A/N: More Charles. Please read and review, the reviews make me squeal when they show up in my inbox! I have a harder time getting into the lovely butler's head…let me know what you all think.
My undying thanks to silhouettedswallow yet again for BETA services.
As always, I recommend you listen to the song before reading each chapter…they set the stage. Go to Spotify, "ChelsieSouloftheAbbey" and find the playlist for this story.
She's got a way about her,
I don't know what it is
But I know that I can't live without her...
-Billy Joel, "She's Got a Way"
The day had been busier than Charles had hoped, but that was nothing new this week. He had been hoping to make some progress of a personal nature today, to finally have a chance to sit and talk about the cottage, but they had been unable to meet to share a glass of sherry or wine for days. It had been a week where everything felt out of sync, and Charles couldn't tell if that was reality or just his own feelings creeping in. Staff members had been ill, tempers were short, and deliveries were late. An entire case of brandy was missing from the wine order, which meant a special trip to Ripon had been necessary and Charles had been the only one who could go. He was already down a footman due to the blasted flu, and after the wine situation before the war, sending Mr. Barrow had not been a viable option. To make matters worse, both Anna and Madge had been ill, which meant Miss Baxter was picking up all the ladies' maid duties, and Mrs. Hughes seemed to be everywhere picking up the slack. Staff tea was catch as catch can, everyone was exhausted, and it was all Charles could do to drag himself to bed at the end of each discombobulated day.
His dreams, however, continued to be a wonderful escape. He dreamed nightly of warm beaches, sunny days, and even … retirement. In his dreams the latter was not an independent venture. When he woke, however, the old insecurities and doubts came creeping back, and they got worse as each day passed. Who was he to assume anything? Who knew if she'd even like the idea of a home away from Downton, let alone a home with him? As the days went on, Charles felt less decided on his path and more apprehensive of the Scottish fury that could very well be unleashed in his general direction once he embarked upon his chosen path. I've done nothing out of pity, not at all, but will she understand? Pity is the LAST thing I feel. It's something … more.
Charles was finding that he couldn't keep control of his feelings in the way to which he was accustomed, and it unnerved him. He found that allowing the man to erupt out of the butler's façade had been like letting something enormous out of a tightly-packed box: there was no way to get it to fit back in the way it had once been. Every time he saw her, he was affected in new ways. Her presence steadied him at times and made him crazy with overwhelming feelings at others: if he was upset, a passing smile from her would calm him; if he felt finally in control, she would do something to distract him. A shared, quick look over breakfast or an accidental brush of the elbow at dinner would almost do him in completely; at times, he could barely concentrate on simple conversations. The way she walked, spoke, smiled, fretted, bit her lip, or tucked a loose strand of hair back into place when she thought no one was watching … it was like every action was new to him, yet familiar at the same time. He worried because she looked exhausted, but as he was feeling similarly fatigued he'd not even been able to have any type of normal conversation with her in days. Maddening.
Charles made his way through the halls in a distracted daze, knowing he was short with the staff when they caught him unawares, but unable to help himself. Twice he found himself humming. He could not get the familiar melody from his dreams out of his head no matter what he did, and it only added to his discomfort and apprehension. Once, he even feared he'd been caught out, but then decided it was his imagination. Thank goodness … THAT would be something to explain! Charles Carson does NOT hum.
The saving grace was that Lord and Lady Grantham were leaving the next day for an impromptu visit with Lady Rosamund. A flurry of activity and reorganization of schedules had finally led to a somewhat calm afternoon and evening. Charles knew the household would be quieter beginning tomorrow. With Lady Edith already planning to spend most of the week in London at the office, only Lady Mary and Mr. Branson (and the children, of course) would be home. And Charles knew of at least two meetings Lady Mary had scheduled away from the house. He hoped to use the quiet time to take a half-day (or, dare he hope, a full day) to get down to the cottage for a proper inspection. And to have a certain meeting that has been put off for far too long now. He looked for Mrs. Hughes as he headed down to the butler's pantry, but she was nowhere to be found. Probably checking on Lady Edith once again, just to be sure she had everything ready. That housekeeper is a work horse if ever there was one!
