Sorry about the lengthy delay in this. Work has been off the charts and it makes it difficult to (verb) + (noun) = language (x-infinity)
IX:
"He cannae just… show up uninvited."
Charles sat down on the edge of the bed, Meggie in his arms, and sighed. "I don't know the particulars," he hedged. Truth be told, he didn't know what his employer had done, nor did he care – he was only very grateful to be with his wife again.
"The connection is tenuous at best, now they're all but denying that Ida was even a part of the family," Elsie muttered in disgust. "Lady Grantham is a curiously unfeeling woman."
"Unfeeling is a… very bad way of describing her," Charles said. "As it happens, she has incredibly passionate feelings in regard as to many things."
"Such as?" Elsie shot back.
"Well, let's just say that she is incredibly… passionate… as regards my having a wife and child." Passionate wasn't the word: the woman was bloodthirsty. He knew it might come down to choosing between Lord Robert and the continual abuse heaped upon him by Lady Grantham, and he would choose Elsie and Meggie without hesitation, come what may. He looked down at his sleeping daughter and smiled. She was sound asleep, her small fist pressed against her cheek, her small mouth moving as she drooled and swallowed. If someone had told him even two years ago that he would have met the love of his life, let alone married her and had a child of his own, he would have laughed! But the world works in mysterious ways, and so he had crossed paths with his own fierce Celtic bride.
"Of course she is," Elsie scoffed softly. "She knows bugger all about life – or love. She does everything out of duty, even the scheming and plotting and misery-making. My parents are the same way; everything is duty or the appearance of propriety and…" Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "I dinnae want that for us, Charlie."
"That isn't how we are," he said firmly. "And if it ever is, I will leave our home and relieve you of the pain of having to live with a man who does not care for you as he should."
She reached over and touched his arm. "Charlie, don't say such things," she whispered. "I didn't mean –"
"I know," he said. "We're just beginning this journey together, aren't we? I'm sure we'll hit rough travel at points, but we are neither of us like our parents." Charles paused, thinking of the constant bickering and angry squabbles of his mother and father, the drinking and his father's gambling and whoring… And of how he could ill imagine ever behaving in such a fashion. Did that make him a better man than his father? No, only happier from the start. For one thing, Elsie completed him in a way that seemed indecent, but was just a reminder of how lonely he had really been.
And now they had a child that was theirs, an outward symbol of their affection and love, and he had never in his life been prouder than the moment his daughter had been in his arms… well, no, that was a lie. The proudest moment of his life had been when Elsie had agreed to be his wife. Was it possible to be equally proud of those moments?
He glanced up at Elsie; she was biting her lower lip in that nervous fashion of hers. "Elsie, love… whatever is the matter?"
She inhaled sharply and said, "Nothing – it's nothing."
"What did I say?"
"It's not you, Charles," she murmured. "It's me. You're so good with Meggie and I'm a mess – I cannae even get out of bed without help."
"Because you had a baby two days ago," he reminded her gently. "Nothing is going to be the same after that – your body has been through a tremendous shock."
"Oh, goodness, Charlie, you don't have to tell me twice," she confessed. "I don't know how women do it over and over again, baby after baby. I was bloody terrified the whole time because I… I've seen too many women die giving birth. It could have been me and – and – I wasn't ready." She was crying then, tears running down her cheeks and he found himself unable to offer her any kind of comfort trapped as he was with the baby in his arms.
"Elsie, love, you're not going to die," was the best he could do.
She swiped angrily at her tears, then mumbled, "I told you my father came to visit me."
"And you threw him off the farm, yes," he said softly.
"I might have done something stupid," she said. "And told him he couldn't make our son his heir."
He blinked, a little surprised, but not entirely shocked. "Well, seeing as how we don't have a son, I don't see how that makes you stupid."
"I thought he meant to take him," she whispered. "That he would just take my little lad and I'd never… I'd never see my boy again. And now he'll go to our Becky and ask her for Tom, the biggest of her five boys, and… and Charlie, how could I have been so stupid?"
"You aren't stupid," he assured her. "And it's a moot point entirely, since we did not have a son."
"The next one might be," she said, looking at him with trepidation. "And there will be a next baby because we cannae keep our hands… or other bits… to ourselves." Her voice was shaking, but whether with emotion or fear, he couldn't tell. It worried him that she was getting so anxious over things that might never come to pass.
"Then we have a son," he said, "who will be no less loved than his sister."
"He's not even a glimmer of hope in our eyes and I've already destroyed his future," she whispered. "My father is not a patient man."
"Your father is an idiot," Charles said firmly. "Obviously, since he's loved your mother all this time and never once done anything about it."
