Chapter 38
John was nearly late for tea. He had been in the attic, putting away Lord Grantham's summer suits, and wanted to finish. He hated to leave a job partially complete. John entered the servant's hall after everyone else was seated. Everyone else was a rather small group these days, many of the maids having left for factory jobs, and the men for the army. Mr. Carson was reading the morning's newspaper. Sometimes he read out interesting headlines, and then left the paper for the others when he had finished. John usually read it earlier in the day, after Lord Grantham had finished it, but today he hadn't had the chance.
Anna smiled at him as he took his seat and handed him a cup. He hadn't seen much of her today. John tried not to listen as Mr. Carson read the latest body count. Mrs. Patmore had made baked apples. John loved baked apples. Warm with a hint of cinnamon, with thick fresh cream. He hoped she made extra. A little over a year into the war and they were desensitized to the body count. John remembered why he hated war.
Mr. Carson turned a page. A book was going to be prosecuted for obscenity. That was unusual enough to get everyone's attention. William asked what book and why. Mr. Branson said that was a stupid thing to do, without asking for details. Mrs. Hughes simply raised her eyebrows, preparing to look shocked. Anna didn't noticeably respond. Miss O'Brien sipped her tea.
The book was The Rainbow by D. H. Lawrence. John had a spoonful of apple and asked what the reason was. He had seen the notice of publication earlier and had written his favorite book dealer in London. Now he supposed he would never read it. The apple was warm and moist and seemed to expand on his tongue before sliding down his throat.
Mr. Carson cleared his throat, his apple untasted. The book was a waste of Mr. Lawrence's considerable talents, not properly mindful at this time of war, impious, dealt with the matings of Polish aristocrats and yeoman farmers, and suffered from a freedom in its treatment of sexual matters. That certainly got murmurs. Mr. Branson was offended by the article and slammed his spoon to the table. Mr. Carson wasn't sure he should continue in mixed company. Mrs. Hughes commented that while it might unsavory, they were all adults. He continued.
The book was said to have profound beauty and to be deeply passionate. Lawrence seemed to indicate the world was sick because it did not know how to love. Those were said to be the favorable comments. Almost paganistic approach to religion and relation to the earth. The sexual subjects were treated realistically but in an undeniably unhealthy manner. Subject matter in the book was coarse, perverse, not only did it have an out of wedlock pregnancy; it portrayed a sexual relationship between women. Miss O'Brien observed over her teacup that that certainly wouldn't result in a baby. William looked very confused. Mr. Branson looked intrigued. Anna was pale. The subject matter was not justified, nor was it suitable at all in this time of conflict and crisis.
John had nearly finished his apple. He had made it last as long as he could. William's was long gone, Mr. Branson's as well. O'Brien's was untouched. Mrs. Hughes was taking her time, chewing diligently as she did all things. Anna was nearly finished. She had a bit of cream on the corner of her mouth. Mrs. Hughes thought they had heard quite enough about that sordid book. Mr. Carson agreed. William asked what two ladies would want with a love scene. Miss O'Brien had a coughing fit. He looked so confused. Mr. Branson said he'd explain it to him later. The doorbell rang and William was on his feet.
Mr. Carson put down the paper and looked as if he had just noticed his apple. He thought it a good thing that books like that be suppressed. Filth like that shouldn't be written, let alone printed. John opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. He had some more tea. Anna had noticed the cream on her mouth and wiped it away with her finger, which she then licked, like a cat, paying no attention to the activity at all. John forgot what they were discussing. He thought of her soft, nimble tongue caressing the length of her finger. She was oblivious. Her warm, soft, sweet tasting tongue. He shouldn't stare. He was so glad he sat next to her rather than across. He needed more tea. Mr. Carson was still talking. Books like this had no place in a world where susceptible people might be able to read them.
