A/N: Huge props to the lovely brenna-louise for the fastest proofreading EVER.
Hoping you're all still with me here … we're approaching the final stretch, and this bit is pretty crucial.
Same song selection as last chapter: "Little Wonders" by Rob Thomas. It's on my "Chelsie Potpourri" Spotify list.
Let it slide, let your troubles fall behind you,
Let it shine until you feel it all around you,
And I don't mind if it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by, it's the heart that really matters in the end ...
Charles sat at his desk, lost in his thoughts. In the back of his mind, he registered the faint noises coming from the servants' hall, felt the lull in activity between meals. It was both comforting and new, the story of his life these past weeks.
Quite frankly, he was no longer quite sure who 'Charles Carson' was. He had a feeling that everyone else in the house seemed to have accepted his relatively easy-going personality with joy, and it made him wonder just how awful he'd been before the accident. Had he been too strict? Unfeeling? Unwilling to share in others' joys, to be happy for them when warranted? It seemed that since he'd returned from his accident and his memories had continued to come back more and more, the further he felt from "normal." Perhaps it's time to re-evaluate what that word means, Charlie.
Charles knew that his previous life, as he was now thinking of it, had been driven by routine. The butler had always bowed down at the altar of the family, his life dictated by schedule - deliveries, meal times, serving, and the like. Charles knew both he and the Granthams had always appreciated that, but he knew now - remembered, wondered how he ever could have forgotten - that he'd done it at the expense of what should have been the best part of his life: a wife, he could have had Elsie as his wife, damn it - and their daughter. And now here they were, all living together as part of this massive Downton downstairs family, and no one was any the wiser.
He and Elsie had somehow managed to forge a relationship out of the ashes, a partnership that paled in comparison to the one they could have had if he'd only allowed it, and it worked for them. It worked because of Elsie, though, her poking and prodding and demanding just a sliver of what had been, a tiny speck of familiarity and extra kindness that he showed no one else … except, of course, for Lady Mary.
God - Lady Mary. Now that Charles embraced what he'd always known, what he'd never acknowledged to anyone - that he and Elsie had a daughter, could have been a true family if it hadn't been for his bloody commitment to the job - he could see it clear as day. No wonder Elsie hates her so … the not-daughter I gave caring and attention to over the true one that I refused to claim; the privileged one to whom I'd have given the world if she'd asked, as opposed to the hidden one to whom I've rarely ever given a kind word.
And then he'd found himself standing up for Daisy just the other day, supporting her after a daring hall boy had flung a snide remark, something about how her nose was always buried in a book, and what did a woman need with studying, anyway? Charles hadn't even thought, the words had simply flown out of his mouth: Go as far in life as God and luck allow.
Daisy had looked up at Charles as though she'd never clapped eyes on him before, saucer-sized eyes staring at him, jaw slack. Mrs. Patmore had stopped stirring, had almost frozen in time. The moment seemed to drag on endlessly - until he'd heard the slight gasp from behind him. Turning around, Charles had spotted Elsie, a curious look on her face. The corner of his mouth twitched (he had been well-scolded for the winking, was not going to try that another time) and he nodded almost imperceptibly.
She'd seen it, though, and returned the gesture. Elsie, his Elsie (as he often thought of her now - and had, he thought, long before the accident) who had been struggling so hard to keep it all together, now seemingly calmed by the simple act of his accepting Daisy for who she was; not the illegitimate child to be hidden away, nor the scullery maid to be ignored, nor the kitchen maid to be scolded, nor the student to be questioned, but some new, better combination of all of those: the woman Daisy had become, the amazing person who was striving to better herself amidst everyone telling her not to. He'd acknowledged it, approved of it aloud and in front of witnesses, and he'd seen the shift in how Elsie regarded him. He'd known then, at that moment, that his strange family had turned a corner, and might - if he was very careful - be able to find some peace at last.
Peace could come in many forms, he mused, but he thought he had the perfect answer: a home together, away from Downton, where they could retire together. He knew Elsie would never accept a proposal of marriage, not at this stage of their old-but-new relationship. She wasn't ready to retire, and neither was he, and they certainly couldn't marry and stay in service anyway. No, better to approach it differently, and he had Mrs. Patmore to thank for the opportunity.
They'd taken the day to visit the cook's new property last week, and it had been almost surreal. At times, when Mrs. Patmore was exploring something in the garden or in a different room, Charles had been able to look at Elsie openly as she examined a window, the fireplace, a piece of furniture that had been left behind, perhaps. He was able to imagine that this was their home, that she was looking at their things, and the thought of living there with her had made him happier than he'd thought possible.
"Have you ever thought about your life in retirement?" he'd asked her.
And then, her cryptic reply. "Who says I'll live to retire?"
What kind of answer was that? Truly, she must be planning retirement at some point. The demands of her job would push her into retirement in another ten years, if nothing else did beforehand. Surely she was preparing …
And then it had hit him, the perfect solution, and it had been staring him in the face all day: We could do this. We could purchase a home together - an investment property, a place to earn some extra money to put by so that we could marry and retire comfortably.
So he'd approached her, and she'd accepted the idea, albeit with some reservation, something she was not saying hidden underneath all the words she was saying. And, with that, he'd seen it again: the strange reservedness she was now donning around him, the forced manner she had of pushing him back. Push, pull … push, pull … her way, ever since she'd come to Downton all those years ago. There has to be a reason, but I'm damned if I can figure it out.
The knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," his deep voice beckoned.
"Mr. Carson," greeted Mr. Bates. "Might I have a moment? If it's not a bad time?" The valet turned and pushed the door shut behind him, not quite closing it completely but making Charles a bit nervous nonetheless. No one but Elsie ever closed his door unless they were delivering bad news.
"Of course, Mr. Bates," Charles replied, motioning for the man to sit. "What can I do for you?"
Mr. Bates sat silently for a moment, appearing to puzzle through something in his mind. Charles was getting more curious as the seconds ticked by, but he simply leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his stomach, the tips of his thumbs grazing across each other as he waited. It was a casual position the butler never would have assumed before - not in the presence of anyone but the housekeeper, at least - and it was that minute lack of formality that gave the valet the courage he needed to speak the words he'd come to say.
"It's about Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Bates said quietly.
The thumbs stopped moving, stilled by the tension now present in the butler's hands. But his voice betrayed nothing as he spoke, a detail that did not go unnoticed by the valet.
"Oh? And what about her?"
Mr. Bates took a deep breath. "Something is clearly upsetting her, and I'm wondering if there is any way in which Anna or I could help." There, not too much, but perhaps enough to open the doorway, he thought.
Charles sat forward, his eyes on his ink blotter as he attempted to put his impassive, indifferent butler's face back into position. "I see."
"Mr. Carson," he tried again, "it's becoming noticeable to more people. I come in peace, and to tell you that if I have my suspicions, then surely others do as well … others that, perhaps, might not bother to give you fair warning."
"Oh," Charles blurted. Does he know? Does MR. BARROW know? That's surely what he's suggesting, is it not?
"I've said nothing," Mr. Bates informed him, "not even to Anna. But I think she wonders, and perhaps Miss Baxter as well. I'd be surprised if the entire downstairs staff hadn't noticed the change in her demeanor, but I don't think most suspect the … cause."
Charles raised his eyebrows at that. "You don't think most suspect what cause, Mr. Bates? What, precisely, are you suggesting?"
"For one thing, the fact that something is different between you and Mrs. Hughes. I realize it is none of my business, Mr. Carson, but everyone was pulling for you after your accident, and we were pleased that Mrs. Hughes had been sent for. The staff has always recognized and, if I may be so bold, appreciated your working relationship, the way you care for everyone here … and for one another. As I'm sure you are aware, that is not always the case in a house as large as Downton.
"Nevertheless, once you returned home, things seemed to change. The two of you were suddenly much more comfortable with one another, and I attributed that to her happiness at your improving health. I know she'd been working with you, attempting to help you to remember all the details you possibly could, and your progress was admirable.
"But now, things are vastly different. It seems that the new, easy demeanor between you has disappeared; for a while, you were skirting around one another, as though you'd had a row that no one knew about. And, believe me, we usually know," Mr. Bates said with a smirk. Charles returned it and nodded, well aware that the man was speaking the truth.
"But now …" Mr. Bates could see the hint of fear in the butler's face, a fear that told the valet that his suspicions were about to be confirmed. Mr. Bates plowed forward; there was nothing for it now but to lay the entire truth on the table, to allow the man to make what he would of it and to hell with the rest.
"Yes?" Charles asked quietly, the color suddenly draining from his face. "Now … what, Mr. Bates?"
Mr. Bates closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and looked his superior directly in the eyes.
"I saw you that day, Mr. Carson. At the kitchen window, with Mrs. Hughes." He lowered his voice a bit, cognizant of the still-ajar door. "She was so distraught, looking in … at Daisy, I presume?"
"She was having a bad day," Charles offered feebly.
"Daisy is her daughter, isn't she?" Mr. Bates pushed. "And … just perhaps … yours?"
The crash in the corridor was deafening and nearly drowned out the high-pitched cry, the one that came from the woman who'd been carrying the tea tray and then dropped it, the teapot shattering as its hot tea scalded her feet and legs.
"Daisy!" came Elsie far-away, frantic voice, the click of her heels echoing on the floor as she ran towards the young woman. "Oh, my God, you must have been scalded! Here," she continued, kneeling on the floor so that she could pull the cotton of Daisy's dress up and examine the damage. "Oh, Daisy, we need to treat that now."
Daisy was looking at her in horror, shrinking away from her touch. "No," she whispered, backing up until she reached the wall and was forced to stop. "Tell me it isn't true. It can't be …"
Elsie looked up at the men in Charles's doorway, first meeting the gaze of Mr. Bates before her eyes locked on Charles. HOW?
He darted his eyes at Mr. Bates for a half-second, then back at Elsie. "He knew. We were just discussing it when …"
"When I was bringing in the tea," came Daisy's strained voice. "Mrs. Patmore suggested you might need it, Mr. Carson … said you seemed to have a lot on your mind …" her voice trailed off.
"I'm so sorry," Mr. Bates said sadly, wishing desperately that he'd let things play out without his interference.
Elsie rose from the floor and looked at Daisy, a look of sheer pain and panic in both women's eyes.
"So it's true, what he said?" Daisy whispered, now sobbing softly from both the words she'd overheard and the pain from the splash of the tea on her ankles.
Elsie virtually collapsed against the wall, and Charles rushed over to help her before she slid back down to the floor.
"Yes," Charles admitted. "And it's all my fault."