The Acquisition of Memories

by BorneToFlow

Embarking on their honeymoon, Charles and Elsie begin to process the events of their wedding day and those leading up to it. A series of internal reflections; lengthy, fun & sometimes in-depth conversations; &, interspersed with requisite amounts of playful holiday fun & honeymoon adult times. From Ch19 rating is a tasteful but strong M. Some S5/6 JF canon is blissfully ignored.

6. Chapter 6- Coming to His Senses: Sight

The Acquisition of Memories. Chapter 6- Coming to His Senses: Sight

Author Notes:

Although I cannot lay claim to actually being a lady, I will, nevertheless, shamelessly misquote the Dowager Countess by saying that, "I can (and will) be as contrary as I like."; P. To that end, one more sensory chapter for Charles on the train (at this stage) before we get to letters from the Grantham's and plot points- Sorry- I just couldn't envision how I could slot this one in after the train terminates in London. Charles/sensory chapters for touch, smell and taste chapters I think I will be able to do once they get there.

Thanks to people who have reviewed my little fic so far; including, CSotA, OleHistorian and manygreentrees. As manygreentrees pointed out after the mega-Elsie chapter- they are probably on the outskirts of London by now! Had to LOL! Just go with me on it, though- I shall maintain that thoughts are fickle and fleeting beasts! I actually think we do piece together sensations in a piecemeal kind of way most of the time, and at others we just have things culminate in a clearer flash, so maybe all these internal musings have happened in less than an hour of train travel. Please Humour me and pretend we are still somewhere within Yorkshire!

I also think the Elsie Chapter was to make up for the larger amount of Charles musings this little fic may end up having. I am finding his perspective the more interesting/soppy/romantic and enjoyable to write at this stage. Really, it is all just a format for me to analyse character traits and some possible motivations- and maybe throw out a few slightly poetic turns of phrase that spring to mind.

Music I have been listening seeps into my musings, no doubt. If you are interested- it has been Dame Joan Sutherland and Marilyn Horne singing 'The Flower Duet' (look on YouTube), and on spotify- K D Lang (the 2008 Watershed album in particular). If there were ever a voice to lightly sing me to smooth and peaceful sleep each night- it would be hers- K.D. does love and longing so, so well.

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The carriage shadow slides across lush hedgerows and pastures. Green heads of barley and wheat bend and roll in soft waves with the clear summer breeze. New buds of scalloped promise catch golden light. Something hidden long ago surfaces, catches the sun, shimmers, and rides fast over the floating rills. Charles' mind sparks. The forge flares in the striking of steel. In the click and slide of wheels.

Attend. Attend.

Light catches the faceted moments of his new life.

Attend. Attend to the day, Charles. Attend.

Attend to the memories.

Memories reflect the soul of life- define our purpose. Let them rise... Let them rise.

See them rising, Charles, rising from the engine room of mind and time –they remind us, Charles, remind us of why we strive and struggle through the mess of living, even as time itself works its icy tendrils into our breaking hearts and finally takes us on… on.

In the click and the slide and the turn.

Turn these moments to the light before your eyes.

Charles' mind slips into the rhythms of the land flashing by the train- racing past signs of abundance. He keeps his mind apace- slides the moments swiftly on…on- shunting memories into place.

Memories of their morning marriage. The moments flash before his eyes in the mere seconds of a sigh. The bumps and impressions of him, and of her- of his life with her.

In an instant he sees the events of the morning flash past, and like an epiphany, he sees how Elsie is the architect -the builder of something in his heart- a builder in so many hearts really – she has crafted something that is hard to define in so many words– but it is something that gives a curious jolt to life, embroiders him with the silvery filaments of a strange ecstasy. For Charles, she builds the shapes and light of a life shared – connected, no longer lonely and alone. It is her work of love –of toil and tears and years of longing. Patience.