John supposed by that Mr. Carson meant women. Did he really mean that women were somehow in need of protection from ideas? Mr. Carson blinked rapidly. He seemed surprised to have been challenged. He meant that some ideas, some material, just weren't appropriate for some people to read. John was losing his patience. Based on what Mr. Carson had read to them, the objectionable material was largely based on sexual relationships without benefit of marriage. Obviously this had an implication for society, but it was only a book. Mr. Carson sputtered. He looked to Mrs. Hughes for support but she looked away, flushed. Surely Mr. Carson didn't mean to say that women were so susceptible books needed to be banned to protect them? Books offered ideas; nothing more. Actions were a result of character.
John remarked that the reviews which labeled this book as filth were missing the point. He had read Lawrence, and couldn't imagine he would introduce anything into his writing that didn't advance the plot. He wasn't that kind of writer, but if someone was determined to see filth, perhaps because they were challenged, so be it. Mr. Carson turned red then white. John meant nothing personal; neither of them had read the book and likely never would, thanks to others making that decision for him. Mr. Branson grinned. Lawrence was writing about ideas that were part of the human experience. How could anyone hope to be protected from that? No answer. Why should they be? No answer. Responsibility for one's actions had to come into play at some point. If the men behind this legal action would stop to think, they would see that only harm would come from a ban. Mr. Carson seemed to think that sex equaled filth and reading about it would lead immediately to a downfall of society. John hoped that wasn't true. Mr. Carson needed to give people more credit. John hoped he wasn't embarrassing Anna, but he'd gone too far to stop now. Keeping women ignorant of sexual matters until they married was ultimately far more harmful to society. Anna was suddenly focused on her lap.
Miss O'Brien said something under her breath about him liking dirty books. She wasn't surprised. John patiently explained it wasn't the story, it was the writing. If it were up to him, he would read every word Lawrence wrote, but apparently it wasn't up to him anymore. It was the language, the sense of life he conveyed. The story was secondary. What he'd read of Lawrence's writing didn't really have a story anyway, just a focus on human relationships. Miss O'Brien rolled her eyes. She had a button to sew before her majesty was ready to dress for dinner. She left. John wasn't sure anyone but Anna understood. Mr. Branson might. John had more tea. He wished he had savored his apple.
Mr. Branson wondered if these people had ever thought that by making something forbidden it was more interesting. Basic human nature. Censorship was nonsense. Now everyone would try to read this before it was burnt, and destruction of the physical manifestation wouldn't destroy the ideas. Censorship was just another way for the government to control the people. He looked angry. If the courts want to make a real point about obscenity and social corruption, they should look to the powerful, who would use their position and hide behind their status, while abusing those weaker than themselves for their own gratification. Like this stupid war. Like what they were doing in Ireland. He shook his head and threw down his napkin. He needed to work on the automobile before picking up the dowager countess.
Mr. Carson looked as if his eyes might fall out. He wasn't accustomed to disagreement. There were people, young people who lacked proper guidance, for whom reading led to doing. These people needed protection. From dangerous ideas. He sputtered. From themselves. Mr. Branson chuckled as he left.
John wondered, not for the first time, if Mr. Carson had ever been in love. He wondered, more than that, if he had ever been with a woman. There were times he thought surely, in his past as a performer, there had to have been someone. Then there were other times, like this afternoon, that John thought certainly not. John said it was his understanding that the ideas in the book were about human relationships and love. People required protection from this? Was his opinion of women and young people so low that he believed they couldn't make responsible choices for themselves? Actions had consequences, yes, but there was nothing inherently wrong with acting out of love or desire, no matter what form it took. Mr. Carson had turned color. John was deeply afraid he had embarrassed Anna. She seemed to be willing a bell to ring.
Mr. Carson was not going to yield. It was un-English, it was unchristian, and in these times of war, it was important to keep to basic morals. Women as lovers. What kind of perverse mind would even introduce the idea into a story? It was shameful. Men went to prison for that, and rightly so. John was glad, not for the first time, Thomas had left the house.
