A/N: Wow, you guys. I've really been neglecting this fic in the past few weeks. Lots of things happening in the real world that have needed (or captured) my attention. But I am glad to be back with this chapter, which is another one of the first chapters I conceived of for this fic, like Charles' foray to Scotland for Grigg's funeral.
~CeeCee
Late June, 1928
She walked past the kitchen, where the end-of-evening bustle was slowly winding down. The tall, dark-haired figure of the new head cook, Mrs. Harkness, turned as Elsie passed, and the woman gave her a nod and a broad smile as she bent over some notes she was making at the kitchen counter.
She was a bubbly, lively person, the new cook, with a solid work ethic and an understanding of modern fine dining that was greatly appreciated upstairs and down at Downton. But Elsie couldn't help but miss the regular presence of Beryl Patmore – Mason, now – in the kitchen. All those cups of tea, synchronized eye-rolls and general scheming and plotting over ginger biscuits. And the laughter, of course. Sometimes, during the day, she missed her friend more than she missed Charlie. She got to see him often enough, she supposed. Every morning, in fact, and every night, and sometimes in between, when there's a tour on, she smiled to herself. She didn't get to see Beryl nearly that frequently.
"It all went smashingly, Mrs. Harkness. His lordship sends his thanks – and his compliments," she paused in the doorway, smiling.
"That's wonderful to hear, Mrs. Hughes. Figuring out what every family enjoys most, and what they don't, their style of dining – well it takes a bit of time, I find, to get things just about right," the younger woman grinned back. "Did Mrs. Parker find you? She was hoping to speak with you before she left. I cannot thank you enough for calling her in for this event."
"Nae, but I'm sure she's around here somewhere. Thank you, Mrs. Harkness. It'll be busy days, the next few," she answered.
"Yes, that's why I sent the girls up a bit early, it will be full-tilt when they all come back from the church tomorrow morning, I'll need everyone in tip-top shape," the new head cook responded.
"I am commending myself as we speak for bringing you on as quickly as we did, Mrs. Harkness. Good-night."
"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," and her head was bent back over her list. Elsie turned and nearly crashed into Daisy.
"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I'm so glad I've not missed yeh," Daisy smiled broadly at her. Another person Elsie missed seeing as often as she'd previously done. Daisy Parker had left Downton shortly after she and Andy had married, and was running the business side of Yew Tree Farm nearly single-handedly these days, with the proud guidance of Albert Mason. She was only here at Downton to help with the desserts for Miss Vivi's christening. Lady Mary was specific and adamant in her wishes, and Mrs. Harkness had looked to Mrs. Hughes for a lifeline – cake decorating was not her forte. At least not to the extent Lady Mary had in mind.
"Here I still am, though I hope to be gone shortly, once I've had a moment to speak to Mr. Barrow about everything for tomorrow," she grinned at the younger woman, assessing her with careful, caring eyes. Daisy looked tired, but blooming, and Elsie had her suspicions. "Is Andy coming for you, then?"
"Yes, he's here actually, in the yard – I told him I wanted to catch you, if I could. He refused to come in only because he knew I'd rush, and not keep 'im waiting longer than necessary," she smiled. "We'd like you and Mr. Carson to come to the farm for lunch next Sunday, after church, if you can. A – a family-type of thing, you understand."
"We'd love to – it's been too long since we've seen you all, to really visit. Though don't mind if I don't tell Mr. Carson until everything's over tomorrow," she answered, tempering the happiness she felt at the invitation. She was pretty certain that Daisy and Andy had an announcement planned for next Sunday's luncheon, confirming Elsie's gut feeling about the younger woman's appearance.
"Rather nice, Lady Mary askin' 'im to be Miss Vivi's godfather, isn't it?"
"It is rather nice," she responded. And sentimental, and impractical…and very, very touching. "Now, off with you, at this outrageous hour, don't keep your husband waiting any longer. Thank you for all your help with the cake, Mrs. Harkness was singing your praises. We'll see you for certain, next Sunday lunch."
She grinned broadly as Daisy hurried down the hallway, looking forward to the boisterous, happy, food-filled visit a week tomorrow. And now, she felt, she ought to find Mr. Barrow, and be on her way. Charlie had been here earlier, discussing who-knows-what with the blessed Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot and Lady Isobel and the vicar, cradling the wee baby Viola Talbot in the crook of his good arm, the baby's dark eyes tracking his facial movements and dancing eyebrows.
But as the afternoon waned, and more and more of the family and friends arrived at the grand house, she could see that her husband was tired. She gently ushered him out the door, with a promise that Downton's current butler would walk her home, at whatever late hour it was that she finally finished her own work day at the big house.
She walked towards Thomas' study, towards the partially open door. She knocked perfunctorily and the younger man looked up from his ledgers.
"Ah, Mrs. Hughes, that's you, done, then?" He smiled at her, a genuine gesture that reached his dark eyes, which were looking less and less haunted as the weeks, the months and, slowly, the years, moved him away from those deeply dark moments two-and-a-half years ago.
"Yes, at long last, Mr. Barrow. I thank you again for escorting me home, and at this hour. Mr. Carson thanks ye, too, I'm sure," she responded. He closed his books, and stood. Reach for his hat.
"It's not a bit of trouble and my pleasure, Mrs. Hughes. I'm heading into the village, in any case, so you're on my way there," his face became thoughtful, distracted. "Though, of course, I'd walk you home and back, regardless of convenience."