So many moments in this day have shown him who she really is- what she means in different ways to all who shared their day. The revelation of finally seeing Elsie surrounded by so many of her kinsfolk. Her sister Becky and David Barton and their bevvy of children and their children's children. It overwhelms him still—a new and instant family for him— and at his age! Such love it was that they all surrounded their Aunty Elsi-peth with! Much as he could see from her special loved ones they share from Downton— like dear Anna, Elsie's special girl, with her eyes shining with tears of joy (for a most welcome change) –tears of joy for the happiness of the only caring mum the girl has ever had. And Mr Bates, who had proudly provided Elsie with a supporting arm to see her from the car and ushered her to the start of her walk down the aisle- just as she had given him such support and acceptance when he first arrived at Downton, for Charles know now of the painful and useless leg brace rusting at the bottom of Elsie's lake, and thereafter, through all Mr Bates and Anna's trials.

Mrs Patmore, who tightly clasped one tear-stained handkerchief to her breast as the other clasped at her best friend's hand as Elsie walked back down the aisle on Charles' arm. Theirs was a friendship built from rocky beginnings but strengthened through years of shared trials at the coal face of Downtown and beyond. Then sweet young, and at times foolish, Daisy! Who could not help herself from throwing her arms around Elsie outside the church as the rose petals flew around their heads. Even Mr Mason attended to her. And, as a true gentleman would, he had kissed Elsie's hand as if in thanks to a great lady who had bestowed upon him a priceless gift- but priceless it was indeed, even after all of these years, that Elsie had mothered his own sweet William when he had come to Downton as a mere slip of a lad having so soon lost his own dear mother.

But most surprisingly, for Charles, was Thomas Barrow, who attended to the guests as they entered the school hall for the wedding breakfast. Yes, Barrow was the first to use Mrs Carson new title so assuredly and respectfully as he offered Elsie his best wishes for her continued happiness- every bit the respectful and precise under-butler for the occasion- but even Charles could sense the truth and depth behind his stoic presentation. Perhaps he has the makings of a Butler in him yet...

Yes, Elsie surely has always garnered the respect of all the downstairs staff, and the very best of them may also lay claim her unwavering support.

And then Charles sees again, Lady Mary- offering Elsie such an open and giving and respectful smile, in thanks, perhaps, for finally taking Charles, himself, in hand and making him so uncommonly happy. Lady Edith- with such graceful yet steely respect, somehow kindred to Elsie and looking more joyful for Mrs Hughes than she has done for anything else bar the presence of Miss Marigold since Mr Gregson's disappearance and death.

To the ever present Dowager Countess- her stern, but approving eye glinting with more than some little happiness at the proceedings surrounding the heads of staff of Downton. And who later, irreverently greeted Charles and Elsie with more goodwill and humour than could properly be hidden behind her inherent need to always have the final word. Charles felt his lips involuntarily twitch at the memory of their exchange as Charles held Elsie's hand in the crook of his arm outside the church.

"Well, Carson, now we truly have seen some times, you and I." The Dowager Countess stated, smiling blithely up at Charles as her hand, shaking slightly with the effects of age, or perhaps a fluttering, ill-contained display of emotion on her part, clasped at the forearm he had automatically extended to steady her progress towards them on the gravel path.

"Indeed, Your Ladyship, and might I be so bold as to say that this is, at least in my eyes, the very finest of times."

"Oh indeed you may, Carson. Indeed you may."

Then the Dowager's hand, somewhat hesitantly, patted Elsie's gloved hand twice and squeezed lightly, as it laid atop Charles' other arm, and the Dowager remarked as she locked eyes directly with Elsie-

"And may this 'Old Bat' say that I wish you no finer happiness than I am sure you have both found in each other, My Dear."

And with that she cocked an eyebrow, smiled with amused imperiousness, turned and walked purposefully away.

"Well'" a somewhat shocked Elsie then breathed out to Charles, "nothing gets past Her Ladyship now does it?"- as she looked after the Dowager making her way towards Lord and Lady Grantham.

"It never has, my dear" Charles had replied with a grin for the bemused and somewhat guilty smirk that Elsie was trying so hard to contain on her glowing face- like that of an errant child finally caught out for a misdemeanour once all need for reparation had long past. "It never has."

