So... warnings for death, etc.
IV:
They met on the stairs somewhere between breakfast and luncheon, each with arms full of clothing – Charles was heading downstairs with Lord Robert's outgoing laundry, and Elsie was coming up the stairs with Lady Ida's laundry that had come in from the big house. They paused, so near that they could touch if only they weren't weighed down, and both smiled. "I thought I might have dreamt it all," Elsie said softly.
"Not a bit of it – do you know how hard it was not to grin like an imbicile all through breakfast?" he chuckled. "You're beautiful, Elsie – so beautiful."
"Get away with you," she murmured, blushing. "I've got to get on – Ida is expecting me."
He hesitated, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you," he said.
"I love you, too – are you serving at the Abbey tonight?" A party was one of the few occasions when he was required to go to the big house and act as a footman or underbutler, depending on the circumstances and prestige of the visitors.
"I am," he said with a sigh. "I'll be missing dinner –"
She licked her lips, then said very shakily, "Will you come to my room again or -?"
"Not tonight," he said with a hint of regret. "It will be very late when I return."
She nodded, not feeling slighted at all. They must be practical, after all. "Best we get on," she said, "before someone sees us."
Seemingly unable to help himself, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then continued on his way. She faltered for a moment, then gathered herself and continued up the stairs. Surely, this way lay madness – they would be caught and punished. But she couldn't bring herself to care much.
"There is definitely something different about you," Ida declared as Elsie struggled with her corset. The girl's petite, slim frame was already changing with the early stages of her pregnancy, and Elsie had been spending most of her waking hours letting out seams and putting in patches so she could carefully lope together pieces of fabric that wouldn't let out. Ida's silk and taffeta evening gown was fairly bursting at the seams trying to contain her.
"Let out all your breath," Elsie instructed roughly, "and brace yourself, love – it might hurt a bit."
Ida did as she was told, and to her credit, she didn't even flinch as the corset finally tightened enough. "I feel like a sausage," she complained.
"Your new gowns will be coming in a few days," Elsie promised. "And your larger corset."
Ida frowned. "I can't be more than three months gone and I already look like a whale."
"No such thing," Elsie said firmly. "You are growing a beautiful baby inside you – I think you're entitled to gain weight."
"I'll never lose it again." Ida sighed and let Elsie tuck her into the makeshift dress. "Aren't you worried about things like that?"
"My vanity has nothing to do with my waist," Elsie commented dryly. "You're just like your mother, you know – always worried about the silliest things."
"She was younger than I am now when she died," Ida pointed out. "I think it's fair for a 13 year old to worry about silly things."
Elsie's smile vanished; they didn't talk of such things very often. "Yes," she agreed quietly. "I am sorry, you know, that your father decided you should marry so young."
"I am sixteen," Ida reminded her. "And Robert is nineteen. It is honorable. Unlike mother and father."
Elsie sighed heavily. Helen had been young and stupid, being seduced at the tender age of twelve by a man nearly fifteen years her senior – but he had been held to account for his despicable actions and forced to marry her. Ida was just following in her mother's footsteps… alas. "I'm afraid I don't like the tone of this conversation," Elsie said gently, finishing fastening the buttons on Ida's bodice.
"Oh, fine," Ida sighed. "Anyway – you do look different. Did you change your hair?"
"A little," Elsie admitted. "My cap fits better now."
"I am so envious of your hair," Ida said. "It's so curly and you don't have to do anything to it! Mine is limp as a dishrag after the washing."
Elsie smiled. "Your child will have gorgeous blonde curls," she promised. "I've heard gossip that your husband was born with a full head of them."
"Oh, I do hope so," Ida murmured. "Aunt Elsie, I wonder every day if I'm doing the right thing – if I've done the right thing."
"What do you mean?" Elsie asked, checking her over for loose threads and gaps between stitches.
"If I've made a mistake in marrying Robert. I mean, we're both so… young. How will we be in forty years? Will we hate one another?"
"No," Elsie said firmly, "you will still be madly in love with all of your children and grandchildren around you. Your youth will forge a tighter bond –"
"What if he regrets me? Takes a mistress?" She paused. "Or, heaven forbid, spends all the money?"
"You cannae worry about every little thing," Elsie said. "Just worry about getting through dinner in one piece."
"There is something different about you besides your hair," Ida commented. "I just don't know what it is."
Elsie had the good sense to blush. "I don't know what you mean," she said. "I'm the same old Elsie Hughes – steady, reliable, and ready to proclaim that you're as lovely a picture as I can make you."
