Chapter 17
House Hunters
A/N: Technical note: I am an ignorant American, though I am trying to be as thoughtful as possible with the various dialects of the characters in the show. There are two lines in Scottish towards the end of this chapter. I totally lifted them from Google translate. If they are terrible, blame Google translate, and forgive me! ;-) ~ CeeCee
Something must be done, he knows it, he's still uncertain exactly what. Since that day by the sea over half a year ago, he's been trying to sort himself out. For days, even weeks, at a time, he'll convince himself that there's nothing to be done, and, in any case, she'd not want to change things.
It's all too inappropriate.
Too messy.
Too…unpredictable.
He remembers as a lad, his mother sending him down to the butcher's to pick up meat for dinner. It would be passed to his small child's hands from the butcher's own beefy, hairy-knuckled ones in pristine white paper. He'd take it, along with the pleasant teasing of the man, and hurry on back to his mum, who'd be bustling around in her kitchen.
Most days, he'd drop the package, sneak out with a sweet roll or an apple, oblivious to her exasperated shouting behind him. But one day, she sat him down, made him take a cup of milk and buttered bread. He must have been about ten or eleven, and he'd grown nearly half a foot in what seemed like weeks. His mother took to feeding him nearly non-stop, exclaiming over his gangly frame.
So he sat there, satiating his nearly bottomless boy's appetite, as she unwrapped the butcher's paper to reveal what was inside. Liver, he thinks. But the boy he was nearly gagged to see that, once the white paper was slowly peeled away, the bloody mess that lay inside, raw and naked-looking. It was quite alright protected by pure white paper; even better, well-cooked, sliced with onions and potatoes; but that in-between state. Oh no.
He and Elsie Hughes, whatever they each felt inside, appropriate or not, had been wrapped in clean white paper all this time. He was sorely tempted by the fine meal he hoped they could make, together.
But how to get there?
He was relieved, and surprised to find that the person who gave him the answer was none other than Beryl Patmore.
oooOOOooo
Something must be done, she knows it. And that it's not up to her to determine what. Not in this world, in her lifetime.
What she does know is this: she loves him, oh, so dearly. Over the past year or so, she's allowed herself to really think about it, to really feel it. Over the years, she'd not let herself linger (nor did her life allow it) on the future. And now, her mind can't seem to stop wandering towards it.
She thought she knew the course of her life, laid out like a straight line before her, towards the inevitable.
She would work, happily and gratefully, until she could work no more.
She would send the bulk of her earnings to care for Becky, as long as her sister lived.
She would enjoy the companionship and friendship of those that meant the most to her – Mr. Carson, Anna, Mrs. Patmore, to name a few - within the framework provided by her position in life, as a woman in service.
But the world was changing, more quickly with every passing year. The king was on the wireless. She was changing too. Expecting…more. Something else. Dare she? And, why not?
Even the immovable Charles Carson was changing. She cannot recall the number of his dressing-downs she'd been on the receiving end of over the decades, but it was many, and it never bothered him before to dole them out. And now; the openness in his face, when he talked about the war memorial, having her on his side, for them to be in agreement. That he wanted them firmly on the same side.
Not-so-casually, nervously asking her to consider investing in a property with him. For business reasons, naturally. As an investment. For their future, financially speaking.
He was acting like a besotted lad, coming courting.
And she, like a foolish green girl, opening the door for him. Accepting the folders with house schematics and prices, like they were bouquets of wildflowers.
Knowing all along, she couldn't hold up her end of the bargain, but enjoying the idea of it all far too much to say a word. But hoping, wishing, that in the end, they'd both get what they were looking for.
oooOOOooo
"I think that's the one, then," he said, satisfied, as they left a lovely house with three bedrooms and a maid's room off the kitchen. It needed some work, but he could picture it. "Of course, we have to take all of the variables into consideration, and there's still the last on the list to view, but there was something about the house I liked very much, indeed."
"It was quite nice, I agree," she replied, somewhat subdued, he felt. A smile kept flitting on and off her face, like a butterfly.
"Are you quite alright, Mrs. Hughes? Perhaps we should stop and eat what Mrs. Patmore's packed for us, before looking at the next spot," he gestured to the hamper she was carrying. "We can take our lunch on the village green, a few blocks up."
"Yes, I'd like that," she answered, and suddenly her face cleared. "It's a lovely day, is it not, Mr. Carson?" And she grinned up at him in such a way that his heart dropped then jumped pleasantly in his chest.
Several lads on bicycles passed by on her on the lane, and she moved towards him, took his arm to make room for them. She kept her hand tucked into his elbow long after they rode out of view. He minded not in the least.
They arrived at the green and found a small table. As she began setting out the simple lunch the cook had packed for them, he mused that this first hurdle was almost overcome.
They would buy the property, together, and manage it, together, whilst they both still worked at Downton. And, in his retirement, which would likely come before hers…well, there was still a little time, then, before the next step, was there not? A chance to get…used…to their lives being linked together.
"A penny for your thoughts," she was grinning at him, holding a small glass of lemonade out. He took it, and they tucked into their sandwiches, people-watching as the unfamiliar folks in this village went about their day.
"There's something pleasant about sitting here, completely unmolested by every Tom, Dick and Harry that strolls by, don't you think, Mrs. Hughes?" If they were in Downton Village, there'd not be a chance they could enjoy a solo lunch like this in the green.
"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Carson. Are you trying to tell me you'd go for a life of anonymity, after all of these years in the limelight? Don't you think you'd miss the attention?" She smiled at him, her eyes dancing.
