Winter, 1907
Elsie hurried down to the drawing room. She'd been summoned by her ladyship during tea time, which was somewhat unusual. She was therefore expecting a somewhat unusual request. She smoothed her skirts and her hair and entered the room. Glanced over at Mr. Carson, presiding in the corner. He raised his eyebrow at her but gave nothing else away.
"Good afternoon, your ladyship," she greeted the Countess, who was sitting with Misses Mary and Edith. Miss Sybil would still be with the governess, at lessons.
The two present Crawley sisters could not cut more different figures, in temperament and appearance. At sixteen, Miss Mary was truly beautiful – graceful and lithe, full of style. She was something to behold, if you failed to take in the aloofness bordering on iciness, or the confidence that bled into snobbery, even cruelty, if left unchecked. At the moment she was slightly turned away from her mother, looking rather bored. Miss Edith, on the other hand, was wearing her teen years slightly less comfortably. She favored the Crawleys, rather than the Countess, with her strawberry blond hair and harsher features.
Elsie harkened back to Lady Rosamund when she herself had first arrived at Downton. Thought she had been slightly older than Miss Edith was now, Lady Rosamund, too, had taken time to grown into herself, and was now quiet a handsome woman. And right now, Miss Edith had a hopeful smile on her face, and color in her cheeks, in contrast to her sister's indifference.
"Mrs. Hughes! Wonderful, thank you for coming up at such an unexpected time," Lady Cora smiled up at her, still radiating the loveliness and steadiness she had when she first arrived at Downton as a young bride, but with far more gravitas. Elsie admired her. She knew that Lord Grantham had married the American heiress for two reasons: money and beauty. But Lady Cora had more to her than those obvious assets. It was quite something to watch, over the years, how these two built a real life together. She saw the young Earl go from admiring his wife's beauty, but not being particularly attached to her, to respecting, caring, and finally falling deeply in love with her, and she him. But Elsie knew Lady Cora had loved Lord Robert long before he did her. That was sometimes the way of things. Someone often needed to catch up, in her observations.
"I was hoping you and I could figure out a solution to set Sir James and Mr. Patrick up for a long-term visit this winter at Downton. I know they usually leave soon after the holidays, but, given that they are such close family, and the young people so enjoy each other's company –" at this, there was a monumental eye-roll and sigh from Miss Mary's direction, which earned her a burning stare from her mother "-we felt that we should all really get to know each other better. They'll travel with us to London for the Season in April, so I am imagining something to make them comfortable for several months."
"Yes, of course, m'lady, I don't see that being too much of a problem aside from determining the basic logistics and –"
Miss Mary's withering tones cut through the conversation. "Mama, I don't see why they can't simply stay at Crawley House. They'd be quite comfortable there and could join us for meals at their own discretion -"
Lady Cora stood, placing herself between Mrs. Hughes and her daughter. "What Miss Mary is saying, Mrs. Hughes, is that we want to ensure that the gentlemen have enough room to retire and feel comfortable, to stretch their legs, so to speak. There is, of course, no question of them staying anywhere but Downton." The last sentence was frosty and everyone in the room knew it was directed at Miss Mary.
"I think it's delightful that Cousins James and Patrick are staying. I am interested in getting to know both of them better, I feel as if it's been too long since Patrick was last here, when we children, really" Miss Edith interjected, and Elsie saw her cheeks go pinker.
"You and I have very different ideas of 'delightful,'" Mary shot back at her sister.
"I believe we do," Edith replied tensely.
Elsie caught the Countess' eye. "Your ladyship, I will take all of this into account and return to you with everything determined at a time that's most convenient for you. I know we can make the gentleman as happy and comfortable as if they were in their own home." She realized her mistake the moment it was out of her mouth.
"Oh, honestly!" Mary exclaimed, got up, and exited the room. Everyone else froze for a moment. Mrs. Hughes heard Mr. Carson sigh behind her.
"Edith," the Countess' face was still and calm, a trace of a smile lingering. She was still looking at Mrs. Hughes. "Please go fetch your sister and tell her to return at once."
"If her ladyship doesn't object, I would be happy to see to Miss Mary's return to the drawing room," Carson rumbled from his post.
"Very well, Carson. Thank you. You may have more luck that her sister or I have in convincing her of anything, including doing the right thing," a brief flash of annoyance crossed the Countess' face, then was gone, as Carson went in search of her eldest daughter.
"I am going to find Cousins James and Patrick, tell them we've it all planned out for them," Edith said, and the Countess let her go. Once they were alone, Elsie took a deep breath.
"Your ladyship, I apologize for speaking out of turn. Please understand I meant nothing by it, and I would be very sorry indeed if I offended you, or Miss Mary, in any way."
"Nor have you, Mrs. Hughes. And you said nothing that could be construed as anything but considerate to our dear family members and guests," she took a deep breath, walked towards the tea table and poured herself a fresh cup. Without facing Mrs. Hughes, she continued. "As a woman with two daughters about to be presented and the last not too far behind, I've faced the truth for some time now. Mary, well, she will just have to catch up. And there's nothing more to be said about it."
She turned back to Mrs. Hughes, and her still, lovely face showed no signs of remorse, regret or embarrassment that she had failed to produce a Grantham heir. "Now, I expect you'll be able to hash out the details and have a plan for me by tomorrow morning? We can meet after breakfast."
"Indeed, your ladyship. It will be handled completely."
oooOOOooo
Carson left the drawing room and headed for the front door. Some young ladies in a state of upset would seek refuge in their quarters; Mary Crawley was not some young ladies. He saw her in the front drive, maybe fifty feet in front of him. She was heading towards the place she best found solace: the stables.