"Robert says Mr. Carson is in a better frame of mind lately – he had been such a dismal fellow, all gloom and doom and dourness." Ida tossed her head, the shower of curls down her back bouncing around like a wave. "But he's even smiling the last few days."
"I'm sure I wouldn't know," Elsie said, evading the trap. "He is his own person, just as I am mine –"
"But you're friends and you should care about one another's welfare –"
Elsie gave her a dour look. "Enough, lass – if you've something to say, just come out with it."
"Are you responsible for Carson's miraculous turnaround?" Ida shot back.
"I would like to take credit for that, but it is not my doing," Elsie fibbed. "He's been just as grumpy as ever with me."
Ida sighed dramatically. "Really? I thought sure he'd… well, nevermind."
"That he'd what exactly?" Elsie inquired.
"Well… maybe kissed you or something?"
"You naughty thing!" Elsie exclaimed. "As if a kiss would make staid Mr. Carson go a bit ga-ga in the head. He must just be pleased about you and Robert and the baby. I know I am."
Ida sighed. "You will tell me if he ever –"
"We are entirely above reproach," Elsie lied through her teeth. The last thing she needed was Ida blabbing to her husband, or worse – because if Lady Grantham got the bit between her teeth, they were both sacked without character.
"If you weren't entirely above reproach, you know I wouldn't be cross," Ida murmured. "I would be happy for you both. I promise."
Elsie sighed. "I know you would be, but your husband and his mother would not be."
"You wouldn't tell me if you were, would you?" Ida muttered.
"Probably not."
"That is unfair."
"Oh, hush – Lord Robert is waiting for you, and you shouldn't be dilly-dallying and dithering with me," Elsie scolded. "Away with ye."
Ida pouted, then sighed. "Oh, fine – but you'll tell me if he at least declares himself…"
Elsie flushed a bit and murmured, "He has."
"Wait – what?"
"He has declared his feelings, and I have declared mine," Elsie said. "I don't know if it's enough to make him smile or –"
"No, no, I'm not going yet," Ida squeaked. "What did he say?"
"Ida, you need to go," Elsie insisted. "I will tell you more tonight."
"You'd better!" Ida said firmly. "Did he give you a token or anything?"
"I don't think tokens are important."
"Not even a… well, I don't know. Robert gave me ruby earrings before he proposed. I don't know what a valet would give his sweetheart –"
"Never you mind yourself with those romantic dreams," Elsie sighed. "Your mother in law is going to be hopping mad if you're late to dinner because you've been gossiping with your maid."
"He must be very special, though –"
"Enough," Elsie barked. "Out that door, now."
The weeks flew by; they spent companionable days as co-workers and companionable nights in her room in the tiny single bed. They didn't make love every night – some nights, they just held one another in silence, afraid of any disturbance from the outside world on their blissful idyll.
Charles, on his half day, had gone into Ripon and published the banns, and had secured a day in January for the wedding. Negotiating with the housekeeper and butler for joint half days had been surprisingly easy – but he had been naughty and suggested that Elsie needed him to go with her to carry shopping packages for Lord Robert and Lady Ida. Not entirely a lie, but not exactly the truth, either.
Which is how, on 14 January, Elsie and Charles became Mr. and Mrs. Carson in the Ripon Registry Office, with his mother and one of her friends as a witness to their quiet, earnest vows. Charles gifted her with a simple ring – silver, with their initials and the date engraved inside – and that was that.
Nothing had really changed in those quiet months of waiting, but now she was Mrs. Carson and proud holder of his happiness – and his heart. She could barely keep from slipping her hand into his as they walked the frigid streets to collect packages for their lord and lady, a smile on her lips as she thought about how now she had the right to do so with no shame at all.
They separated reluctantly when they got back to Crawley House in time to dress Lord Robert and Lady Ida for dinner. Elsie had moved her wedding band from her finger to a chain around her neck on the journey back from Ripon, despite how sad and lonely it made her feel – even with Charles sat right next to her.
Ida watched Elsie in the mirror as she fussed about every detail, though it was only dinner in for two that evening. "I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you," Ida said softly. "I can help – did you and Mr. Carson have a falling out?"
"No," Elsie said, fluffing Ida's overskirt. "It's just been a very long day, what with the trip to Ripon and back."
"Thank you for collecting the dresses for me," Ida said. "I feel so much better now I'm not squeezed into everything I own." She flinched and her hand dropped to cover her abdomen for a moment.
"Ida?" Elsie said worriedly.
"It's nothing," Ida said, suddenly pale. "The doctor says there is pain sometimes as the womb expands. Apparently, it is normal."
"Do you need to sit?" Elsie questioned gently.
"No, I'm all right," Ida said firmly. "You do not need to wrap me in cotton wool every time I breathe, Aunt Elsie."
