The new year had begun fairly well. The load on the servants was currently lighter, Elsie's nephew had arrived just after Christmas, it was very like her obstinate sister to insist on keeping Harry until after the holiday and depriving them of much needed staff. This said, once the boy had got there, he was working better than she had expected: the last time she had seen him he had been an ill-tempered and quite lazy child; now he was more industrious, if a little pompous. This, and the fact that it was at last her day off, put her in excellent spirits.
She sat in her sitting room desk with a book open, enjoying the quiet; it being morning most of the other staff were in various places around the house. Although Mr Bates had just dropped in to pass on her post, no one had taken on this task full time since William left, she was putting off opening it for as long as she could: she could recognise her sister's scrawling hand a mile away and did not particularly want to have to send- a second- thorough reassurance that Harry was not being underfed any sooner that was absolutely necessary. It was not long, however, until she felt that she could not avoid it: it was after all her day off and another opportunity to correspond might not present itself for some time. Begrudgingly she put down her novel and picked up the offending envelope.
A knock at the door mercifully prevented her from opening it. She turned and saw Charles' head peering round the door at her, looking definitely harassed.
"There's been some bad news," he told her, sounding breathless "You'd better come quickly."
The telegram, it seemed, had arrived later than her letter, it being addressed to Crawley House while Mrs Crawley remained at the Abbey. Young Mr Crawley had been killed when a shell hit the trench in which he was stationed. Once Elsie and Charles reached the entrance hall the house was in turmoil: news good or bad had its way of diffusing through the very walls of the place. They arrived just in time to see the Dowager Countess being escorted out of the motor by Mr Branson, both of them hurrying. Charles sprang forward and took her coat and hat. Elsie did not have to be told where she wanted to go and immediately assumed the head of the party.
Mrs Crawley's room seemed to be the hub of the turmoil that the house had been cast into. Lady Sybil and Lady Edith sat at the window sill, both clad in black and both looking as if they wished they were somewhere else. Elsie knew that they both felt deeply for the loss of their cousin but also understood how awkward they must feel- not being able to empathise with a mother who had lost her child. Of course her Ladyship was there too, sitting in the chair next to Mrs Crawley, one arm around her. Mrs Crawley herself looked better than Elsie had expected; although her face showed the remainder of tears her head was held high as opposed to resting on her Ladyship's shoulder. Much to her surprise, Elsie felt a swell of pride within her for this woman and the fortitude she was showing: it had taken the mere announcement of war to send her, Elsie, running to Charles for comfort. But, she corrected herself, that was different, that was... what was it? Her train of thought was interrupted by her Ladyship rising to her feet.
"Ah, Mrs Hughes,thank you. Would it be convenient for you to fetch us some tea?"
Elsie nodded.
"Certainly your Ladyship," she replied, "I'll j...-"
But she was stopped by the sight she could see over her Ladyship's shoulder. She really should have better control over herself, but she felt her mouth fall open a little. The Dowager Countess was standing over Mrs Crawley's chair, but not with her usual imperious stance, there was something definitely softened in her aura. Her Ladyship and certainly Mrs Crawley seemed rather as confused as Elsie was by the apparent apparition in front of them. Then the Dowager Countess spoke, her voice quieter than it normally was.
"Mrs Crawley," she began, "Mrs Crawley, I do, truly sympathise with your...with your loss." She stopped a second and seemed to swallow deeply. Elsie sensed a great difficulty about her. "It would kill me if anything... anything ever happened to Robert."
And suddenly, though none of the women nor Mr Branson- who had accompanied them, saying that he should like to ensure that all ladies present were properly looked after and Elsie not having the heart to turn him away- would ever understand how, the two sworn enemies had there arms around each other and seemed to be crying. The shock in her Ladyship's face was evident. The tension that she had not noticed up until then was suddenly broken. Lady Sybil let out an shakily incredulous laugh from the corner and amazingly, for some odd reason the rest of the room seemed to follow her. The natural light from the large windows was suddenly a little brighter. When the Dowager Countess finally released Mrs Crawley, Elsie saw that they were both smiling in spite of having tears all over their faces.
"Beg your pardon, m'lady."
Lady Mary turned from her bedroom window.
"Oh, it's you Carson. I didn't hear you come in."
Charles bowed his head a little.
"Is there anything I can get for you, m'lady?"
He hoped he had chosen his words tactfully enough, there was no point in asking if she "needed" anything; the response was likely to be too painful. The lady smiled briefly through a closed mouth, it was clear that she had noticed his particular turn of phrase.
"No, thank you, Carson."
"Are you sure, m'lady? Your father sent me because he is concerned; he said that you haven't eaten anything today."
Lady Mary had turned back to the window. She looked deathly pale.
"Nice of him to worry about me so much," she commented. There was a hint of dryness in her tone.
"We all are m'lady," he told her, "The whole household feels for you in your loss. If I may say so, particularly for you m'lady."
She turned quite sharply to look at him, almost as if angry for a moment but seemed to think better of it. Her head bowed a little though it remained towards his direction.
"You think I've made an awful mistake, don't you Mr Carson?"
Charles said nothing.
"It's fine if you do, because I have."
It distressed him to see her like this.
"I dare say we all make mistakes, m'lady."
She seemed not to hear him.
"I loved him you know, Carson."
Yes, he did know.
"And if I'd only said yes, he wouldn't have gone, not as soon anyway. He'd still be alive."
There was no use trying to convince her that she could not have foreseen or really prevented this turn of events. What was done was done, they were at war and when you are at war people die, no one gets to choose who survives.
"Try not to think on it, m'lady."
A sob escaped her.
"How can I not, Carson? How will I ever face his mother?"
For once in his professional lie he could not conceive of a suitable response to give to one of hie master's family. But it seemed that Lady Mary did not really want one; she had turned to face him now. There was nothing he could think of other than holding her, just as he had done the last time she had the last time she thought she had lost Mr Crawley. The only difference was that this time she had.
The next time he saw her was in the same room as he had that morning. He had been called upon to serve nightcaps to the family: custom had been temporarily dispensed with and his Lordship had given the girls permission to have a small drink with him, deeming that they probably needed it. Mrs Crawley remained in her room and, as Charles understood it, the Dowager Countess has elected to remain with her. Descending the stairs he saw Mr Branson talking to Mr Bates at the servants' dining table- he strongly suspected that the young man had been hovering somewhere in the house all day, but was not willing to pursue inquires tonight: he wanted to see Elsie.
He found her much as he had that morning, it was probably the same novel that she clutched in her hand. She raised her head to see him enter. One look at his face told her all that she need to know as he closed the door behind himself. She dropped the book onto the desk and crossed to the sofa. He stayed at the door for another moment before following her lead. They did not need to speak. He sat down gently, hands resting on his knees, staring ahead; trying to maintain an expression of equanimity but his resolve was slipping away. He was angry that something like this should ever have to happen to as good a family as Lord Grantham's. His head began to ache and his eyes watered.
"Ssh."
Elsie knelt beside him just as a tear finally trickled down his cheek. Her arm reached across his chest and clutched his shoulder. The other stretched around his back to meet its sister. His other shoulder pressed against her chest and she rested her nose by his ear, closing her eyes. The intimacy was highly improper. Oh, what did it matter?- the world was improper. They stayed like that until they slumped against the back of the sofa in an exhausted sleep.
I'm sorry I killed Matthew off, please don't hate me for it! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, please continue to do so, I'd like to know if this chapter was in character enough.