A/N: I want to say again how appreciative I am for all of the reader reviews and responses. It's really wonderful to know I am sending this out to you all. Once I get started, the writing comes pretty quickly, so I try to update as fast as possible. One thing I TRY to be a stickler about is staying in-canon as to what the original work, be it TV program or novel, provides (and I actually love when readers call me out on something that isn't; I have gone back and edited previous stories based on comments, so call me out if I am WRONG!). That being said, once we get to 1912 and events that happened in the show, I may slow down, as I WILL review Chelsie scene (and individual ones) to ensure I get it "right". I wasn't sure exactly where I was going with this when I started, since it's a new 'ship for me, but I now see carrying on through 1925 and slightly beyond. (I can't bring myself to write about one of them dying, or Carson being excessively disabled by Parkinson's. I'll end before we arrive there.) ~ CeeCee
Spring, 1896
The word had come in the middle of the night, wending it's was from the Far East to the rolling green hills of Yorkshire: Patrick Crawley, 6th Earl of Grantham, was dead. Downton and all of its inhabitants were turned upside down, no one more so than the newly minted 7th Earl, Robert Crawley.
Elsie Hughes dressed hurriedly at three o'clock in the morning, already missing the two and a half hours of sleep this night would be lacking. It would be a long day, and a longer week. The younger staff members rushed nervously to and fro, while the elders among them looked as if they'd each been whacked by a giant frying pan.
She had seen Mr. Carson in the family bedroom hallway, rushing past with no fewer than three footman, sometime before dawn, but hadn't time to stop and check in with him. He looked pale, but she was too busy escorting Lady Grantham – the Dowager Countess, rather – to her son's sitting room while simultaneously assuring Nanny they would keep the uproar to a minimum "so the babbies could all sleep peaceful-like, especially sweet little Miss Sybil, Mrs. Hughes."
They reached the Earl's door, and Mrs. Hughes knocked gently. Forster, the Earl's valet, answered, even more subdued than usual. Mrs. Hughes could see Robert Crawley, slumped on the edge of a chaise, his face in his hands. Lady Cora – Lady Grantham – stood above him, her hand rubbing his back, her tall form still slightly rounded from the recent arrival of Miss Sybil.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. You are a lighthouse in the tempest," Lady Violet patted her arm. She glanced over at her distraught son, concern on her face, then turned to Elsie. "The truth is, I knew I would be a younger widow. I always told Patrick, all that gallivanting would catch up with him eventually. No matter where we go, we cannot escape the final trip," her eyes were shiny with tears as she left Mrs. Hughes' side and put her hand on Robert's other shoulder. With a nod to Forster, Mrs. Hughes left them to grieve in privacy.
oooOOOooo
Nearly eleven o'clock, Elsie thought distractedly, a quarter of the day later. Really need that cuppa today. She strode into the kitchen, which was in full swing for supper. Today, it would be more finger sandwiches, fruit and cheese, and other small items, given the topsy-turvy state upstairs.
"Mrs. Hughes, there you are," Beryl Patmore met her halfway, handing her a cup of tea, strong, with milk, exactly as she liked it. Mrs. Patmore had arrived at Downton nearly a year ago, and Elsie liked her a lot, despite her rather…colorful…way of expressing herself.
"Why thank you, Mrs. Patmore, I certainly need this today. I trust you have everything under control here. I'll be in my sitting room until supper is served," she walked into the hallway and nearly crashed into a young lad with a letter in his hand.
"You'll be Mrs. Hughes, then?"
"Yes, m'boy. Is that for me?"
"'Tis. Express delivery," he handed it over to her, waiting expectantly.
"Here you are," she tossed him a coin, which he caught expertly. "Go grab a slice of bread and jam, while you're at it."
"Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am."
Express delivery. She looked down. From an unfamiliar address in York. She didn't know too many folks in York who might be – then a thought occurred to her.
"No, please not," she whispered, a lump jumping into her throat. "Not today, of all days." She kept staring at the envelope in her hand, willing herself to open it, but couldn't muster the courage. Her vision was shimmering with unshed tears.
"Mrs. Hughes, do you plan on sending every urchin and orphan into my kitchen for – good heavens, you look like a light breeze could knock you down," Mrs. Patmore's strong hand steadied Elsie at the elbow, steering her into her sitting room. "Sit, sit!" Her tea and letter were taken gently from her hands, and she was pushed down onto the nearest chair. "Now, tell me what it is."
"Someone has died, I believe."
"You mean, aside from Lord Grantham?"
"Yes, someone far more important, Mrs. Patmore," Elsie took the letter, opened it decisively.
Dear Mrs. Hughes,
I regret to inform you of the passing of my aunt, Mrs. Sarah Davis….
The letter fell from her hand, fluttering to the ground.
"More important than an Earl?"
"Yes, Mrs. Patmore. More important than an Earl. Someone who was my mentor, my teacher…and my friend." And with that, Elsie let the tears take her, covering her face with her hands, much like the new Lord Grantham had, hours before.
oooOOOooo
The day felt as if it would never end, but here he was. He had spent every second since the wee hours of the morning upstairs, and now, at last, he was able to retire. He walked past the kitchen, thinking of nothing more than the chair and a glass of port in his study.
"Ah, Mr. Carson?" The short, red-haired cook was standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Yes, Mrs. Patmore?"
"I held this aside for you, sir. I figured you must have worked up an appetite today, looking after all of them above," she handed him a plate covered with a cloth napkin.