"You know I worry about you," Elsie murmured. "Especially now, with the bairn and all."
"I know, but you needn't worry quite so much," Ida said.
Elsie huffed. "Nonsense," she said. "There you are – do you want any of the jewels tonight?"
"It's just us," Ida said. "I shouldn't think so." She looked at Elsie in the mirror and said, "I know you went into Ripon with Mr. Carson to be married today. Just so it's in the open."
That gave Elsie pause. "How did you find out? We were so careful –"
"I ran into Mrs. Carson yesterday and she thanked me for allowing you two the time off together," Ida said. There was a small amount of hurt on her face as she added, "I suppose you thought I couldn't keep the secret."
"No, it's just…" Elsie paused, then sighed. "It is quite irregular and I wouldn't want to upset the status quo."
"But you married him; isn't that enough upset?" Ida asked. "And is it convenience or is it –"
"It is love," Elsie murmured. "There is nothing at all convenient about it."
"But he makes you happy?" Ida inquired worriedly.
"I wouldn't have married him if he didn't," Elsie said pointedly. "No one must know; we cannot afford to lose our positions right now."
"And what if you fall pregnant?" Ida countered.
Elsie blushed and murmured, "He has been practicing caution."
Ida's eyes widened. "Oh my," was all she managed to say.
"And that," Elsie said, "is all you need know about that." She smiled. "I will tell Charles that you wish us well."
"I wish you so much better than well," Ida said with a smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Elsie shook her head. "No, but it does me a world of good to know you care."
He forgot himself, sheathed deep within her tight, hot body, this beautiful woman – his wife, he had to remind himself – giving him as much passion as he was giving to her. They were quieter than normal, their movements languid and slow, building up the anticipation and the bliss until they were both coming apart.
In a primal move, he decided that – just this once, on their wedding night – they should take the risk of him spilling his seed inside her. He thought of pleasure and need and of a sweet little girl with Elsie's eyes and his smile as he came, finally home.
She was smiling at him in the darkness. "So that's nice," she whispered. "We're really…"
"We're well and truly married," he agreed. "Not a moment too soon."
"Ida knows," she breathed.
A few thoughts crossed his mind, like whether Lady Ida knew well enough to hold her tongue, but he only said, "And she isn't cross?"
"She is pleased for us," Elsie murmured sleepily. "And she won't make trouble."
They held each other tight in the darkness, content.
They were awakened by a pounding on the door. "Miss Hughes?" Lord Robert nearly shouted. "Miss Hughes –"
Elsie sprang out of bed, throwing on her nightdress and dressing gown. She carefully opened the door a crack, and said, "M'lord?"
"Ida is bleeding – I just woke James and sent him for the doctor," he said, his voice panicked. "She's asking for you – I –"
She tied her dressing gown tightly and followed him down into the third floor. She wasn't certain what to expect, but the bloodbath before her was not it. A pool of dark blood lay around Ida, and the girl was so pale she was nearly grey. "Oh, love," Elsie murmured, coming over to soothe her.
"I've… I've done the most awful thing and lost the baby," Ida mumbled, her voice fading. "Robert will never forgive me –"
"He will," Elsie whispered. "He will, love. Now, you need to stay awake for me, darling girl."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Ida said. "At the –"
"Never you mind, darling love," Elsie murmured, trying to do something, anything to keep Ida focused. She could see her growing weaker, knew that it was only a matter if time if the doctor didn't hurry. "That you were happy is enough." She looked up at Lord Robert and said, "There's nothing I can do – she's already lost the bairn and the bleeding isn't stopped."
"You must do something," he insisted, his tone somewhere between utterly horrified and angry. "Anything – something – we must –"
"There is nothing I can do but try to make her comfortable," Elsie snapped, losing what was left of her temper. "M'lord, she is dying – I cannot change that."
His hands were shaking. "Do – please, do something."
Elsie was already attempting to slow the bleeding by shoving another pillow beneath Ida's pelvis, tilting it upward. She was up to her elbows in blood, her nightdress and dressing gown irrevocably destroyed, and she felt tiny splatters of the offending blood all over her face. She was outwardly all business, inwardly quaking in her boots because – yet again – she was witnessing the horrors of childbirth gone wrong. It was a dangerous, terrifying process, and even when it went smoothly, it was not something that left you unscathed. "Ida, love," Elsie said gently, trying to keep the young woman conscious and focused, "are you more comfortable?"
"I'm cold," Ida complained weakly.
