28 December 1991 Downton Abbey, Downton. Yorkshire.
Elsie has the oddest sensation. The gooseflesh prickles to the surface on her arms as memories of her time at school come flooding back. It's as if she's in the headmaster's office waiting to be reprimanded for yet another of Mrs. McKay's imaginary infractions. Reflexively, Elsie rubs the knuckles of her left hand with her right palm as she remembers feeling the crack of the old school mistress's ruler sting across tender skin. After a rap or two across tender knuckles and with a ten-year old Elsie refusing to cry, Mrs. McKay would send her to the headmaster's office in hopes of breaking the young girl's resolve. But Mr. O'Neil, a kind and understanding man with four daughters of his own at home, gave Elsie the obligatory brief word, and then with a wink and a nod would send her back to class. Elsie and all of the other girls Mrs. McKay took out her wrath on were relieved when, thankfully, Mrs. McKay "retired" over Christmas that year.
Only now, Elsie isn't sitting in the headmaster's office. She's comfortably sitting on a antique sofa in the grand library of the Crawley family pile at Downton Abbey awaiting Violet, the Dowager Countess, a woman equally formidable as Mrs. McKay. Yet where the school teacher was tyrant, Elsie knows the Dowager to be a benevolent monarch no matter how much the elder stateswoman of the Crawley clan likes to pretend otherwise.
They don't live badly, Elsie thinks to herself, sweeping her palm across the fabric, the rich velvet smooth between her fingers. Gazing around, she takes in priceless antiques, pictures painted by artists whose works Elsie has only seen in museums, and shelves filled with volumes of leather bound books, many centuries of years old. Elsie owns shelves of books; only a few of them rare, picked up at auctions over the years when the price was right and she was intrigued. Though the volumes on her library shelves are respectable, they are are dingy by comparison.
Everything her family owns is.
By comparison.
She wonders where they've gotten it all, but more importantly how they've kept it when so many other noble families sold off much of their family homes and the bulk of the family booty. It seems the Crawleys are a charmed lot. Powerful and rich, with friends in high places and on social terms with the Queen herself. Friends with the Queen, Elsie snorts while she waits for the monarch of Downton Abbey to make her presence known.
"I see that Taylor showed you in," Violet Crawley nasally intones as she sweeps into the room, wrists fluttering in nervous abandon at her sides. Elsie makes to stand, for it is if a member of royalty has entered her very presence, but Violet waves her off and sits down opposite her.
"I trust your Christmas was pleasant?" It is both statement and question but also something more, evidenced in the way the corners of her eyes crinkle and in the way her mouth puckers slightly in expectation. Elsie pauses while she considers her response.
"It was delightful indeed. Thank you." Elsie reaches for the tea cup that sits on the table in front of her and brings it to her lips. She takes a sip and savors the smooth, bold blend as it washes over her palate before she continues. Setting the cup down on its matching saucer, she looks up to meet Violet's eye, "I'd like to thank you for the part you played in that," Elsie concedes as a smile breaks through.
"Well, I was concerned that you'd think that I was interfering. That I had perhaps overstepped. Cora often thinks so," Violet remarks through pursed, thin lips, a mother-in-law's disapproval bitingly evident. "But," she concludes with a smirk, "I am pleased to know that you approve. Charles was worried that he had misread the signs. That he had misunderstood the cues as men are so often wont to do."
"Ehm, yes. Men. They are a funny sort aren't they," Elsie agrees with a conspiratorial smirk. "They think one thing, when we mean something entirely different." Both women share a knowing glance before Elsie continues. "But Charles understood me completely. I freely admit that was bowled over when I opened my Christmas gift to find a wedding license inside."
"You've made Charles very happy."
"He told me that you helped him to secure the special license, your ladyship. I'm grateful. Truly. And I appreciate the offer to host our wedding here at the Abbey. My sister is looking forward to staying at a castle," Elsie smiles.
"Don't hesitate to let Mrs. Denker know of anything you need. She can be a bit crabby, but I've given her explicit instructions treat you like family." Violet assures Elsie.
"If Denker threats them like family, they may never return to visit," Addie Carson calls from the doorway, "And we certainly don't want that. Perhaps you should have told her to treat them like strangers." Violet simply raises her eyebrows, while Elsie looks to her mother-in-law-to-be with concern.
"I have Denker well under control. She runs this place like a well-oiled machine."
"She does as she pleases. I don't know why you keep her. You could hire a girl from the village for much less," Addie snipes as she takes her place beside Elsie on the sofa.
"Best not let her hear that. You may wake up dead in the morning," Violet sniggers. Elsie stifles the urge to giggle at the exchange between these two old friends who are clearly fond of one another. It's nice to see lasting friendship.
"Now then, Elsie, I think that we have everything that you've asked for," Addie begins. "I've checked with Mr. Pegg and the flowers are all in order, just as you've requested. White roses with a bit of heather. And we will have Mrs. Smith from the dress shop come up to do the last minute alterations on your dress. Have you heard when your mother and sister are due?"
The drive down from the farm in Argyll to Downtown Village has been a pleasant one. The winter is cold, but thankfully there's no ice nor snow to contend with and Catherine Hughes sings along happily to the tune that plays on the radio, her fingertips keeping time against the steering wheel and her chestnut brown bob brushing the top of her shoulders as it swings in rhythm to the music. While Charles and Elsie's New Year's Eve wedding has come as a surprise, Catherine cannot be happier that the two are finally headed down the aisle. The only damper on it all is that Michael isn't here to see their girl successful, happy, and about to marry the man she loves. Perhaps he knows, she thinks to herself. Perhaps he's smiling down on them.
Becky has been quiet for the last half hour, pen in hand, doodling on a page in her sketch book. Catherine chances a glance at the ink etching that her daughter so diligently works on and smiles. Becky has a real talent, a true facility for capturing the reality of everything around her; Catherine is even more impressed with the drawings that are products of the things that Becky recalls from memory. The precision of the measurements, the angles, the slopes, even down to the curve and shading of a singular blade of grass. Her daughter is an artist; a perfectionist.
"Perhaps we should frame it for them, hmmm Becks, as a wedding present?"
"If you think so," Becky answers flatly without looking up. "Do you think Charlie will like it?"
"Of course he will," Catherine assures her. "He said that he liked the one of the cricketer that you gave him for his birthday. Remember he sent us a picture showing it hanging in his office at work so that everyone could see it? So why wouldn't he like this one?"
"I don't know. Elsie said that he likes cricket better than anything, including her, and this is a picture of the farm." Her mother smiles fondly at Becky's innocence. Becky takes everything that is said to her at face value, many of the nuances of language and tone lost on her; sometimes it is frustrating, yet other times it is enduring as it is now.
"Won't be long now," Catherine mentions as they pass a sign reading Downton Village 15km.
"Are we really going to stay at a castle, Mum?" Becky asks as she puts the finishing touches on her drawing, scrawling her signature in the corner of the page. "Charlie said that Downton Abbey is a castle."
"It is indeed a castle. Becks, you will be ok, won't you? Staying in such a big house? Because it will be quite different from the farm." Catherine knows that Becky shies away from change and that it is important to introduce Becky to new situations carefully; but the surprise scheduling of the wedding has left little time to ease Becky into a this.
A/N: I won't even make excuses for the lack of updates, but if you are still following along, Thank You. A review would be lovely if you are inclined