"He proposed marriage and she declined his offer," Elsie said bluntly. "And he proposed making his bastard's son his heir and I turned him down. How many rejections will he take before he writes us off completely? He… he is my father, no matter how I feel about the morality of the situation, and he has never taken pains to hide that he is my father. I've been an object of ridicule and scorn and gossip since I was a girl. I am his bastard and I cannot inherit. But my son could, because he has claimed me as his and I am the eldest and… the law isn't meant to be fair, is it?"
"No, it isn't," he agreed. "And we should make amends with your father before we go south."
"Do you agree with him?" she asked.
"I think… that we should afford our children whatever opportunities we can," Charles said. "But it isn't my decision – it is yours. And I cannot, in good conscience, tell you what you should do. I respect and love you too much for that. I knew your circumstances before we married, and I knew it might be a possibility that he would come to you if we were to have children. It is your choice, Elsie, but I would give our lad a chance to live a better life if I could."
"Where is Lord Robert staying?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "At the pub?"
"No," Charles said. "At the Castle, with your father." He took a deep breath when she stiffened, then added, "After all, he was Ida's husband, and, as such, is his grandson-in-law."
"My mam goes as a guest and ends up serving tea," Elsie muttered. "I… I cannot –"
He shifted the baby and budged up on the bed until he could wrap his empty arm around her. "Elsie, I don't care," Charles said firmly. "I don't care. You are my wife; that is what I care about. My wife and my daughter. Sod the rest of it. You don't need to be worrying about any of this right now: you're working yourself up into a right state over nothing."
"It shouldn't hurt so much still, being unwanted and unloved," she mumbled.
"By Lord Allenby? He cares about you," he said softly, gently. "He just doesn't know how to show it." He paused, holding her tighter. "Half the time, I don't feel like I show you that I love you and it upsets me that we aren't more open with one another."
"You show me every day in the wee things," Elsie whispered. "Holding me, loving on our lass even though she's not a lad, helping sew me stockings…" She looked up at him with eyes that were swimming with tears. "I fell in love with you the night we were just sitting in the servant's hall, mending clothes, and you offered to help me with the discolored lace on Ida's fichu."
"You'd been at Downton for a week –"
"And I knew already I'd never feel the same about anyone else."
"I knew the moment we were introduced," he admitted quietly. "And I knew I should hide it and fight it because we would be working together – hopefully – for a very long time. But I couldn't. And now… now we are man and wife. And, I am terribly afraid that you've made me fall deeper in love with you than I ever intended to be."
"I'm fairly certain no one ever intends to fall in love," Elsie murmured, reaching over and stroking their daughter's cheek. "But that doesn't stop it from happening."
"Charles, will you come out to the barn with me and help inspect the horses?" Mary asked over a cup of tea. "I understand your father was a groom; maybe you've gleaned some of his talents latently?"
Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Chance would be a fine thing," she muttered. "I'll keep on with the baby, then, while you two go… do whatever you don't want to tell me."
Charles sighed; his mother was in a mood. She was just like him in that once a plan was set, she did not like deviations. Spontaneity was not in her nature: an unfortunate side effect of marriage to his father, who hadn't a punctual planner's bone in his body. "Mum, it will only be a few minutes," he said gently. "And besides, Elsie wanted your help with her hair, since she's still confined to her bed."
Margaret rolled her eyes. "Well, be quick about it," she muttered, taking Meggie from him. It didn't take much thought to know that neither Mary nor his mother were keen on him paying so much attention to the baby. They'd been dropping not-so-subtle hints about parenting being a woman's work for several days, but he was keen to help in every way he could – even being up to his elbows in excrement and shrieking lass who only wanted a clean bottom. There was no point in Elsie exhausting herself in future when he could do everything but feed Meggie, and the wee lass was very keen on him anyway.
The breeze from the north was chilly, whipping around the buildings as he followed Mary to the barn. Once inside, the door shut behind them, she turned and said, "Before you return to England, I need to know that you intend no harm whatsoever to befall our Elsie. I need to know she's not made the same mistake I have in giving up everything for love."
He reeled back, stunned by her brutal blunt force in addressing him. "Miss Campbell, I assure you –"
"No," she said firmly. "Your assurances mean shite. Any man can make a promise and not see it through. She married you because she thinks you are different, but… she doesn't know the world, does she? I've tried so hard to protect my children from the worst of it all, but she knows things I'd never want her to."
"I only drink a small glass in the evening, rarely," Charles said, "and I do not smoke at all. I do not gamble, nor do I visit… nightbirds. My intention is to keep Elsie happy and healthy, and to provide well for our family."
