perhaps, it didn't really. Days came and went whenever they liked. Conversations like those were a permanent, wonderful fixture in his mind.
And the best part was that Charles knew that referencing the memory was enough. He didn't have to ask to confirm she understood this was real. He didn't need to wonder if she felt reassured. The man could feel the tension dissipate from her shoulders as they delved further and further into intimacy.
There was no need to worry about seeing each other, not now.
_._
Beryl had been unimpressed to learn from Becky that Elsie had snuck out to see Charles one last time. The hopeful romantic in her thought the gesture sweet. But the best friend who didn't want to see even a hint of bad luck befall the couple was against the idea.
The reassurance that Elsie had kept her eyes closed the entire time didn't mean much to the band director. But, instead of getting on her best friend's case for risking bad luck and lecturing her all night, Beryl merely accepted that it had happened and there was nothing to be done.
That, and make sure to wake her dear best friend as early in the morning as possible.
It seemed only fair, after all.
_._
Albert Mason had had the occasional dealings with Charles Carson when the latter was in a state of nerves. Long before Mrs. Hughes had arrived at Downton, the farmer had gone to choir shows to support William. Not only that, he'd volunteered to help Downton with their competitions, making sure all students were accounted for and the likes. He'd even had the occasional conference with the choir director –– though, really, that'd been an excuse to drop by and hear all about how brilliant his son was.
Concerts, competitions, conferences. Those all brought a level of distress with them, it was undeniably true.
None of that compared to Charles Carson on his wedding day.
"Why do any of these have ferns attached?"
It was going to be a long day, and that was a fact.
_._
Margaret Ruth Hughes had known there would be no one else like Joe Burns. She knew there'd be no one who would make her daughter feel that way again.
And she was right:
Charles Carson was nothing like Elsie's first husband.
Where Joe was mellow, Charles gripped perfectionist tendencies. The former never cared for the limelight. As for the latter? Maintaining the limelight was his profession. The stage was his farm, the spotlight his version of the sun. Successful years meant reaping in trophies and medals from the county. And it was his charges, not crops, that grew throughout the process.
To say the two men were different was to say it rained from time to time back home.
And yet.
And yet, from the second she'd been introduced to the man, she knew he would be all right. Five minutes in, she knew he was more than just all right. Her daughter had radiated delight the entire night, sending her fiancé a certain look whenever she could. It held affection, the curve of her grin and the glow in her eye –– a look Maggie never thought she'd really see again –– more tender and carefree than it'd been in years.
Seeing as Elsie tended to be cautious, sometimes to a painful fault, that candid affection spoke measures.
And it was that affection that waltzed right back into sight as her daughter was helped into that stunning wedding dress of hers. It was simple, much different than that first gown all those years ago, and Elsie looked just as breathtaking.
When they were left alone in the room for a few minutes, precious minutes Maggie would treasure for as long as she could, the woman couldn't hold back the tears.
Neither could her daughter, for that matter.
"Your father would be so proud of you today." She was, too. And she always would be, that would never change.
The hug only tightened, understanding.
_._
"So, you were right about the hat thing, Clar!"
Violet Crawley bristled at the American accent emanating from the row behind her as the speaker approached. Clearly, whoever dared to cast out such a remark had to be an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes and not Mr. Carson.
"I told you –– both Charles and Elsie reminded me repeatedly to make sure we all wear hats. Apparently, it's a thing over here."
"Charles" and "Elsie"? Bristling was now too modest a description for her movements. A gaggle of Americans were casually invading this charming ceremony. Not only that, they had the nerve to sit only a short distance away!
"So's not wearing green," It was a muttered complaint, "Black, I understand. White, of course not. But green?"
"You can go be a Slytherin later, Elena."
"Fellow Americans, eh?" Violet scowled at the sound of Martha Levinson deciding to interject. All four heads swiveled in the elderly woman's direction –– doubtlessly stunned that there'd be another one of them in the crowd. "Californians, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Those three are, but, actually, I'm from Chicago!"
"I'm sure you are."
Now that, not that she would ever admit it, was amusing. Mildly amusing, of course, but amusing, nevertheless.
"So, what's this about a 'Wedding Breakfast'?" The redhead chimed in, playfully smirking in the direction of her brunette friend as she changed the subject. "And did we miss it?"