Charles entered his pantry lost in thought, and sat in his comfortable chair. It was old, fitted to his form like a glove. Despite its battered appearance, it was one of his most treasured possessions. Usually, being wrapped in the familiar leather calmed him, centered him, reminded him of his responsibilities and his joy in carrying them out, enabling him to focus on whatever task was set before him… but not tonight. Taking out his ledger, he intended to balance the entries for the liquor delivery that he'd finally managed to sort, but in his haste to open the book Charles knocked the corner against his ink well, tipping it over. Cursing quietly (or as quietly as his deep voice allowed), Charles began to clean up the spill. He was so frustrated at his uncharacteristic clumsiness, and upset at the waste of his favorite ink, that he did not notice Mr. Bates approach the doorway. At the sound of a knock, Charles looked up quickly.
"Mr. Bates! May I help you with something?" the butler asked, blushing at being caught in a puddle of inky mess.
"Actually, Mr. Carson, I was going to ask you the same thing. Please, let me help you with that," Mr. Bates replied as he entered the room.
Slightly embarrassed, Charles mumbled a "Thank you, I'd be very grateful." Then, a moment later, he continued. "I'm not sure I feel quite myself this evening, I fear it may be a sign that I need a bit of rest … and I'll deny ever having said that outside these walls, Mr. Bates," Charles said, looking the other man in the eyes.
"Point taken," replied the valet, smiling softly.
Mr. Bates finished wiping up the excess ink as the butler wiped down the well, replacing both it and the ledger to their proper places. Clearly, Charles realized, he was in no fit state to accomplish anything this evening.
Upon finishing these final tasks, Mr. Bates spoke. "Mr. Carson … if I may enquire … are you feeling quite well this week? You seem as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Charles smiled a half-smile and replied, "Not quite, Mr. Bates, but enough of it."
The valet started at the memory of an identical conversation he'd had years back, when he was most definitely not feeling well and was in desperate need of a confidant. Mr. Bates moved to the door and, in an uncharacteristic move, shut and locked it.
He returned to Charles's desk and took a seat. Realizing that he had not expressly been invited to stay, he said, "I do not mean to be presumptuous, and I realize I am not the resident secret-keeper in this house, but it may be helpful if you allow me to share some of your burden. Is there any way I can help?"
As he uttered the words "secret-keeper," Mr. Bates saw a flush creep slowly up a very flustered butler's face. Oh, my goodness … It appears Anna was right all along. His wife had been hinting – hoping – for years that something might be afoot between the solemn butler and her beloved housekeeper, but tonight was the first time that the typically perceptive valet had seriously considered the possibility. It was widely known that Mrs. Hughes held the confidence of the entire staff, and goodness knows both he and Anna had benefited from her sage advice and trustworthiness in the past, but until this moment it had not occurred to him that the source of Mr. Carson's unease might have nothing to do with the functioning of the house itself, but rather be of a more personal nature. He was caught out, now unsure of where this conversation would be headed.
Charles saw a flicker of realization in Mr. Bates's face, and wondered if he were actually as hard to read as he'd once thought. He also knew that he had an opportunity not often presented to him: the chance to develop a closer relationship, even a friendship of sorts, with a male staff member. John Bates was perceptive, calm, and calculated in his actions. He did not gossip, and he had the trust of Lord Grantham. The position of butler could be so isolating at times. Charles realized that, after his failed friendship with Grigg and his own rising to the superior position he held at the Abbey, he had not truly had another man in whom he could confide (except, occasionally, for His Lordship) in decades. It never bothered him before, for the simple reason that he'd had no previous dilemmas that he couldn't handle on his own. Charles made a split-second decision. Yes, I could see John Bates as a friend one day. Another sign you're going mad, old man … all these fast decisions. But he knew it was true.
"I'm touched by your thoughtfulness, Mr. Bates, and cannot say how much I appreciate it. I do respect your ability to keep a confidence, and I know that others do as well," he started.
