New Year's Eve, 1899
A new century, Charles Carson thought to himself. The idea terrified him. Time, and the world, seemed to be speeding up. Word from London and the broader world trickled back to Downton, via the papers and the Granthams, but it was easy to pretend time was standing still, if you really wanted to.
Until, that was, he saw Misses Mary, Edith and Sybil run into the great hall towards the towering, bedecked Christmas tree, as beautiful as it was a week ago, passing entering guests as they were announced. How was it that Miss Mary was already edging towards being a young lady, refined and stylish at eight years old? She stood among the Lord and Lady Grantham's guests as if she belonged there.
"Happy turn of the century, Mr. Carson," she stopped before him, and held out her hand. She smiled sweetly up at him, the pretty but sharp lines of her face softened.
"And to you, Miss Mary," he took one smooth, small white hand between two of his own, and bent to kiss it. He was rewarded with a tiny peck on the cheek, and a whisper: "No one knows as much as you do, Mr. Carson, not even Papa."
"Now, now, we know that simply isn't true. You're just practicing your flattery on me," he was pleased beyond reason, despite his dismissive words. He was rewarded with one arched eyebrow and a delicate wave of a hand and she moved to join her parents, greeting guests as she went with the poise of a girl twice her age.
"What's your secret with that little Miss?" Mrs. Hughes, at his elbow.
"There's no secret, Mrs. Hughes. It's easy to get along with such a genteel and lovely girl as Miss Mary," he caught her rolling her eyes, and frowned mightily.
"I wouldn't be sayin' that in front of Miss Edith. She might put forth a convincing argument in opposition to that theory."
"Mrs. Hughes, I really don't think that –"
"Never mind now, we shan't be arguing as a new century unfolds before us. And in Miss Mary's favor, she thinks well of you, so I suppose I can pardon her fancy airs," her eyes were sparkling with laughter and good-natured teasing.
"Very well, Mrs. Hughes, a truce between us, then," he responded in a mollified tone. He was still trying to decide which compliment meant more to him: Miss Mary's or Mrs. Hughes. He decides to enjoy them both equally. He was then taken off guard by a small, soft object running into his legs at full-tilt.
"Carson! Carson!" Miss Sybil, three years old, at his knee in a red velvet dress, her dark hair pulled away from her sweet baby's face. "Up, up, please! You have the best ups!"
Mrs. Hughes was looking down at the girl, grinning ear to ear, as were a few of the guests. There was something about Miss Sybil that warmed even the coldest heart.
"Well, Carson? I see you have quite the little taskmaster over there!" Lord Robert called out from across the hall. He cut quite a figure in his regimental dress uniform. He was headed to South Africa, to fight the Boers, soon after the New Year.
"Indeed, m'lord," he called back. "So, Miss Sybil, up you will go." And he reached down and swung the toddler high above his head, much to her delight. He sat her atop his shoulder, where she waved to the small crowd now gathered around them. He caught sight of Mrs. Hughes, looking up at the girl with sheer delight. Something in her face made him hand the child to her.
"Bonny wee lass," Mrs. Hughes bounced Miss Sybil on her arm. He thought he notices a flash of sadness on her face, but then it was gone, as if it had never been
"Mrs. Huuuuuuggggghheesss!" And she gave the lady in question a hearty pat on the cheek. The knot of party-goers roared with laughter. The Countess, all regal beauty and poise, made her way over.
"I do believe it's time for the girls to retire," she looked at her youngest and gave her a broad grin. "Come along, Sybil, my love."
"Mamaaaaa!"
He and Mrs. Hughes watched the girls' exit with Nanny, then glanced at each other.
"That's our cue," Mrs. Hughes said to him.
"Time to ring in the New Year, in style," he replied. Was any other way worthwhile?
oooOOOooo
The staff spent the next few hours pouring endless glasses of champagne, passing small, delicious bites of food, which were devoured as quickly as Mrs. Patmore and her team could assemble them, and generally creating magic for the party-goers above.
Mrs. Hughes kept an eye on the comings and goings from the open doorway of her office, thinking of Miss Sybil laughing in her arms. She realized many people, seeing a spinster in her thirties, in service, cradling a wee bairn might come to the conclusion that she was mourning the loss of a family of her own.
But Miss Sybil didn't tug at her would-have-been mother's heart. What Elise saw when she looked at Sybil was Becky, or a Becky that might have been. Becky, who was a late-in-life baby to Mam, over a decade younger than Elsie. Holding Sybil, Elsie was forcibly reminded of herself, as a skinny stick of a girl, holding Becky the same way. The same round cheeks and slightly curling dark hair. The same sunny smile and shrieks of delight at her older sister's face.
And that's where the similarities ended. Whereas Miss Sybil's eyes were bright and sharp, taking in all of the faces and sights at the party, Becky's would often fix on a spot in the mid-distance, one eye listing slightly inward. There was a name for what Becky had, something that was pure bad luck, if you believed in that sort of thing, and called after some smart doctor working up in Surrey who had figured it out. Not how to fix it, because it wasn't something you could fix. Just…what it was. Dr. Down, that's it. But, whatever you called it, Becky was Becky. Her sister. And as the old century switched places with the new, she would become Elsie's responsibility. Always.
oooOOOooo
"That's them, done for!" Iain, the third footman's, rowdy whoop as he thundered down the stairs roused everyone downstairs, from the kitchen maids finishing up the tidying to the ladies' maids patiently mending collars and polishing necklaces until the unofficial bell had sounded.
"And look what m'lord's sent down!" Iain, followed closely by the other footmen and three housemaids held half a dozen bottles aloft in his hands. Mrs. Hughes watched, bemused, debating on whether or not to hush him. However, the newish, younger Lord Grantham had begun a tradition of giving all but essential staff off in the half-day between eleven thirty, New Year's Eve, and eleven thirty, New Year's Morning (the poor souls who had to rise at dawn on New Year's Day ended theirs once everyone else began). There would be several sore heads, she reckoned, come suppertime tomorrow, but really, was that such a price to pay?
The servants' dining hall was filled to overflowing with revelers. Mr. Carson waded his way through, towards her, a grim expression on his face.
"In my day as a footman, that sort of ruckus would have been cause for a stern talking-to."
"Now, really, Mr. Carson, must we hold on to everything from back in 'your day'"? Look 'round you! It's almost the year of our Lord, 1900! That's something to be excited about!"
Two glasses of bubbling champagne were pushed into her hands by Mrs. Patmore, and she turned and thrust one into Mr. Carson's hand.
"Come now, Mr. Carson. We must face the new century bravely!"
"To be honest, Mrs. Hughes, the new century frightens me a little," she noticed his cheek flushed slightly. Or maybe he was just overheated. It was quiet warm, with all of them packed in tightly.
"Okay, then! Nearly there!" An unidentified voice rang out. "Everyone ready?"
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" And Elsie was patted and hugged and as everyone turned to each other, and whistled and called to those they couldn't reach in the crowd.
"HAPPY NEW CENTURY, MORE LIKE!" Another voice rang out, and some of the revelers began banging pots, laughing and happy.
She turned to Mr. Carson. "Welcome to the twentieth century, then." And before she thought to hard about it, she placed a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek.
"It's looking up already, Mrs. Hughes."
He surprised her, which was difficult when you'd known someone for over a decade. Before she could respond, Iain was calling out:
"What say you, Mrs. Hughes? Time to lead a round or two!"
"I suppose, then, if I must. But everyone must join in, now."
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to miiiiind, should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang zyne…."