"I'm certain ye would, Mr. Barrow, though I am sure it's a far more pleasant prospect to be heading to a lock-in at the new pub, rather than doubling back to this grand house," she nearly burst out laughing at the look on his face after she spoke, but bite her cheek.
"Mrs. Hughes, what, pray tell, do you know of a lock-in?"
Before she could respond, the phone on the desk burred shrilly. They both jumped a little, then laughed.
"Downton Abbey, Mr. Barrow speaking. How may I be of assistance?" He paused, listening to the person on the other end of the telephone line.
And, as Elsie watched, she saw Thomas Barrow's face soften and relax in a way that she'd never seen, or thought she'd ever see. The closest approximation her mind could come up with was him playing with Master George, or when, on very rare occasion, he spoke of Lady Sybil, of his time working with her at the make-shift hospital during the war.
"Yes, that sounds perfectly fine," he was saying. "I'm just leaving now. I'll see you shortly. Yes, take care." The words were innocuous, humdrum even, but again – Elsie was moved by everything else the butler's face was telling her. He put the receiver down gently, grabbed his hat.
"Ready then, Mrs. Hughes?"
"Aye, as ready as you are, Mr. Barrow."
oooOOOOooo
It was a lovely summer night, not a cloud in the sky. A sly, grinning moon gazed down upon them, walking in the bright light of its beams. They passed a few minutes in a silence that was rather comfortable, even congenial. She noticed that the butler's eyes were rather far away. Thinking ahead, to when the task of walking me home is through. When he can meet his friend, the man he was on the phone with, the one who so softened his demeanor. In the new pub, the one off the side street, down a ways from The Grantham Arms. The one that's almost at last call, except it's not really, not quite yet.
"Rather surprising, wasn't it, Mrs. Hughes, when Lady Mary asked Mr. Carson to be Miss Vivi's godfather?" She was a bit startled when he finally spoke.
"Indeed, ye'd not find anyone more surprised than me, Mr. Barrow, when she asked him. Not a very traditional choice, a former butler as godparent to a lady's daughter," she paused, hesitating only a little before she next spoke. "But the world's a bit different, I think, these past few years. Especially since the war. Some of the old rules, they don't mean as much as they used to."
"Some of them still do, though, Mrs. Hughes," Thomas replied, a wry grin on his face. "Perhaps…not as much as they used to, but they do still matter. Or, rather, the rules have changed a little, but they're still there, lest we peons forget." His words were harsh, but his face was still as serene as it had been in his office a short time ago.
"Ah, Mr. Barrow, even the word 'peon' seems nearly outdated, these days," she retorted, chuckling.
He turned towards her, looked at her briefly. "You'd not mind if I smoke, would you, Mrs. Hughes?"
"Nae, I wouldn't Mr. Barrow, though I am sure it will give Mr. Carson something to ponder when I come home, at nearly one o'clock in the morning, smelling of cigarettes."
The flicker of the match flame, a sharp inhale from Thomas. "I suppose, Mrs. Hughes, you and Mr. Carson just such an example of the progress of time. The two of you, marrying, and still working," he looked at her thoughtfully.
"That 'tis, Mr. Barrow. I can't imagine many a butler and housekeeper would have considered – been able to consider – the life Mr. Carson and I have now." And she heard the softness enter her own voice, when she thought of Charlie, their little home, their marriage. "But the country is becoming more democratic by the day, and there's not much to stop it, is there?"
"I hope you take this as it's intended, Mrs. Hughes: Mr. Carson went up significantly in my estimation once I found out the two of you were marrying," he said, and something on her face must have told him it was okay to continue. "And…that it seemed you were marrying out of a mutual affection, rather than habit, or convenience."
"I am not sure I'd ever have marred Mr. Carson out of convenience, Mr. Barrow," she answered, then realized how that may have sounded. She began laughing. Thomas joined her. "But I appreciate the intended compliment, in any case, Mr. Barrow. Mr. Branson was also rather impressed that Mr. Carson would marry…what was the word he used? A progressive such as myself."
They had arrived at the small row of cottages in which the Carsons' house was nestled.
"You make your own decisions about people, Mrs. Hughes, rather than what the world tells you to. And if you have to choose between the world's rules and your own…well, there's no contest," Thomas was looking intently at her.
"That I do, and it's gotten me into trouble a fair few times," she stared back up at the younger man, taking in the general contentedness that radiated from him. Marveled at the conversation they were having. "But…I believe it's down to Becky. My sister. And understanding her nature, the way she was born. 'Twasn't anything to be done about it, that was her. But it wasn't all of who she was. That's what people miss, I think, Mr. Barrow, when they worry themselves about one detail of a person's nature, rather than their whole."
Elsie was startled that Thomas looked as if he might weep, just for a moment. Then he composed himself, scrounged in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. By the time the second match flare burst into life, his face was fully composed. There was even a glint of mischief in his eye.
"Are you certain you want to go home? Not join me in the after-hours lock-in at the Lion?"
"Nae, Mr. Barrow, my decisions have brought me here, to this lovely cottage, and it's precisely where I belong," she answered, hoping Charlie was still awake inside, waiting with a glass of wine. "But off you go, and enjoy your evening, and your friend, who dared to call Downton Abbey after midnight to ensure your prompt arrival."
She could hardly believe her boldness, but there was something to be said for the fact that the man before her appeared to be happy, a man who had been so lonely and bereft not long ago that he'd tried to end his life.
"My friend, yes Mrs. Hughes," he answered, not quite looking at her. "A very dear friend, indeed. And I think I will be off, to where I belong, at last."
"Enjoy your evening, Mr. Barrow."
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes, I believe I will."