"Elena Dee Muldrew, if your goal is to only eat a chocolate chip pancake, I swear to––"
"Not in church, Clar!"
"Oh, that?" Martha dismissed it outright, something Violet didn't take lightly. "Just a phrase."
"Seriously?"
"We told you to eat earlier!"
Oh, where is Isobel? At least her remarks could occasionally be considered witty.
Speaking of her friend, Violet saw her fellow administrator begin to enter the church at last. Fortunately, there was no need to gesture in order to obtain Isobel's attention.
Unfortunately, they were the reason why.
"Isobel, is that you?"
"Clar! Elena! Joylin! Liam! Oh, it's so wonderful you could make it!"
Oh, goody.
_._
This was Archie Phillpotts' first wedding ever and he had the biggest mission of his life today. Two of his biggest missions ever! He was to guide Mrs. Mrs. Hughes to her spot in the church while Mrs. Hughes waited outside. And he also had to make sure Mr. Mason didn't lose those rings! Aunt Beryl had warned him particularly about that last one, but it was a little odd because she was smiling at Mr. Mason while she did that. Didn't feel like much of a warning, if he was being honest.
Anyway, Mrs. Hughes was still nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Mrs. Hughes was here, waiting for him to guide her to the appropriate pew. There was even that weird sounding music, the type he'd only heard at church. It was though Mrs. Mrs. Hughes was the bride!
But she wasn't! Or, was she?
Archie thought he knew everything about weddings but he would have to ask Aunt Beryl about it because this was his first wedding ever. And even though he'd been given strict instructions and knew what to do, he really didn't know what was going on. He only knew he was leading Mrs. Mrs. Hughes to her seat. And then, what felt like an age later, someone else was going through the fancy entrance.
He didn't recognize her, but the boy knew one thing:
"She's really pretty!"
Mrs. Mrs. Hughes gave him a big smile, whispering to him in that cool accent of hers: "That she is."
_._
The training that went into being an adept musician meant that Charles Carson had to have inordinately keen ears. He needed to catch the whiffs of a flat chord before it destroyed the harmony. Had to unearth the sopranos that tended to go sharp. Couldn't lose sight of the baritones that lost their precision. Needed to stop the tenors who were getting stuck in the clouds of high notes. Had to keep the basses from dropping the fifths scattered throughout the music. And it was most certainly his responsibility to ensure the altos were steadily trooping through.
And that training didn't stop there. It meant that even when he was out in public, as far away from the choir rooms as he could possibly be, the world's movements could be heard. The bells of shops clanging against syncopated conversation. Church bells in the distance, marking the tempo of the hours. The dissonance of horns clashing against the metronomes of the streets, he witnessed it all.
And now?
Now, he could only hear her.
The processional music had lulled the wedding guests into silence, but it had long since faded for him. There was only the rustling of her dress gently brushing up against the floor. Her heels softly following a steady time his heart couldn't match.
There were scattered gasps at her arrival –– a few whispers that were too American not to coax a faint smile. And he could surmise the heat that came from everyone's gaze as they followed the enchanting sight he couldn't wait to see.
Nevertheless, there was only one gaze he felt.
And only one person he heard.
_._
Lace trickled across church stone, the delicate bouquet resting in her hands. She could feel everyone's attention shift to her as she followed the music set before her, the sun's reassurances slipping through stained glass, reminding her –– much like his kisses –– that this was real.
She only had eyes for him.
Maintaining the tempo of the processional was nothing, her steps matching the rhythm as though they conducted the music. Her heartbeat, on the other hand, had raced up to the altar, waiting for the rest of her to catch up.
When she had finally made it, finally joined his side, she made sure to cherish every moment of the ceremony. There were differences, subtle ones that only served to remind her that this was not the same. But she already knew that. The love she felt for Charlie was doubtlessly nothing like what she felt for Joe.
However, it was love, plain and simple.
"For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. To love, cherish, and to obey 'till death do us part..." She'd rehearsed this vow in the darker moments of the term. Had held onto the vow for all she could, whether the times were good or bad.
To finally give them today felt like a miracle.
_._
"Did you enjoy that, Archie?" Beryl had spotted her nephew at once, pleased to witness him be an absolute gentleman throughout the entire ceremony. Mrs. Hughes, Elsie's mum that is, had looked enchanted by his company as he walked her down the aisle.