Mr. Bates was flattered by his trust, but said nothing. The million thoughts running through the butler's mind were visible in his eyes to anyone who cared to look.
Charles continued, haltingly. "Have you ever noticed that, when a decision – a crossroads, if you will – is weighing heavily upon one's mind, there is a fear that comes with each of the choices, but that is nothing compared to the fear of failure once the chosen plan is set into motion?" He paused, weighing his thoughts and deciding how much to reveal. "I feel myself in … well, a sort of 'in-between,' I suppose … I have committed to move ahead with something, but I am unsure whether I've made a wise decision." He paused and said with a smirk, "It is a rather unusual place to find myself."
Mr. Bates pondered the great man before him. Being a valet was a lonely position to hold within a house. The valet did not rank equally with butler, nor with even the under-butler, yet a Lord's valet had his express trust in a way that no other staff member had, save perhaps the butler himself. Both valet and butler were professions that could involve a great deal of secret-keeping, or not, depending on the Lord whom one served, but being valet was a job of such an intimate nature that no other staff member shared or understood its challenges. Friendships were hard to come by in service, but perhaps even more so for a valet or a butler as neither had an equal in the household. For all the gratitude he had for Anna – who had seen his true nature, and blessed him by becoming his wife – Mr. Bates realized he had no men with whom to share his own personal thoughts. He knew he could trust His Lordship with his life because he'd actually done that years ago, but there were some days when he was fearful of crossing the professional boundary with his employer.
Mr. Bates was cautious about giving advice to anyone in a general sense, and he would have preferred more information now, because he knew that once Mr. Carson made any decision he would see it through to its end. With the butler's words, however, Mr. Bates recognized a tentative shift in their relationship. He proceeded with confidence.
"I do know the feeling, Mr. Carson, and I do not envy you in the slightest." He paused, and then continued with some trepidation. "May I speak freely?"
"Please do," Charles replied with a nod.
"Thank you. I'm guessing that this … decision of which you speak … weighs heavily upon your mind, your heart, because you fear the effect it will have on … someone else?" Mr. Bates said slowly.
Charles looked at him sharply, but said nothing. He questioned whether he'd been right to confide in Mr. Bates at all, but remembered the trust that he, Lord Grantham, Mrs. Hughes and Anna had placed in him in the past. Charles knew that, should he desire one, Mr. Bates would indeed show himself to be a true friend and, quite possibly, an ally. It seemed this conversation was to be a watershed moment for a variety of reasons.
Mr. Bates continued, "In my experience, these concerns – though valid – are often made worse by the simple fact that they grow and fester when dwelled on endlessly." He waited for what seemed like ages before speaking further, lowering his voice when he did so. "Speak to her, Mr. Carson. She probably already knows there is something amiss. Can't she already read your moods, decipher your habits, your likes, your dislikes? Can't she anticipate your feelings, and even ease your burdens, calm your fears? Have faith, Mr. Carson. You are a man who knows yourself, and who knows how to tread cautiously when needed."
Charles sputtered for a moment, coughing to collect himself and looking nervously at the door in case someone happened to hear. Why not just shout it from the rooftops?! He was not at all calmed by the fact that everything Mr. Bates had just spoken aloud had been running through his head for ages. Yes, just looking at her could sometimes soothe him, just as a look from those deep, blue eyes could send him careening into an abyss. But there was something about her that was steadfast and true, and he knew then – really, how could you have doubted? – that regardless of which way this entire situation with the cottage played out, his feelings would be cared for. She may sputter, spew words of accusation, or be utterly silent but, in the end, they would talk things through. She would be careful with his feelings … she always was. And he would be steadied regardless of the outcome because he would no longer be shouldering his burden alone.
However, having himself laid out in front of the valet who sat before him unnerved Charles. "Mr. Bates, how could you possibly presume to know all of that?" he uttered.
Mr. Bates just smiled and said softly, "Because it's the same for me … and Anna."
With that, the valet rose from his chair, unlocked the door, and exited the room, leaving Mr. Carson to his thoughts.