Mrs. Hughes seemed to be considering an idea. She finally spoke, and said she learned early that a life in service was a life of sacrifice. Love was usually one of the sacrifices, and sometimes it came along in unexpected forms. Really, who was to say it should be denied? She remembered a house where the cook and the housekeeper seemed like old sisters. They even shared a bedroom, even though they didn't need to. Nothing was ever seen or said, but to those who watched, it was obvious that there was more to the relationship. They were happy, and they were good, kind women, and it didn't hurt anyone. Who was she to say it was wrong?
John noticed a vein on Mr. Carson's neck that was twitching. His eyebrows couldn't possibly go any higher. It was unnatural. It was perverse. It was against all natural laws. These women obviously had something deeply wrong with them. And if society condoned it, what was next? Recognizing fallen women? Those women should be left alone with their shame, not acknowledged in any way. The proper, natural social order destroyed. Children needed a family. Children shouldn't have to suffer because their mothers lacked morals, but they would. Women shouldn't allow themselves to get in situations like that. They should have some decency, some control. Not let men persuade them. Not encourage them. It took very little. Women were the gentle ones, the moral ones, the controlled ones. Anna's jaw quivered.
John paused for a moment, and wondered, why the responsibility of control rested with the women? And what did war have to do with it? Did he mean to suggest that women felt less than men? John thought of how the burden of control rested solely with him when he was with Anna, and how difficult it was, but how he loved her too much to lose control. What did it say about the social order, the morals of their society, that men were expected to be sexually knowledgeable and women weren't, that men were seen as unable to control themselves and women were paragons of virtue? What about the scores of aristocratic men, no doubt many previous Earls of Grantham, who had fathered children outside their marriage? Why did they get a pass? How many times had Mrs. Hughes made the guest room arrangments based on whose mistress was staying in which room? Mrs. Hughes looked away as Mr. Carson glared at her. Why was this hyprocisy accepted? John wanted to make it clear that he saw a need to maintain the social order, but Mr. Carson was arguing a position that was untenable. Ultimately it would result in more pregnancies outside of marriage. The idea of forcing women to feel shamed was appalling. What was next? Stoning them at the market cross? Both parties were to blame, and sometimes it was almost impossible to fight nature. Did he speak from experience? Mr. Carson tried to get support from Mrs. Hughes. Unsuccessfully. Mr. Carson stood. It was time to ring the dressing gong. He hoped there would be no more on this topic. It was harmful, and disgusting, especially in mixed company. He left, rigid as ever. Perhaps he thought Anna might get ideas.
John sighed. He knew he and Mr. Carson had radically different worldviews, but he had always respected him. Anna was twisting her apron. She seemed to be clenching her teeth. She hadn't spoken at all. Mrs. Hughes was eyeing her carefully. Mrs. Hughes smiled and shook her head at John. All this fuss over a book. Of course it wasn't over a book, but still. She thought maybe Mr. Carson was working too hard. She had known girls in service who had gotten in trouble, and the situations were always different. It was easy to spread shame when you didn't know any better. Of course she had to dismiss girls under her authority, that was just how it was, but their stories were always different. Maybe he was just getting old. She shook her head, and left the table.
Anna almost looked sick. She finally looked at him. "Anna, I hope I didn't embarrass you."
Her smile was feeble. "No. No, you didn't." Daisy dropped a dish. Anna's head snapped to the kitchen as Mrs. Patmore's shouts erupted.
She turned to back to John slowly. She was wrinkling her apron horribly. "I don't think I'm speaking out of turn to say you seem upset, and I don't think it has anything to do with censorship." John took her hand. It was damp.
Her smile solidified. She laughed softly. Ruefully? "No, though I was looking forward to reading it." He turned her hand over in his, and caressed the palm.
John felt his lips twitch. "You mean if I thought it was suitable for your delicate virgin sensibilities?"
Her smiled faltered. Lady Mary rang. Anna started to rise. "John…there's….there's something I'd like to tell you." Her voice was shaking. John was worried. "But not now. Not here."