"I did, Aunt Beryl, honest!" She grinned, even more pleased. Archie, much like Charles Carson, was a hopeless liar. Which meant he really did. "Only, I was wondering,"
"Yes, Archie?"
"Why're their names Mr. and Mrs. Carson? Why aren't they Mr. and Mrs. Hughes?"
Oh, she'd have to try that explanation again. See if it really stuck this time. Not that she would mind all that much, either way. He already knew his homemade cake topper had been put to good use. Elsie and Charles went the traditional route with the fruitcake, but there was an apple crumble tucked away in their freezer with a certain "MR. AND MRS. HUGHES" cake-topper delicately resting on top.
_._
Linda Vance had always found Downton Abbey to be an incredible sight. But today it seemed magical. The grounds were beautifully maintained, the marquees arranged to create a sense of splendour. It felt as though the whole place had been transformed, whisked back to an earlier era for all to enjoy.
"It's like Back to the Future or something!" Linda turned around to find a quartet of strangers nearby. Americans, if she had to take a guess. "The third one, that is. 1955 looked nothing like this. Except, if they'd gone back, it would've to the Victorian era instead of the Old West! And I bet 1885 in England would've been much different!"
"Are you sure we had to bring her along?" The redhead conspiratorially whispered to the other woman in the group, possibly an Asian American.
"I heard that!"
"Just don't use this as an excuse to buy a DeLorean." The tallest of the bunch, the only man amongst the friends, cheekily reminded the flummoxed brunette. She only dipped her head sheepishly, blushing in response and confirming that the thought had crossed her mind.
"And before you say anything else," The redhead quickly stopped the brunette from sending off an embarrassed retort, "We're not making a cut-out of a DeLorean for the next show."
"But, Elena––"
The conversation bounced around faster than Linda could understand it, the teaching assistant confused to say the least. She'd seen Back to the Future maybe once, so she understood the thing about the DeLorean. Vaguely. The thing was, she didn't know what they were talking about when they mentioned shows. Maybe they were fellow musicians that had befriended the choir teachers? But, Americans? When would such a meeting have occurred?
And, really, would Mr. Carson have had the inclination to befriend such a quirky bunch?
"Guys," The shortest of the group, the dark-haired woman, was shooting them all a look of exasperated amusement, "I don't suppose you'd actually like to attend the reception?"
"Oh, yeah! That's totally a thing." "I thought the nine-hour flight was all that mattered." "We were gonna get there, eventually. Um, how do we go about doing that?"
"There's a receiving line," Linda automatically answered. Apparently being a teaching assistant for a term had rubbed off on her. "Up ahead, don't you see it?"
"'The receiving line'?" The Asian American looked to be contemplating something, "Is that a British custom?"
"You could say that." A tradition that was beginning to fade with time, but one that Mrs. Hug–– Mrs. Carson and Mr. Carson held onto. That name change would take a lot of getting used, but she would muddle through somehow. The only consolation was that the pair had decided to stick to being called Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson in school, to keep it consistent.
Still, it wasn't as though she would be their teaching assistant anymore now that the term was over. Something she was still coming to terms with, if she were being honest. Which meant it was vital to enjoy today as much as she possibly could.
"Fair enough. And what exactly is a receiving line in this case?"
Without another word, Linda found herself breaking the concept down. This was in addition to explaining her association with the Carsons. Eventually, seeing as how it was only fair, she coaxed their own life stories out. She then found out the quartet had crossed paths with Downton last summer in Chicago and remained friends ever since.
Linda still didn't quite understand how the friendship worked.
But she'd long since learned not to question it.
Just like she learned not to question why Americans had this tendency to bluntly ask away any question they liked.
"So, do you know where they'll be going for their honeymoon?"
"Clar, it's probably rude to ask them that over here––"
Not wanting another train wreck of a conversation, "They'll actually be going down south, tour some of the coast!"
"Aww, how sweet! Anywhere in particular?"
"Brighton, if I'm not mistaken." Linda wracked her brain for more locations, remembering Mrs. Patmore proclaim them all on more than one occasion. The band director hadn't been pleased that her friends had decided to stay in England. But she let go of her frustration when they informed her they would be gone for at least a week, promising to see more than one beach. "Eastbourne, I believe. I think a place called West Wittering as well, erm,"
"It sounds wonderful." Joylin interjected with a small smile, "Sounds like a perfect way to just roll with it. Wave goodbye to the past and let the future crest in, maybe."