"That's quite thoughtful of you, Mrs. Patmore. I hadn't thought much about eating today, truth be told," he turned from her, now even more anxious to get to the haven of his office.
"Mrs. Carson, if I may? Mrs. Hughes had some rather bad news earlier. She bucked herself up and carried on, as you would expect her to, but she was rather shaken, sir."
"What sort of bad news?"
"Well, it's not my news to share now, is it? But you may want to look in on her, I expect."
"Indeed. Thank you, Mrs. Patmore, for everything."
He walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Elsie Hughes was already standing in the doorway of her sitting room. She appeared calm to him, but her face was so still. The animation he was used to seeing was completely absent.
"Mr. Carson, I'm afraid I've bad news," her voice was barely above a whisper. "Please come in." She took his plate, set it at her small side table. There were already two glasses of wine waiting. He sat across from her, silent. It bothered him more than he would have thought to see her this way.
"The thing is, Mr. Carson, it's shared bad news, for both you and I," Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. She seemed unable to look at him. "Mrs. Davis…has died."
He jumped to his feet, backed away a little, as if he could escape the terrible news. Lord Grantham's death had hit him hard this morning. His head had been spinning nonstop, and action seemed to be the only answer. But this. Mrs. Davis. He felt this death lower, right in the center of his chest. A heaviness. No wonder Mrs. Hughes was so still. He was rooted to the spot, drenched in sorrow.
"Please, please sit, it's a terrible shock, after a terribly shocking day," Mrs. Hughes' voice seemed to be swimming towards him, from very far away. He was suddenly aware of light pressure on his arm. Mrs. Hughes, gently pushing him down into his chair.
"I've spoken to Lady Cora about it and she's given the go ahead, though she cannot bring herself to impart additional bad news to Lord Robert or Lady Violet," her voice was gentle, calm. "We'll…we'll have to wait a short time for the late Lord Grantham's…remains…to arrive at Downton, before we can hold a service. They are expecting the service to be in four days, so this Saturday. Mrs. Davis' funeral is Friday morning; we can take one of the two early trains to York, and be back before dinnertime. I know there'll be extra work, with Lord Grantham's funeral the next day, but Mrs. Patmore and the senior staff are fully capable of –"
He at last registered what she was saying: that they, the housekeeper and butler of Downton, should spend the entire day prior to the Lord's funeral away from the house.
"That's not possible," he breathed. Everything still felt oh so heavy, but his head was clearing. "We cannot leave the house the day before the Earl is buried. It's entirely disrespectful. Our duty is here." The words comforted him. Thinking about Mrs. Davis, her kindness, the years of drinks and conversations shared, made everything tilt sideways. Best not to even contemplate it. "Besides, Miss Sybil's Christening is this Sunday. We are needed here now more than ever."
"It's been postponed to two weeks Sunday," Mrs. Hughes' face remained very still, but there was a set line to her mouth now. "And I find it entirely possible to take the trip to York to remember our dear friend, so you will have to make do without me on Friday, Mr. Carson."
She clearly didn't want him there. He rose, every part of him aching in some way: heart, mind and body.
"Mrs. Hughes, I only want to do what I feel is right."
"As do I, Mr. Carson, as do I."
oooOOOooo
Elsie stood at the graveside of Sarah Davis, with a small knot of friends and family, including Elinor Driscoll, the former head cook at Downton, who had moved to a smaller but better-suited household nearby.
"I would see her from time to time, you know," Mrs. Driscoll, wiping tears away, as the little crowd dispersed as a light rain began falling. "We'd meet for tea on my half day, once a month or so. She seemed very happy, very relaxed, living her with her niece. It was almost as if…she were a different person. She even asked me to call her 'Sarah' not that I could manage it after calling her formally for nearly fifteen years."
"She was a special person," Elise replied simply. "We only worked together for a short while, but I think about her almost every day when I am at Downton. It's…it's as if…I want to make sure I'm worthy of the trust she put in me." Her voice broke a little, and she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
"She was special. As are you, Mrs. Hughes. She saw summat in you, sure enough. You're one of the things I miss about Downton, truly," Mrs. Driscoll squeezed her arm. "I must be off. The family gave me until suppertime, so I have to hurry back."
Elsie stood at the burial site alone for a few moments. The rain was falling, but it was a gentle rain. A spring rain, full of hope, with the promise of tulips and a big Easter dinner in a few weeks. She thought of the twenty or so people that had been here to see Sarah Davis to rest. Not a grand group, not the numbers she deserved, but each person had shared memories of her with the others. It was a true celebration of a life well-lived.
She smiled a little through her tears, and bent carefully to place a small posy of primroses and violets on the fresh earth.
"She loved violets," a deep voice behind her startled her into a yelp. She was lucky she didn't tumble over. She look up, still crouching, and saw Mr. Carson standing there, his bowler hat shining with rain and his own, slightly larger bouquet. "And that wasn't just loyalty to the Countess." He proffered his hand and she accepted, aware of its warmth, even through both of their gloves.
"I was wrong, Mrs. Hughes," he gazed down at her, still lightly holding her hand. "I was wrong, and that's hard for me to say. I suppose…I didn't want to face saying good-bye." He let go, and his face crumpled a little. He knelt down and placed his flowers next to hers. He stayed there for a moment too long and she realized he was sobbing quietly.
She said nothing, but gently placed her hand on his back. They remained there, saying a silent good-bye to the woman who, somehow, knew they needed each other.