Charles Carson was bent over the wine cellar ledger, adjusting amounts based on what had been consumed at this evening's dinner. He set aside a small carafe of a decent port on his sideboard, in anticipation of Mrs. Davis' arrival. Though he kept himself in check outwardly, he very much enjoyed the evening victuals with the housekeeper, who felt like more of a mother to him than his own, whom he hadn't seen in years. Not due to any particular ill will, merely because the path of his life had taken him far from kith and kin. He especially enjoyed their tête-á-têtes when there was something of particular import to relay, and he certainly knew something that fell into that category.
His mind wandered a little, in these first quiet moments of his day. He remembered with a start that Mrs. Davis had spoken to Elsie Hughes this morning about taking over the housekeeper position. And since she was no fool, he had no doubt she would jump at such a unique opportunity. To think – housekeeper at Downton at her age! She would shadow Mrs. Davis for several months, not only to be taught the full scope of the position, but for the staff to adjust to her new role.
Mrs. Hughes, he mused. He recalled four years prior when he himself had transitioned into the role of butler. No one seemed to have any difficulty with the switch, but then, of course, he was a man, of imposing size. Really rather too tall to be a footman, if he was honest with himself, and much better suited in looks and temperament for the role of butler.
Elsie…Mrs. Hughes, he thought again. He imagined, a half a year from now, her stepping in her for a glass of port or red as the evening drew long, and something in his stomach leapt. Would that be…appropriate? There was something very comforting about his chats with Mrs. Davis, but surely, their tone and content would change once the housekeeper was a woman ten, fifteen years his junior? For some reason, the whole idea made him nervous. Elsie's tart retort to him earlier today popped into his mind. The cheek of her, truly. But somehow, she never came off as disrespectful. She has that wonderful balance of industry and humanity he appreciated in Mrs. Davis.
"A penny for your thoughts?" Mrs. Davis was at the doorway, a small smile on her face. For the first time, she looked tired to him. Very tired.
"I like to think they have slightly higher value, thank you very much, Mrs. Davis," he smiled, and poured her some wine.
"So, what news?" She finished her drink quickly, poured another. He raised one eyebrow at her. She chuffed a little, sipped the second glass more delicately. "Remember who was here first, Charles."
"Indeed, Mrs. Davis," he responded, slightly warmed by her teasing use of his Christian name. Not many people in his life used it anymore. He continued:
"We've got two hall boys leaving at the end of the month, which we always knew was a possibility. The Drewe brothers from Yew Tree Farm. I suppose farming has a stronger pull on them than a life of service. There was a minor disagreement between Lady Grantham and Miss Rosamund when the ladies retired after dinner, about Mr. Painswick, but they appeared to resolve everything before bedtime." He sighed deeply.
"You don't approve, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Davis grinned at him over the rim of his glass.
"It's not my place to approve or disapprove," he sipped his own wine.
"Ha! I know your feelings on the subject, well enough."
"It seems wrong for the son and daughter of an Earl to wed…commoners."
"And in his case, an American commoner," Mrs. Davis' pale eyes were twinkling. "She is quite lovely, though, Lady Cora. Superficially sweet and genteel, but I have seen bursts of strength in her, and she's still quite young. I think she'll make a wonderful Countess, when the time comes."
"Which reminds me," Charles lowered his voice, though of course the door was closed and most of the staff was off to bed. "It is confirmed there will be a Grantham heir in the nursery by next year."
"Ah! As we thought. But we cannot be certain it will be a boy."
"Of course it will be a boy."
"That's up to chance and God, Charles."
"In any case, Lady Cora is young and healthy, they will most certainly have a boy, even if it's not this time around."
"Chance and God, as I said," Mrs. Davis poured herself a third glass – but only halfway. "Now, the last bit of business, and I am off to bed. Elsie Hughes."
"Yes, you spoke, and I am assuming we will move Margie up to head housemaid and she will begin her training in earnest in the next few weeks, and when she is settled, you will retire to a life of ease and pleasure," despite his joke, a sadness tugged at his heart. He cared deeply about Mrs. Davis and would miss her accordingly.
"In fact, she has not given me an answer one way or the other yet," Mrs. Davis replied. He was shocked.
"I never took her for a fool," he nearly spat out.
"She's no fool, as you well know. But life is complicated, Mr. Carson. As you know. The twists and turns of it…can lead you towards a life at Downton, and away from a life in the dance halls." She gazed steadily at him.
"That feels unfair, Mrs. Davis," he was somewhat hurt that she had brought up his time performing, his time with Alice…
"I wasn't trying to be unfair, Mr. Carson, merely suggesting that everyone in this house has pages in their stories that are unread by others. That applies to Elsie Hughes. She has complications, obligations and entanglements, like everyone else does. She has promised her answer to me by tomorrow morning, in any case. So we will see. I hope, for your sake, she accepts," Mrs. Davis rose, and bid him good night.
Several minutes passed, wherein he pondered her words, and his own memories. His own unread pages. Then there was a sharp, sudden rap on the door.
"Come in!"
Elsie Hughes stood in the door way, looking uncharacteristically flustered. Her cap was slightly askew. "Mr. Carson, please come quick. Two of the stable boys are rowing out in the yard. I was able to talk some sense in them, and a few of the footmen are out there keeping them apart, but I thought you should know."
"Indeed, thank you Mrs. Hughes," he said it, and they both gasped. "Elsie, rather."
"I suppose we'll see. Tomorrow. You best be off, they were quite riled up, I believe."
As he ran to the yard, he heard her, just above a whisper. "Mrs. Hughes. Hmm."