"Don't bother, Edith, I know Mama sent you, but you can sort out a polite way to tell her to stuff it," Mary called over her shoulder, responding to Carson's footsteps crunching behind her, as his longer legs made up the distance between them.
"Well, m'lady, I don't believe it would be appropriate for me to address the Countess in that manner," Carson responded, and Mary gasped, spun around. "I, nor anyone else." His voice was kind but firm. He knew Elsie Hughes thought he was unreasonably blind to Mary's foibles, and he certainly admired her. But disrespect for Lady Grantham, even second-hand and by the daughter of the house, was wholly unacceptable.
"Carson!" Mary finally spluttered. "I wasn't expecting you." She recovered quickly, as she always did. "Really, Mama was wise, sending you rather than Edith. At least you have some sense."
He raised one eyebrow at her, silently chiding her for mocking her sister. It wasn't quite the same as taking a (rather vulgar) swipe at her ladyship, but still out of line. She stood smoothing her hair back, feigning indifference to his scolding.
"I'm off to the stables, then," she turned and began walking. "If you'd be so kind to let them know I'll be back to dress for dinner."
"Miss Mary." He kept his voice calm, gentle. "Please."
She stopped, and suddenly her shoulders slumped. She turned back to him, and everything that had been hard in her face was soft. She wasn't crying, nor did he expect she would, but she seemed very exposed suddenly.
"You know what they want, Carson. They want me to marry Patrick. They want me to do what Mama couldn't – make an heir."
"And would that be so terrible?"
"Yes, it would. This is not about Patrick, he's a fine enough fellow. Though not someone you'd be inclined to fall in love with, unless you were Edith, of course. Fine enough, and dull enough. It's more than that, in any case," she looked up away, then back at him. She looked afraid. "They want to trap me, Carson. This life's a trap. A lady's life, it's a trap, laid with beautiful dresses and fine jewelry, but in the end it's boredom that will kill you."
"You don't really believe that, Miss Mary."
"I do. I do," she gathered herself. "But they don't know everything. I have plans, Carson, and they likely won't include Cousin Patrick. Though I suppose I could go along with it for now. What they don't know won't hurt them." She was utterly composed again, as if the scared creature worried about being trapped was simply a figment of his imagination.
"Well, if you'd be so kind to escort me back to the house. I suppose I will have to start my round of apologies. And do pass one on to Mrs. Hughes for me, I know she meant no harm in what she said."
"Indeed she did not, m'lady."
"You know, Carson, you really aren't supposed to call me that until I've been presented in the spring," she offered him a small smile.
"I suppose not, technically, but you seem to have discovered earlier than most what it takes to be a lady…m'lady."
"My, my, Carson, you're nearly as fine a flatter as I am."
"Not nearly so, m'lady. Not nearly so."
oooOOOooo
Elsie Hughes was bemused. Mr. Carson was relaying Miss Mary's apology to her, which she begrudgingly admitted was good of her. Despite her general dislike of the girl, she was willing to appreciate she'd been upset and she, Elsie, hadn't helped with her less than tactful phrasing.
"I guess it means that they've given up, lord and ladyship, of having a boy," she sipped her wine thoughtfully.
"That's really none of our business, Mrs. Hughes."
"Oh, pssht, don't you play none of that nonsense with me behind closed doors. You forget to whom you're talking, Mr. Carson."
"Very well, Mrs. Hughes," his eyebrow went up, but he was smiling a little. "It does seem that they are accepting that Sir James, and later Mr. Patrick, will be the heir to all."
"And they want Miss Mary to seal the deal before there can be any other comers to the prize."
"You are in rare form tonight, Mrs. Hughes."
"Not so rare these days, Mr. Carson. I keep finding more pieces of my mind to speak, that's what it is." Recently, she began delighting in teasing him. Something happened, in the past year or so, where certain things, that had once felt weighted between them, had simply become second nature for her. And for all his faux indignation, she was well aware he valued her cheek.
"Keep it up, and I'll cut you off," he moved the bottle out of her reach. She laughed. Ah, yes, how easy this is.
"I know you won't believe me, Mr. Carson, but I don't despise Miss Mary. Not at all. On the contrary, there's much to admire about her, excepting how she acts when she's cornered: like a cat in a trap, all claws and barbs."
He started when she echoed the word that Mary had used earlier.
"Trapped," he said out loud. "She said that earlier today…she feels trapped. How did you know, Mrs. Hughes?"
"Because I'm a woman, you silly fool. All women are trapped, to a degree."
"Mmm, I am not sure I like where this conversation's going."
"Well, no of course you don't. As much as you adore young m'lady upstairs, I'll always understand a little bit more about her, because we are both women."
"Do you feel trapped, Mrs. Hughes?" He seemed flabbergasted.
She grew serious thinking of Becky and how, as long as her sister lived, she would have to work. She had never told him about Becky, and now, it seemed almost too late.
"A bit. We all have obligations, Mr. Carson, man or woman. But, I am freer than Miss Mary is, in many ways. I chose this life, a life of service. I could have…I could have made other choices. The rise and fall of an English dynasty doesn't rest on my head. My life is…flexible…in a way that hers is not. For example, no one would ever be able to convince or cajole me into marry a man I didn't love, for the greater good, as it were." She grinned at him.
"I suppose any man marrying you, Mrs. Hughes, would be the recipient of the greater good," he grinned a little, and she laughed.
"Flatterer," she waved her hand. It all felt so safe, because what could happen? They were still in certain traps of their own, whether they admitted it or not, and they may as well enjoy themselves.
"Top her off, Mr. Carson."
"Yes, why not, Mrs. Hughes?"