And Charles saw in his minds-eye again how Elsie had turned and looked up at him with dancing eyes as they shared a small childlike chuckle for the silliness of it all.

And later, when His Lordship looking with stunned and serious school boy eyes, like he might trip up and blunder as he escorted the elegant Mrs Carson, in her unaccustomed finery, in the second waltz of the festivities this time. And Lady Grantham- looking over to them both from Charles' arms throughout that dance, with her understated elegance willingly taking a back seat to Elsie's that day; she had viewed with quiet pride, as is always her way, her handiwork. Always one to know just the right cadence of respectable opulence to have all of Downton presented at its best. And today, Lady Grantham knew that Downton shone through the form of the gifted wedding dress that spoke most eloquently of the character of the lady whose figure it now graced.

And then Mrs Crawley, smiling broadly in mutual support and friendship too, her strident brand of caring an equal match for Elsie's quieter approach- as was proven when Elsie helped some way to pulling that lady out of her grief after Master Crawley's death- all while dragging Charles himself away from his own bitter regrets and pain from his days with Alice and Griggs. But formidable women, both of them. One as a brass band cheering and marching life forward, and then Elsie, quietly gliding and leading a blended waltz of hearts around her calm centre. Then, standing, ever since the war, shoulder to shoulder with Mrs Crawley, was Elsie's fellow countryman, the inscrutable Dr Clarkson- who doffed his hat and nodded towards her with a small respectful smile. Strange, Charles thought, that people often think of Scots as wild and untamed, yet the two Charles knows both have a calm reserve that fits them in with the flow of life around them most admirably. Hmm... Mrs Crawley and Dr Clarkson. Strange, Charles thinks, they both seemed to lean towards each other slightly more as they conversed than Charles has been accustomed to seeing them. Indeed, they both appeared to be quite moved by the day's proceedings. But, yes, those two were indeed some living proof that Elsie has a place in people's lives across many social worlds.

But, oh my! Charles remembers most clearly– the arrival of Mr Branson and darling Miss Sybbie- the light of joy on Elsie's face, as her little link to the world of the upstairs family had returned – and Charles had one more moment of Elsie's unbridled happiness to cherish and file away. For it seems to Charles that the best moments of his life, the fondest memories he has acquired to date, all involve seeing Elsie with the brightest of smiles on her face- like their day paddling at the beach, hand in hand.

And so it is, that from today alone, Charles has harvested a myriad of moments of Elsie smiling, as she saw all her children and friends and peers returning and attending to her own happiness- just as she has rejoiced in their happiness over the years. For Charles, such joy grows in his heart as he has never known- to see her so openly loved and honoured by all who are good enough to be supported and loved and respected by Elsie Hughes. All of these fleeting moments will be touchstones in Charles' own life. Memories to access when he needs reminding of what his duty to Elsie- what his purpose in life- now is. Merely, to ensure that Elsie could be happy more often and smiling as openly and as regularly as their simple daily life can manage.

Elsie, that soft yet formidable silent and gliding lady of the halls and private parlours- the Empress of the spaces behind the grand apartments she has seen scrubbed for glittering display over so many years. Yes, Elsie is the true ruler behind that gilded stage- in those spaces where the mess of real living resides.

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Lines of a poem pull into focus for Charles. Lines read long ago and memorised over years of repetition.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.*

To see heaven in a wildflower the poet had said. His Scottish wildflower- hardy, but fleeting and delicate like sunlight reflected on barley heads. All of these moments with Elsie- fleeting and delicate- all that can never be held for long enough in the palm of his hand. And yet something in him galvanises in this sigh of a moment on the gently rolling train. It hardens like a tempered steel point within him and rocks him. Deep. These fleeting images rushing over him, flooding over him in the fine and silent spaces between their words, between the click and the slide and the sighs. All in an instant, he thinks- all of life appears in just one instant- his world in a grain of sand. His world and his life with Elsie by his side- all but a brief flicker of light across an ancient landscape. Fleeting and delicate. Yet, if he were indeed able to capture it all, it would surely need an eternity of description.

But life in an instant can be so easily missed. It can drift away and out of sight far too easily.

