Chapter 11: The Little White Bird
The bell over the door at the The Blackbird Tavern rang dully as Carson entered the dark and empty pub.
"Look what the reindeer dragged in! Charlie bloody Carson! What are you doing in town? Have they moved the Season?"
"No, Jack, the Season is as it ever was. I'm in town with the family, welcoming His Lordship back from the African War." Carson hung his hat and coat by the door and approached the bar, putting a parcel on the bar before him. "He arrived on Monday."
"Why didn't you stop buy before?"
"I haven't been in the neighborhood before now. I'm avoiding the servant's lunchtime Christmas celebration by volunteering to run an errand to Grantham House. I thought I'd drop by and wish you merry. I needed to see some friendly faces." He looked around the empty bar and smiled sadly. "I guess I'll settle for you."
"Your tough luck, Chuck." The barman laughed. "You're not at Granthan House?"
"No, we're with His Lordship's sister, Lady Rosamund, at Painswick Place."
"Where's Painswick Place?"
"Number 81 Onslow Square. But don't let Lady Rosamund hear you call it that. She's put a brass placard by the door and insists on calling in Painswick Place."
"I'll be sure not to slip up the next time she comes in." The publican took down an empty pint glass and headed to the taps for Carson's usual.
"I think I need something stronger, today, Jack."
"Instead of or in addition to?" Jack asked, his hand already on the handle.
"Well, you've practically pulled the pint, and it is Christmas…"
"Good man." Jack pulled the draft as he talked. "Why the extra fortification?"
"Let's just say the day didn't get off to a very promising start."
-00-
The Downton tradition was for the family to dress informally for breakfast and gifts. Carson was not needed until eleven to dress His Lordship before the servant's luncheon. After those duties, he would be free to enjoy the festivities downstairs or spend his day however he liked until five in the evening. So, Carson was very surprised to hear the bell for His Lordship's dressing room ring at eight on Christmas morning.
"YOU'RE WANTED UPSTAIRS, MR. GRANTHAM!" The kitchen maid bellowed. Setting down his unfinished toast, Carson smiled and nodded dumbly. It wasn't worth his time to try and fix this problem this morning.
"Was there something you needed, My Lord?" Carson asked when he arrived upstairs. Lord Grantham was wearing trousers and a shirt under his dressing gown. It was his usual Christmas attire.
"Two things, Carson. Firstly, what on earth moved you to buy Her Ladyship kid leather gloves when I specifically told you to buy silk?"
Carson dropped his head in shame. "To be honest, My Lord, the Harrods glove counter was in such a state, they were the easiest thing to buy. If I'd insisted on silk, I would still be there or I'd have brought back two right hand gloves."
"Well, leather was not a bad choice, but, fuchsia? Why not in black or tan? I didn't even know what to call that color until Lady Grantham told me. Honestly, fuchsia? Like the flower?"
"Did Her Ladyship not approve?"
"She said she needed a new pair of winter gloves, but is unsure of the color. She's withholding judgment until she sees what Rosamund says."
Carson felt rather guilty. He should have put more thought into Her Ladyship's present, but he had been distracted by his quest for a gift for Mrs. Hughes. "That does not bode well." Rosamund rarely approved of anything unless it was a well-established fashion.
"No, it does not. But, we shall deal with that as it comes. What most concerns me is this." Lord Grantham held up Elsie's unwrapped present. "What is the meaning of this?"
"That is what I bought with the money you gave me, My Lord. The two boxes were wrapped identically, so I had to open one to make sure Lady Grantham received the correct gift. Luckily, I guessed correctly. I would have taken it away with me, but you arrived before I could leave. I did not want Lady Grantham to know that I had done your shopping, so I hid it."
"Do you think Lady Grantham believes I purchased those gloves? She's on to us, Carson." Lord Grantham laughed. "On the bright side, at least if she doesn't like them, I can blame you. I have not left this house without her since I've been back. She knows exactly where I've been and she knows I've been nowhere near Harrods. And I was nearly as shocked by the gloves as she was."
Carson felt silly when he realized that Lord Grantham was absolutely correct. "I was not thinking clearly, My Lord. It had been a very long day of shopping."
"So I could smell." Robert quipped. "And you were shopping for this rather than for the gloves I requested for Her Ladyship?"
"I shopped for both, My Lord." But Carson knew His Lordship did not believe him.
"And who, may I ask, is this for? I cannot see you wearing it, Carson. Not really your style." Robert was being shorter with Carson than he intended to be. He was not in a very good mood. Frankly, he was loathe to go downstairs and face his no doubt high-spirited family.
"I purchased it for Mrs. Hughes, the new housekeeper, My Lord. Though you were most generous to suggest I purchase something for myself, I felt I am very well compensated for my service. I certainly did not need a new hat."
"But should you be buying something so expensive for a colleague, Carson?"
"I thought it would be a kind gesture from the family to commemorate her first Christmas as housekeeper. Surely you do not find it inappropriate. It's very practical."