Linda couldn't help her snort, biting back a smile of her own as the other three groaned at the play on words. She would like to see Joylin go up against Violet Crawley, if only because the puns would drive the administrator to distraction, of that she had no doubt.
"Master punster, this one." "We're so proud." "Oh, it looks like we'll have to quit it with the word-play: I do believe it's almost our turn to be received! That is the right phrase, right, Linda?"
The former teaching assistant weakly nodded, unsure as to whether that was correct. She didn't know when exactly she'd become the unofficial tour guide for the group. And she couldn't help but wonder whether or not this would remain the case for the rest of the reception.
"It really is quite impressive that you managed being a teaching assistant, Linda. I did a stint once in Toledo and…"
Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.
Different, at the very least.
_._
When the emcee had called everyone's attention back to her friends, warmly announcing the start of the Bridal Waltz, Beryl couldn't hold back a little squeal. Seeing them rehearse in the auditorium was nothing like watching them today. The familiar introduction of the classic score began to cascade through the air as her two friends joined together once more, blissfully aware of only each other just like that other day.
"Mrs. Patmore," She turned to Claire Morris, having forgotten many of the choir students had volunteered to sing at the reception. "Isn't that the Blaueo–– the Bleua––"
She took pity on the girl in a heartbeat, "Just call it 'The Blue Danube'. Everyone else does."
The young singer nodded, unable to keep from sighing in fondness as her teachers began to dance. Their steps were well-rehearsed yet light, softly gliding through the movements. It was a charming scene to behold, one she was pleased to know the meaning of.
Oh, yes. Beryl knew the symbolism behind the score, having the privilege of learning why her sentimental fools –– this was a term spoken with great fondness, mind –– chose the piece. It was all thanks to that Winter Ball, the one where they were stumbling over their words and couldn't keep from staring at each other.
Aka, the evening that told her a day like today was possible.
And, just as she suspected, she'd been right all those months.
Really, things would be so much easier if people understood she was usually spot on. For instance, it might've taken her friends only a few weeks instead of ages to get together!
_._
"And now," The emcee for the evening gestured to the rapidly forming group of students. The very ones who'd waited quite some time for this, excitedly quieting down. "The choirs of Downton Academy would like to perform a song for the newlyweds."
Mary Crawley would be the one to officially introduce the song, having volunteered weeks ago. And seeing as how Elsie had chosen the song in question all those years ago, the Scot felt it was only fair to let Charles call the shots as to who announced it today.
His inevitable selection had surprised no one.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mary commanded everyone's attention gracefully, as always. "Today, the choirs of Downton Academy will be singing 'Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron' by John Rutter."
Elsie didn't catch the rest of the introduction, distracted by the reactions from the crowd. The approving applause, the occasional coo, and an amusing, "Okay. This sounds cute, if not possibly violent." stole her concentration.
But it was that last comment that had her especially distracted. The woman was unable to keep from chuckling even as Thomas Barrow bringing a pitch pipe to his lips, a smile on his face. Had she been focused, the choir teacher might've seen a hint of something in that smile, something that would have clued her into what was next.
As it was, she was enjoying herself far too much to pay much attention, closing her eyes in contentment as the appropriate key was hummed away. She could hear the individual breaths gathered, the anticipation weaving itself into the silence, and the decision to perform finally being made only once everyone was ready.
"'Twas on a Monday morning,
And there he saw his darling,"
"'And there he saw his darling'?" Elsie quietly repeated, knowing how the original song went. Her husband –– a phrase she would utter for as long as she could –– looked over in puzzlement as she curiously began to ask, "Did you have a hand in this, Charlie?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," He arched an eyebrow in a fashion so reminiscent of herself she had to bite back a snort. "Weren't you mentioning we were going to have a 'role reversal' one of these days? And, after the concert, didn't you say something about you being the one to surprise me at some point?"
"This is certainly not what I meant!"
"Oh, I'm sure." The man neutrally commented, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.
"She looked so neat and charming,
In every high degree."
Elsie faintly rolled her eyes at the cheek, shaking her head. She'd nothing to do with the plan, whatever was going on. But judging by the fact that Linda Vance was steadfastly avoiding their gaze, it looked like their former teaching assistant may have been plotting something without their knowledge.