Mary's face was twisted with emotions far too numerous for him to try to unpick and name. "I was a scullery maid at the Castle," she said very quietly, finally. "I were maybe fifteen when Bruce took a shine to me. It were innocent at first; hiding from his da and mam and the tutor… and he taught me his lessons after. He told me he loved me and he wanted to marry me. We made a handfasting in secret and…" She paused and shook her head. "I was sent away to my aunt in the Hebrides when they found out I was with child, and he was sent away to school. Our Maeve was born very early – she fit in the palm of me hand and only breathed for a few minutes. He doesn't know about her; he can never know about her." She licked her lips and exhaled a small sob. "When he came back, I was helping me Gran with the midwifery. And he reminded me we were all but married – only we didnae have the Church's blessing, and we both wanted it. His father forced him to marry but we carried on as man and wife anyway. He loves his children; all of them. Elsie might think that he's not done so, but he's given her and our Becky everything he could. Becky has turned her back on all of us, on the shame of us, and who could blame her? She is a respectable wife of a respectable man. As is our Elsie. Just please… promise me you will not make her regret her choice, Charles. Please."
"I cannot hurt Elsie without hurting myself," Charles said. "We are… we are that close."
"I thought Bruce and I were that close, once," Mary murmured wistfully. "He has asked me again to marry him. And he will legally claim Elsie and Becky as his children, and name one of their boys his heir. I love him, but there is… so much in the way. I cannot be so selfish as to merely think of myself in this, as I have for so long. Elsie cannot stand him, and Becky has written us all off. I don't know what to do."
Charles thought for a moment, then said, "Be selfish. You've both lived through so much on opposite sides of the pitch; be selfish and meet in the middle. I'll speak to Elsie. She won't be over the moon, but… I can try to make her see sense."
"I don't know what to do," Mary admitted.
"You'll have to decide sooner or later," he advised sagely. "And Elsie and I will support you, whatever you choose."
Mary laughed bitterly. "You say that now… But I'm dying and being selfish and taking my own pleasure isnae going to do our Elsie any good, is it?" Her smile was tight and feral when she flashed it at him. "Cancer, you see. Neither of them know. How can I destroy them both? How can I be that selfish, Charles?"
"You have to tell them –"
"No, and neither will you," she snapped. "I can either have one or the other – my daughter and her family… or the man I have committed my life to but can never really have. So you tell me – which should I choose, Charles Carson? You tell me which is more important."
"I cannot," he said very quietly.
"I could die tomorrow," she whispered. "The doctors only gave me months to live. I've been going for two years now. Any day now, I won't wake up. So tell me, please, which is more important: to die as Lady Allenby, to break his heart yet again with tragedy… or to die a loving mam and Gran, holding onto what's left of this world that is mine?"
"It sounds like you've made your choice."
"Does it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Don't you dare tell her anything I've said. Don't even presume to dare."
"It isn't my story to tell," Charles said softly. "But you should tell her that you're ill –"
"I've been the cause of so much misery in her life," Mary said. "I'll not make more for her now. Not when she's so happy." She opened the barn door and stepped back outside. "Just… love her for me, when I'm gone, Charles."
His heart was heavy as he wandered around the farm for the next few hours, thinking. He was conflicted, but eventually erred on the side of it not really being any of his business. Elsie and Meggie were waiting for him when he came back, his wife and tiny daughter, and he must never forget that, come what may. They were his responsibility and he had a duty of care toward them that must never be allowed to falter.
He straightened his shoulders and repressed any sign that he'd been subject to anything that wasn't exactly on the up and up. This was his new life: assimilating information, repressing his reactions, being the best man he could be without revealing anything damaging to anyone.
Absolute discretion.
Elsie swept the floor, humming a little as she did. The cottage was small but comfortable, and they'd settled in with Margaret very quickly and easily. Elsie did menial chores and labor, and cared for Meggie, while Margaret did the bulk of the work. Lord Robert had moved back into Crawley House, and Charles was within a stone's throw of them at any time – and he was allowed to wander back and forth at will.
It had been several weeks since she'd heard from her mother. Jimmy wrote once a week about the farm, how he was rotating the crops and how many sheep and cattle were either sold or slaughtered, how much wool was sent to the mill, etc., but her mother hadn't uttered two words.
It was unusual to see Charles in the middle of the day, so Elsie startled a bit when the door opened and he was there, a telegram in hand. "Elsie, Lord Allenby sent word…"
Elsie blinked.
"Your mother died this morning at the Castle," he said very softly. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."
She took a deep breath, then went back to sweeping. She couldn't see clearly through her tears, couldn't breathe, couldn't cry out, just kept sweeping angrily until the pile of dust and dirt was under her submission. And then she pushed past him to the door, casting the mess out onto the front stoop. "Of course she was with him when she died," Elsie said bitterly.