"I don't suppose, Mrs. Hughes, I'd mind a reduction in the amount of attention if the refinement of the source of it was carefully considered," he rejoined, raising his glass in a toast.
"Go on with you, then," her voice was tart, but her cheeks were flushed. Her bright eyes darted around the green, at the folks passing by, stopping, greeting each other, going about their business, and sighed.
"Do you ever wonder, Mr. Carson, about the lives of other folks? Just curious, like? Say, for example, look at that lad over there," she gestured discreetly to a man of about thirty, with sandy hair, who'd just gotten off the bus. He stood at the edge of the square, looking up the high street, a half-smile playing across his nervous-looking face. "What do you suppose he's doing?"
"Waiting for a woman," Carson answered, without hesitation.
"You seem so certain of yourself, then," she took a bite of her sandwich, glanced back over at the man in question.
"I am. He looks both nervous and happy, and keeps glancing up the street. Mark my words, Mrs. Hughes, every man has felt that way, and can recognize it in one of his own," he couldn't believe he'd been so bold, but she took it in stride.
"I guess time will tell, Mr. Carson. We must eat our lunch very slowly, I suppose, to see if you're right or not," she made a show of putting her sandwich down.
They did spend the next half hour or so quite contentedly, each picking out a passerby to muse over, and occasionally glancing over at the young blond man, who did appear to still be waiting on someone or something. Carson noticed every now and then the man snuck glances at the two of them, a small smile on his face.
They were just about finished repacking the hamper when Mrs. Hughes' hand on his wrist made his breath catch in his throat.
"You were right, Mr. Carson! Look there!" She nodded, and sure enough, a short, attractively rounded young lady, her dark curls cut in the chin-length style that was all the rage now, was rushing towards the patiently waiting man. As they gazed on them, she shouted out excitedly to him, waving a paper in her hand.
He took it from her, scanned it and whooped, grabbed the girl around the waist and swung her around, planting a kiss firmly on her mouth. It was all a bit much, he felt, in public in the middle of the day.
Then he glanced down at Elsie Hughes, and changed his mind. She was rapt, huge grin on her face.
"Good news, then," she said, turning towards him.
"Seems so. And good news is always worth the wait, wouldn't you say, Mrs. Hughes?"
oooOOOooo
She put the nearly empty picnic hamper back on one arm, paused for a moment, then after a brief moment – oh, well, why not? - tucked her free arm into the crook of his elbow again. They were standing at the corner of the green, and he'd been reviewing the directions to the next prospective "investment property". Now he glanced up and looked at her for a long moment, so long she began to feel warm in places she didn't even know she had. She searched for something to say, but found herself at a loss, for once in her life.
They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, and she suddenly realized the young couple they'd been so playfully spying on were walking past them. They were chatting excitedly to each other, and she could hear a familiar lilt in the girl's voice that tugged at her heart and reminded her of her childhood.
The couple caught her eye, and the young man tipped his hat at them.
"Good afternoon! Lovely day, is it not?"
"Good afternoon to you, as well. Indeed, a fine day," Mr. Carson replied.
Elsie smiled at the young woman. "Guid efternuin."
The girl's face lit up, and she laughed gleefully. "Guid efternuin, ma'am. Ye'r scots?"
"Aye, though I've not been back in many years," Elsie answered, smiling at the younger woman. It was difficult not to. She was a being bursting with happiness.
"Nae, me neither, I've got lots keepin' me in Yorkshire, these days," she smiled up at the sandy-haired man.
"As do I, my dear," she answered, aware of a sigh from Mr. Carson. "These last forty years, give or take."
"Let's tell them, shall we? I am about to burst, and we can't get word to me mam and dad until tomorrow, at least," the young woman squeezed her husband's arm.
"Strangers in the street? You're mad, but in the best possible way. Why not?" The sandy-haired man looked like he'd do just about anything for her.
"We're 'avin' a wee bairn! Just found out, all confirmed!" The girl squealed.
"Weel done 'n' a' the best!" Elsie replied, taking her hand, while Mr. Carson looked like he was about to keel over. She bit her cheek to keep from laughing. Talking about pregnancy with a pair of young strangers, not quite his idea of polite conversation…
"We've shocked your husband, I believe," the young man said. "Sorry, sir, we're just giddy, I think, with the news. We've forgotten our manners."
Mr. Carson gathered himself. She wasn't sure if he was still reeling from the conversation or from being mistaken for her husband. "Not at all. It's quite exciting news, good news, which is always meant to be shared."
"Aye, and he had to wait so long for me! The doctor's office was full to the brim when I arrived, he was coolin' his heels for far too long!"
"We saw him," Elsie smiled at her, but her heart was pounding in her chest. He'd not corrected the young man about their relationship. This man who always wanted thing to be exactly so. To be proper. To be appropriate. "He was a'waitin' for you, with baited breath, my dear."
"I noticed you two, as well," he responded. "I was trying to while away the time, humming every song I know, watching what everyone else was doing, to distract myself. You remind me of my parents, bless them, gone now these past few years, just enjoying each other's company and the day. We'll be on our way now, lots to talk about."
They said their good-byes, and Elsie's eyes followed them as they headed down the street together, chatting excitedly.
"A bright future to them, then, blessed young folk," she sighed, and held the crook of Mr. Carson's arm a bit tighter.
"A bright future doesn't have to be the sole domain of the young, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson cleared his throat, glanced down at her again. She got the mad urge to reach up and stroke his cheek. She shook her head.
"No, I suppose you're right about that, Mr. Carson. Where're we off to now, then?"