Fear strikes him to the core. He could have missed all this joy! He could have lost it all! He could have let Elsie drift away because he was too stubborn and obtuse to see what had been in front of him all along. His heart constricts painfully around this shining steel point of realisation.

Yet, as he breathes in her sighs, he somehow knows, that if he were to clasp too hard to it all, it would still slip through his hands and drift away like sands on the summer breeze anyway, and that somehow, he had got it right. Somehow, the sun decided to shine on him. Through absolute, sheer dumb luck it seems! And Charles shakes his head to clear the darkness that had drilled into his mind.

It is enough. All of this is enough, he repeats to himself. Do not regret. It is here. I am here. Elsie is here, and it is enough.

And so Charles knows- there is nothing for him but to love her and to feel this joy that bubbles up from deep within him, from around this sharpened point of realisation. He may not be able to see it or grasp it all, but he can feel what he can whilst it is there, and he is surely tickled by it all.

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But by far the clearest vision from today, the one that Charles will recall the most vividly and that will forever be held safe in the deepest part of his heart- was the moment when Elsie first appeared in the sun kist arch of the church doorway. Just as Mr Bates relinquished his supporting arm and Elsie began her strong and solitary progress towards an everlasting union. Elsie- as serious, calm, and reverent as ever her face has been in church. But today! Oh- she was so much more! -smiling and joyful. Her fiery free spirit then seemed to dance forth across her face, it swayed through the movement of her gown – it weaved and swirled in a mesmerising reel- blending a visible magic before Charles' eyes that waltzed straight into his heart.

Today- my sweet heaven!- he breathes silently to himself now- Oh how she had emerged as if from the light of angels wings it seemed, and entered that small house of God like a regal queen floating towards home through the dust speckled sunlight of the arched doorway. As in a dream- a royal lustred purple dusk coat, delicately embroidered- like the stars in the midnight firmament- a floating wrap of the cloths of heaven enshrining this majestic woman. A cloak of soft armour to show the strength of this woman that many have sensed in her over the years- they have been drawn to her by it- often unconsciously. And it is a strength that Charles knows only he has had the privilege to observe and walk beside this closely, over so many hours and years. Her cloth mantle a symbol of the house and all the hearts she has shielded and held up, and held on to, and stitched back together, and stitched to one another, and hoisted on high to receive the light again.

And below that cloak of honour and strength and stability – as ever- her softness and the lightness of her heart was showing through. This- yes it is this- this is the very foundation that upholds that silent regal outer cloak of unselfconscious and graceful strength. Charles could see this was the eternal truth of Elsie- that her courage is found in the opening up of herself and giving shelter to vulnerable and breaking hearts, and in doing so, exposing her own vulnerability. Beneath that mantle of her strength, peeking through, ever-present - those parts of Elsie that have never been, and could never be crushed- even after years of toil in service to people- she has always known- he has always known- she is truly equal to. All embodied in silk and floating mauve – the softness that is his dear lady's kind and loving, pure and courageous heart.

Ana a strange paradox of life it is, Charles realises in a flash - that the strongest things in life are woven from such fine and silken threads. That the deepest strength of anyone is found, not in the harshness of the steely rampart of the war zone, defending ground that never was ours to own – things taken by force. No, for if the War has taught us anything, Charles thinks, it is that to be brave with a gun that only takes away life leads only to the further weakening of our souls in the face of great hatred. No. No. True strength and bravery, thought Charles, is found instead in what a person can give of themselves to others at the risk of great pain, and without the expectation of reward. This is Elsie's strength.

And a strange paradox of life it is also, Charles thinks, that this revelation can occur to him in a flicker of an instant- and that the truth of it should reveal itself so clearly to me on this day- their day – that true strength, my own strength, such as it is, is grown in such a soft and pliable and giving place – nurtured by this lady seated beside me. Elsie- who has picked through the weft and weave of his own rough-hewn cloths of identity to expose the vulnerable softness and the great and giving heart he has kept hidden for so long.