Robert immediately pulled the blankets up over his wife's prone form and lay down beside her, heedless of the mess. He held her close as he dared, and said, "Ida, my love… I am so very sorry –"
"I'm the one who should be sorry," Ida whispered. "I lost our child –"
"That is not your fault," he choked out through his tears.
Elsie felt like she was intruding; she swiped at her face – her fallen, unkempt hair getting in the way – with her elbow, only succeeding in making a bigger mess. She left the room for a moment of quiet, to breathe, to push down her increasing panic and formulate a plan.
All of that crumbled in the face of the household staff gathered in the corridor, worry coloring each face, turning to increasing fear as they took in Elsie's state. Charles rushed forward with a glass of water and a cloth; Elsie cleaned herself up as best she could, then said, "We need more linens – she is bleeding badly. Lord Robert and I are trying to keep her comfortable until the doctor arrives, but she is dying. We cannot save her now."
"What can we do?" the housekeeper asked, finally finding her voice. "What do you need, Miss Hughes?"
"More linens – toweling, whatever you can find that's clean," Elsie said firmly, avoiding Charles's concerned gaze. "Some more pillows – as the blood soaks in, the feathers are going to compact and we need to keep her supported as long as possible. Brandy, whiskey – whatever we've got that's strong. Hot sweet tea. Boiling water." She paused, hesitated, then looked directly at Charles. "Lord Robert will need fresh clothes as soon as it's over."
"We should send word to the Abbey," the butler said.
Elsie shook her head. "There's nothing they can do for her now – we'll send someone when it's all finished. No sense in disturbing them and making them worry when it's all a fuss in the middle." She turned to go back into the room, but Charles stopped her, his hand gentle on her forearm. "I'm all right," she assured him.
"You're shaking," he pointed out.
"Must be the shock," Elsie exhaled.
"Mr. Carson, let Miss Hughes get on," the butler ground out. "Go fetch and carry."
Elsie went back into the stifling room; it reeked of blood and death, so strong she gagged and had to press her hand over her mouth to keep her stomach in check. "They're… they're gathering things, supplies," she said to Lord Robert.
"I've wrapped the… the baby in her shawl," Robert said, gesturing at a pool of silk in the corner. "No sense in even trying to save our sense of decorum now, is there?"
Elsie swallowed hard, trying to keep her feelings smothered. There was no point in having hysterics now; best wait until later. "Thank you, m'lord –"
"You must call me Robert," he said firmly. "We're past the point of no return now, Miss Hughes."
She shoved her bloodied sleeves back up her arms and said, "Elsie, then – it'll save you breath." She leaned in over the bed and felt for Ida's pulse; it was weak and thready. "Ida, love," she called in a sing-song voice, trying to rouse her. "There's my lass," she praised gently. "They're bringing you some sweet tea, darling."
Ida licked her lips and breathed, "I told him, Aunt Elsie. About you. He's going to take care of you."
"Stuff and nonsense," Elsie said, pulling back the blankets. She fought the urge to gag again, pausing for a long moment, breathing through her mouth. Just when she thought she could control it, she ran for the chamber pot, heaving her guts up.
The bedroom door opened and the housekeeper came in with a tea service and a decanter of whiskey. "Elsie – oh – oh, god, the smell –"
"Out," Elsie insisted, "get out – send Charles – Mr. Carson – in with the linens and hot water." She wiped her lips on a dry patch of her dressing gown and poured herself a measure of whiskey. She tossed it back and poured another, carrying it over to Lord Robert. "Drink this," she insisted. Once he'd taken the glass, she poured a cup of tea and went through the painful, arduous task of trying to force it into Ida.
"She's been very insistent that I keep you on – after –"
"None of that, now," Elsie said firmly. "Ida, lass, you've been very naughty, telling Robert that I'm your aunt. You cannae blackmail him like that right now – not when you'll be right as rain soon enough."
"Liar," Ida choked around the tea. "I'm slipping away – I feel it, Aunt Elsie."
"Well, don't you dare give in," Elsie said firmly. "Don't you dare. You've still got your whole life ahead of you – all those golden Adonis babies of yours… parties and gowns and –"
"No, I don't think so," Ida whispered. "Not for me anymore." She blinked tiredly, then murmured, "But for you… yes."
"No need to be cheeky now," Elsie warned gently. If Ida told Robert about the wedding, even in her rapid decline, it would be inevitable that they would both be sacked. "Oh, my poor lass –"
Ida whimpered in pain, and Robert held her closer. Elsie did what she could, fighting her every instinct. Ten minutes later, just after Charles came in with more linens and two more pillows, Ida drew a last raspy, gurgling breath, and then went silent and still.