"Elsie, that isn't fair –"
"What do you know about it?" she shot back. "What do you bloody well know about any of it?" The sob caught her by surprise, cracking her armor. Charles swooped in and pulled her close. "She always loved him more than any of us –" She was vulnerable as a child in that moment; she could not allow herself to give up control and submit voluntarily to him.
"That isn't so," Charles said softly. "It isn't, Elsie, love, and you know it." He kissed the top of her head and sighed as she wept into his lapel.
"Where's mum?" he asked when her cries finally ceased to be anything but choking whimpers. "I don't want to leave you and Meggie alone –"
"She's gone into Ripon for the shops and won't be back till tea," Elsie mumbled. "You need to… you need to get back to Crawley House. You shouldn't be worrying about me."
"Elsie, love, of course I should be worrying about you," he sighed, the words a soft, soothing rumble. "Lord Robert sent me as soon as I told him what had happened – I don't want to leave you alone for a moment."
"Then don't," she whispered. They'd not made love since Meggie was born; he was too courteous to force himself on her and she still felt retched – her body wasn't firm like it had been before, and she found fault in every mark and silvery stretch of her skin. How could he possibly stand to look at her if she couldn't even recognize herself in the mirror? And he hadn't pushed the issue, demanding his husbandly rights.
But now she was upset and vulnerable, and she wanted him – but was it enough? Was she enough?
"Elsie?"
"Meggie's asleep," she murmured. "Your mum isn't here. Lord Robert isn't expecting you back soon. My mother is dead. I need… I need you to – to show me you still love me, Charlie."
"I love you," he protested.
"You don't even kiss me," she threw back at him.
"Because I would lose control and take you like an animal," he grunted. "It's been a very long while since we've –"
"Then do it!" she yelped. "Just – just do it. Lose control. Touch me. Kiss me. Something, please," she begged. "I'm tired of feeling like you care more for Meggie than you do for me – and I love you, you big stinking brute."
He raised an eyebrow. "Brute?"
"Oh, it's a bloody figure of speech," she muttered. She was about to sass some more when he tipped her jaw up and kissed her hard. She acquiesced, opening her lips and letting him possess her again. Kisses were all well and good, but they both had more in mind; he slid his hand down her bodice, cupping her breast beneath her corset, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he took a few trembling steps toward the staircase.
They didn't make it very far; in fact, he set her down on the steps and it was off to the races. They spurred one another on until he was balls deep and pumping violently inside her. She was gasping and kissing him with as much force as he was kissing her, neither one willing to concede dominance in the dance. He shifted his hips, and her body arced off the stairs like she'd been struck by lightning; his thrusts grew harder, more forceful, striking that place over and over again, her voice rising in pitch and timber until with a final high, almost inaudible-in-pitch squeal, she clenched hard around him, dragging him down into the abyss of primal pleasure with her.
As soon as he realized what he'd done, as soon as he'd come back to himself, Charles pulled away. "Oh god, Elsie, love –"
She looked up at him, her eyes dark and stormy with the remnants of their passion. "Don't you dare apologize," Elsie murmured. They were both still fully clothed, only bits of their attire pushed aside to allow access – if anyone had tried to shame them, she would point out that they were married and were thus entitled to do as they damn well pleased. "Come up and hold me," she whispered. "Please, Charlie."
"I can't," he said.
"Charlie, look at me," Elsie whispered. "Look at me – CHARLIE." His name was said as forcefully as she could muster without raising her voice and shouting. "I am not a fragile flower," she uttered lowly, slowly, with force. "I've borne you a child and it was the hardest thing I've done in my life. You didn't hurt me, love. I promise. You didn't hurt me and I'm really quite flattered you couldn't even get your pants all the way down before you were inside me." His cheeks flushed at her frank comment, and she reached up to ruffle his hair. "Now come upstairs and hold me a bit. And come home tonight."
It took very little work to become 'respectable' again, just pushing skirts down and pulling pants up. His hair was a mess, but that could be fixed, and she had an angry purple mark on her neck, which could not be tidied or covered easily. But they headed back up the stairs, hand in hand, and collapsed into their bed, a tangle of respectable limbs and clothes, holding on to one another for dear life.
Meggie was sleeping in her crib, they were together, and all was right with the world for just a moment before reality could creep in again.
"We leave for America in three weeks," Charles said very softly.
There it was; that intrusion of reality she wanted to keep away. "Then we have three weeks to remain as close as god and man will allow," Elsie whispered. "I'll not make the same mistake as my mother and push you away."
He wanted to say something, but instead he hesitated and stopped himself. "I love you, dearest," he whispered instead, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and pulling her flush against him. "And my time away from you will be agonizing."
She relaxed into his arms and felt herself drifting to sleep; something that had not happened in a very long time. She let herself float away into a land of dreams where everything was Paradise and nothing bad could touch them.