It would explain why she'd volunteered to take over the rehearsals for this. The young woman said she'd wanted to contribute to her time at Downton, saying that it would be a privilege to help.
Elsie should have known she was going to plan a surprise like this.
"She looked so neat and nimble-o
A-warming up her vocals-o,"
Well, those were definitely not the correct words –– though the newlyweds were too taken with the surprise to care. They only wanted to keep on listening, to garner what other changes Linda and their students had made to the classic tune.
"Dashing away with the music sheets," The audience was now fully aware there was something going on, many people turning in the direction of the singing scattered about the gardens. Not everyone knew the piece by heart, but they knew it well enough to reach the same conclusion the teachers did.
Except, "Why do you suppose it wasn't 'sheet music'?"
Her husband paused, not having questioned the change. In seconds, she could see his lips silently going over the phrase, alternating between the two choices. Eventually, he came to some sort of internal agreement: "I think it sounds better."
She personally hadn't a clue, "Fair enough."
"Dashing away with the music sheets,
Dashing away with the music sheets,
She stole Bel Canto away!"
"That you certainly did!" Charles softly confessed, sharing a delighted kiss with the woman he was incredibly proud to now call his wife. He remembered it well, initially finding the loyalty of the young ladies to be endearing misplaced. Needless to say, he would be the first to deem himself a fool for thinking that.
Luckily, he would have many years in which to make such foolishness up.
"'Twas on a Tuesday morning," "'Twas on a Tuesday morning,"
"And there she saw her darling," "And there she saw her darling,"
"'And there she saw her darling," Charles purposefully echoed, going so far as to lean forward in his chair and hand over more of his attention to the singers. It seemed the man was inordinately curious as to where his students would take this, now that he was the "darling" in question.
"He looked so neat,
In every high degree."
"That he always did," Elsie cheekily noted, mimicking her husband's sentiment from before, squeezing his hand as they carried on listening.
"He looked so neat and nimble-o
Conducting out his movements-o,"
Anna Smith watched her teachers from her spot in the crowd, her eyes delightedly twinkling away as she sang. She remembered how Mr. Carson's conducting style changed over the last two years. It had always been a grand manner of conduction, but it had slowly eased into something else. Grandness mixed with kindness, shifting his movements into a more considerate nature. He was still their curmudgeon of a choir direction, but he directed them with more thought than he had before –– something she loved seeing evolve over time.
"Dashing away with the," "Dashing away with the,"
"Dashing away with the," "Dashing away with the!"
"Dashing away with the music sheets,
He stole her thoughts away!"
"They certainly got that right." And as she leaned into him, the feel of him accompanying this special arrangement, Elsie found herself enjoying this version far more than the original.
"'Twas on a Wednesday morning," "'Twas on,"
"And there he saw his darling." "Wednesday morning,"
"She looked so neat and charming," "She looked so charming,"
"In every high degree."
Cora had been informed of this little surprise in the making, Miss Vance wanting to be sure not overstep any bounds. The American had given her approval at once, proud of them for doing so well and pleased with herself for not giving the secret away over the previous weeks.
She felt this was the least she could do for it, after everything.
For when Mrs. Patmore had approached them, offering Mrs. Hughes as a temporary replacement for Mrs. Butte, she'd been a little hesitant to jump on board with the idea. And then she'd personally met the woman and the rest was, as people tended to say, history.
"She looked so neat and nimble-o," "She looked so nimble,"
A-marking up her theories-o,"
"Well, I'm glad they noticed that," Maggie Hughes took pleasure in listening to her daughter's commentary, "Mind, they do know their theories fairly well."
"I'd say they know their lyrics even better." Elsie was not the only one sending off a look at the man, though Maggie believed hers to be a wee bit more tickled.
"Now you're just being a sentimental, daft man!"
"Ah, but I do believe I'm your sentimental, daft man. And if I'm not mistaken, that makes all––" The mother didn't dare to hold back a grin at the exchange, not this time.
"Dashing away with the music sheets," "Dashing away!"
"Dashing away with the music sheets" "Dashing away!"
"Dashing away with the sheets,
She stole Treble away!"