And how strange it is, he thinks- curious and strange- how the mind can process so much detail in a grain of sand, an eternity of love and life in fleeting images and single moments of time. In the click and the slide and the turning of scalloped light- he holds what he can of it all and shunts the memories into place, bringing them home and filing them safely in the ledger of his heart until the end.

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A/N: *Auguries of Innocence- William Blake c.1803

Full Text:

AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE

oOOo

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.

oOOo

A Robin Red breast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage.

A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons

Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.

oOOo

A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State.

A Horse misus'd upon the Road

Calls to Heaven for Human blood.

oOOo

Each outcry of the hunted Hare

A fibre from the Brain does tear.

A Skylark wounded in the wing,

A Cherubim does cease to sing.

oOOo

The Game Cock clip'd & arm'd for fight

Does the Rising Sun affright.

Every Wolf's & Lion's howl

Raises from Hell a Human Soul.

oOOo

The wild deer, wand'ring her & there,

Keeps the Human Soul from Care.

The Lamb misus'd breeds Public strife

And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.

oOOo

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that won't Believe.

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.

oOOo

He who shall hurt the little Wren

Shall never be belov'd by Men.

He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd

Shall never be by Woman lov'd.

oOOo

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Shall feel the Spider's enmity.

He who torments the Chafer's sprite

Weaves a Bower in endless Night.

oOOo

The Caterpillar on the Leaf

Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.

Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.

oOOo

He who shall train the Horse to War

Shall never pass the Polar Bar.

The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,

Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.

oOOo

The Gnat that sings his Summer's song

Poison gets from Slander's tongue.

The poison of the Snake & Newt

Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.

oOOo

The Poison of the Honey Bee

Is the Artist's Jealousy.

The Prince's Robes & Beggar's Rags

Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.

oOOo

A truth that's told with bad intent

Beats all the Lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for Joy & Woe;

oOOo

And when this we rightly know

Thro' the World we safely go,

Joy & Woe are woven fine,

A Clothing for the Soul divine;

oOOo

Under every grief & pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

The Babe is more than swadling Bands;

Throughout all these Human Lands

oOOo

Tools were made, & Born were hands,

Every Farmer Understands.

Every Tear from Every Eye

Becomes a Babe in Eternity;

oOOo

This is caught by Females bright

And return'd to its own delight.

The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar

Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.

oOOo

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath

Writes Revenge in realms of death.

The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,

Does to Rags the Heavens tear.

oOOo

The Soldier, arm'd with Sword & Gun,

Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.

The poor Man's Farthing is worth more

Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.

oOOo

One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands

Shall buy & sell the Miser's Lands:

Or, if protected from on high,

Does the whole Nation sell & buy.

oOOo

He who mocks the Infant's Faith

Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt

The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.

oOOo

He who respects the Infant's faith

Triumphs over Hell & Death.

The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons

Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.

oOOo

The Questioner, who sits so sly,

Shall never know how to Reply.

He who replies to words of Doubt

Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.

oOOo

The Strongest Poison ever known

Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.

Nought can deform the Human Race

Like to the Armour's iron brace.

oOOo

When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow

To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.

A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry

Is to Doubt a fit Reply.

oOOo

The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile

Make Lame Philosophy to smile.

He who Doubts from what he sees

Will ne'er Believe, do what you Please.

oOOo

If the Sun & Moon should doubt,

They'd immediately Go out.

To be in a Passion you Good may do,

But no Good if a Passion is in you.

oOOo

The Whore & Gambler, by the State

Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.

The Harlot's cry from Street to Street

Shall weave old England's winding Sheet.

oOOo

The Winners Shout, the Loser's Curse,

Dance before dead England's Hearse.

Every Night & every Morn

Some to Misery are Born.

oOOo

Every Morn & every Night

Some are Born to sweet delight.

Some are Born to sweet delight,

Some are Born to Endless Night.

oOOo

We are led to Believe a Lie

When we see not Thro' the Eye

Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night

When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.

oOOo

God Appears & God is Light

To those poor Souls who dwell in Night,

But does a Human Form Display

To those who Dwell in Realms of day.

oOOo

THE END

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