Elsie stepped back, away from the bed, turned away from the gory scene. Robert's sobs filled the room, pushing her further toward the edge. She braced herself with bloodsoaked hands on Ida's vanity table, taking one deep, shaky breath after another, her heart clenching and fairly breaking with the surge of sudden grief and shock. Charles rested his hand on her shoulder, and she shrugged him off. "Elsie –"
"I'm all right," she denied. She didn't have a choice. "Can… can you go to the big house and deliver this message – Ida died at 2:45 am. Baby boy died at around midnight. We'll need maids, caustic powders, linens, a mattress…"
"I will," he agreed.
It wasn't until after her husband had left and Robert began to quiet that Elsie felt reality sink in. She sat on the floor, drawing her knees up to her face and wept without shame; she wept for Ida, youth lost, for the baby boy who would never draw breath, for… for herself.
Because what would happen to her if she ever conceived a child? Would she meet the same horrific end to bring a baby into the world?
Grief and panic settled over her like a mantle, choking her and leaving her little more than a puddle of limbs on the floor.
"I've tucked Miss Hughes up in bed," Mrs. Harper said. "She's had a nasty shock, and no mistake – we all have. Lady Ida was a breath of fresh air and I am very sorry she's gone home to her maker."
Charles drank his tea; he'd been working with Lord Robert to attempt to tidy the room for several hours, his young master moving around the bedroom in a haze, not talking aside to ask when the man from Grasby's was coming to take Ida's body away. Elsie had cleaned her up as best she could, covering the worst of the mess with the duvet, so Ida looked almost peaceful as if she were sleeping.
They were all in shock; Lady Ida was so young, so strong… if she could die from this, anyone could. It hammered the point home with alacrity.
The butler came down and said, "Mr. Carson, you've been summoned to the drawing room."
Charles set aside his mug and sighed. "I don't like the sound of that."
Lord and Lady Grantham were waiting; Lord Robert was pacing the room like a caged animal. Lady Grantham fixed Charles with a dispassionate stare. "We have suffered an unendurable loss today," she said firmly. "Lady Ida will be greatly missed." She took a deep breath.
Lord Grantham jumped in. "Mr. Carson, do you believe that Miss Hughes did everything possible to save my grandson and Lady Ida?"
"I've already told you," Robert snapped bitterly, "the child was already dead when Miss Hughes came in. She couldn't stop – she couldn't stop Ida from dying."
"Miss Hughes should not have taken charge," Lady Grantham said loudly. "She had no right!"
"I asked her to!" Robert shouted furiously. "I went for her because Ida trusted her with her life –"
Charles watched the tableau before him in increasing worry. "M'lord, m'lady," he said gravely, "I believe that Miss Hughes did everything she could do for both the young master and his mother. She has been with Lady Ida for almost ten years; why would she give anything but her level best to keep her alive?"
"They want to send her away without character," Robert hissed. "I will not allow it –"
"You have no choice," Lord Grantham roared, his face nearly purple. "She allowed her lady to die in her care –"
"She must go," Lady Grantham said. "We've no need for a traitorous lady's maid at the Abbey, and you've certainly no need of her now."
"She has done nothing wrong," Charles spoke up. "You mustn't send her away without a reference, m'lord."
"Where is she now?" Lady Grantham demanded.
"I should think she is in her room, mourning her niece," Robert said contemptuously. "She would no sooner have ushered Ida to her death as anything – Miss Hughes did everything in her power to make my wife comfortable at the end. How dare you cheapen her efforts? How dare you, Mama?"
Charles blinked. "Her niece?" he said quietly.
"Miss Hughes's half sister was Ida's mother," Robert snapped. "And she served her niece as both mother and aunt and lady's maid. How dare any of you judge her grief when it is as raw as mine and with justification!"
"Well, she is obviously not respectable," Lady Grantham snapped. "And she killed your wife –"
"She did no such thing!" Robert shouted. "No such thing at all –"
"My lord," Charles interjected, "might I take Miss Hughes to my mother's for a few days until the arrangements are finalized and a decision about her future is made?"
"Yes, Carson, of course – tell her… tell her I am sorry and whatever comes, I will do my best to honor Ida's wishes. She will understand," Robert said firmly.
"Very good, m'lord," Charles agreed. "May I -?"
"Leave," Lord Grantham snapped.
Charles retreated up to the attics. Elsie was curled up in the small bed, looking very tiny in her black dress. "Hello," he said softly. "I'm to take you to mum's for a few days. Lady Grantham is fighting for your dismissal."
Elsie barely acknowledged him, just got up and started packing her things. It wasn't until they were walking along the cobblestones toward his mother's cottage that she reached over and squeezed his hand for the briefest moment before retreating again.