"Of course, did that really take much effort?" Laughter bubbled within her as his whisper tickled her heart. The Treble Choir had been one of the first to enjoy her presence, not fighting her authority nearly as much as the Concert Choir threatened to.
"'Twas on a Thursday morning,
And there she saw her darling,
He looked so neat and charming
In every high degree."
Edith Crawley thoroughly enjoyed bouncing back and forth on the perspective of this song. Everyone had had a hand in crafting the little jokes and references, Miss Vance wanting to be sure to include as many students as she possibly could –– something the Crawley daughter loved just as much as the song.
"He looked so neat and nimble-o,
Protesting a cappella, though,"
Beryl Patmore unashamedly roared with laughter from her seat, clapping at the clever lyrics. Everyone else was experiencing understandable titters and snorts, mirth clutching all within earshot.
"Dashing away with the music sheets,
Dashing away with the music sheets,
Dashing away with the music sheets,
He stole her patience away!"
Elsie outright guffawed at this while Charles looked to be blushing, the man managing a good-natured chuckle at the sound. For all those who had been a part of the beginning of the a cappella movement on campus, remembering the terse atmosphere that had ascended the second fourth floor throughout that start, nothing more had to be said.
"'Twas on a Friday morning,
And there he saw his darling,
She looked so neat and charming,
In every high degree."
Clar was past the point of holding back tears, relieved that Liam had been brazen enough to garner the now wedded couple's attention that last summer. If he hadn't, they definitely wouldn't be here today and she wouldn't need to use the table cloth as a pseudo-tissue, blushing for the millionth time when Joylin handed her an actual one.
"She looked so neat and nimble-o
A-talking to the admins-o,
Isobel snorted at this, pleased that the story of this enchanting couple was being properly conveyed. Her only question was how this information was obtained. Nevertheless, she could set that curiosity aside. Especially once she saw an inordinately faint trace of fondness in her friend's stern gaze.
"Dashing away with the music sheets,
Dashing away with the music sheets,
Dashing away with the music sheets,
She got a cappella to stay!"
"It wasn't as though I'd've never allowed a cappella music to be sung at Downton!" Charles faintly protested over the cheers and applause that escaped the enraptured listeners.
Elsie didn't bother to dignify that with a comment.
"'Twas on a Saturday morning," "And there she saw her darling,"
"He looked so neat and charming
In every high degree!"
Long before William Mason's teachers had officially become involved with each other, the young man saw the foreshadowing signs. He remembered overhearing the occasional conversation, watching them act less like colleagues and more like something else. And now that he was singing away at their wedding, he couldn't help but feel happy for them. Because he greatly respected both teachers. More than that, he was really, really happy they found each other.
"He looked so neat and nimble-o
Applauding for her students-o,"
In lieu of an applause for the memory, Charles settled for quietly holding out his hand. It wasn't the first time that day, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Not today, not tomorrow, not for as long as he could help it.
"Dashing away with the music sheets," "Music sheets," "Music sheets,"
"Dashing away with the music sheets,
She stole his praise away!"
Now it was her turn to blush, the woman quite caught with how the song was turning out. With all the lyrics planned out so sweetly, she could only assume there was a final surprise waiting for them at the end.
Suffice it to say, she was right.
"'Twas on a Sunday morning,
And there they saw their darlings,"
"'Their darlings'?"
"Oh, you know it's true, Charlie."
"Their choirs looked so charming,
In every high degree!
"They looked so neat and nimble-o," With a practiced ritardando that spoke of the months spent rehearsing, the choirs gently turned away from the main audience. They focused solely on singing to their two teachers, happiness shining away in their eyes as their voices were flooded with gratitude, "A-working with their choirs-o,"
Elsie couldn't hold back the tears and Charles had long since given up trying,
"Dashing away with the music sheets," The ladies took hold of the melody once again, grinning away.
"Dashing away with the music sheets," The gentlemen dutifully echoed, equally as pleased.
"Dashing away with the music sheets," The choirs all came together as a firm wave of sound, not a dry eye in sight as fortissimo was grasped one final time.
"They stole our hearts away!"
That they certainly did.
_._
Author's Note: I've said it before and I'll say it again –– it has been a pleasure. Thank you so very much for being a wonderful part of this adventure. Hope you enjoyed this last chapter, that you have a lovely day, and that you have the best of success in your own endeavors!