Lord Grantham could not argue with that. He admitted he had a hard time imagining that any woman would interpret this gift as a flirtation. But he knew nothing of this Mrs. Hughes and Carson was a bit of a dark horse. "Lady Grantham says Mrs. Hughes is very competent, though I was surprised to learn how young she is. That won't be a distraction, will it, Carson?"
"A distraction, My Lord?" Carson tried to sound as innocent as possible. "How so?"
Robert considered him silently, as though not convinced by Carson's casual act. "Just see that it isn't. If it becomes a disruption, I fear we would have to let her go. We would give her an excellent reference, of course, but I will not have Downton compromised by…"
"By what, My Lord?" Carson, now bit back a thousand words that threatened to spill out of him. Had His Lordship honestly suggested sacking Mrs. Hughes because of Mr. Carson's weakness? It was patently unfair. Even with an excellent reference, anyone hiring for a large house would read between the lines and assume some deficiency on her part. Being sent away from Downton would damage her career, perhaps irreparably. And Carson would be the cause. Carson forced his breathing to remain steady.
"Just be mindful, Carson. That is all I am asking."
"Certainly, My Lord, but I assure you it is an unnecessary caution."
"I am glad to hear it."
-00-
"Is this about that housemaid of yours?"
Carson sulked into his beer. "She isn't mine, Jack. And she isn't a housemaid anymore. She's the housekeeper."
"That makes you equals, don't it?"
"Yes, but that does not make a relationship any more appropriate. Nothing can come of it. I should never have even mentioned it to you."
"Well, when you come into my pub with a face like that, I've got to know why. First I've ever seen you homesick for Downton during the Season. That's why I put Paulie on the job."
"Is Paul around? I've brought him a gift." Charles patted the package on the bar. "His Lordship's old coat. Lady Grantham insisted on buying him a whole new wardrobe. Apparently, he was out of style even before he spent two years out of country."
"Well, he'll get good use out of it, will Paulie. Shaping up to be a cold winter; colder than normal. He'll be sorry that he missed you, but he's unlikely to come in today. People are more generous on Christmas. He'll make a killing at St. Paul's."
"He will if he gets a farthing for every time he tells that awful joke."
"Rob Paul to pay Paulie!" They both quoted. Charles raised his glass and toasted the air before downing the last of the scotch.
"How is he doing, Jack? He didn't seem well in June."
"How would you be doing if you spent every waking hour drunk? Some nights he doesn't even make it back here before I lock up. I don't know where he sleeps then."
"You're a good man, Jack; giving him a roof and looking after him. I know I've said it before, but you're a good man." Charles was working on his beer now and raised he glass to the humbled barman.
"His son were a friend of mine. I knew him before…well, before everything. He's got a good heart, but it's been shattered. Sometimes it's sad to see how life alters us." They carried on in silence for a while, occasionally hearing a shout from the street.
"Well, I should go soon." Charles finished off his pint, thought for a bit and tapped the shorter glass. "But I've time for one more, for the road, please, Jack."
"I'll join you." Jack said, pouring a pair of Scotches. "I need it. I'll tell you, Charlie, never buy a woman a practical gift."
Charles looked worried by this advice. "Even if she's a practical woman?"
"Even then. There's none so steady as my Beth, but I've a hole to dig myself out of today and that's the truth."
"What did you do?"
" I bought her a cast iron frying pan. Cost me a pretty penny and she's been asking for one for months. I thought I couldn't go wrong."
"But?"
"But apparently I am a callous clod who thinks she's good for nothing but cooking and…well, I won't say what she said. I ought to be at home right now, trying to apologize or out shopping for a makeup gift."
"Then why bother opening the bar today? It's empty. You can't be expecting much business."
"Just wait until two thirty. I'll be so busy with fathers trying to escape their families you won't be able to turn around for the crowd."
"Honestly?"
"It's like clockwork, every year. Two o'clock; tea with the kids and the missus. Two thirty; a pint with the lads. Less than a third of them make it home for dinner."
"Is being a father so trying then?"
"Ask me again when you've had a go at it."
"That's not likely." Carson said sadly.
"I didn't mean anything by it Charlie."
"I know, Jack, I just feel a little… betwixt and between."
"Huh?"
"Never mind." He finished the last of his Scotch in one large swig and swung down from the bar stool. "Well, I'll be off then. I'm not much for crowds. Give my best to Beth and the kids. I hope Beth forgives you."
"She can't help but forgive me. But I'll bring her some chocolates, just in case. Ta, Charlie."
"Ta, Jack, see you in the spring. Tell Paul I said Happy Christmas."
-00-
Christmas morning dawned coldly in Mrs. Hughes' office. She'd fallen asleep at her desk. Groggy from last night's indulgence, Elsie walked over to her mirror to check her appearance.
"Oh, good Lord." She had an ink stain on her chin that clearly read, 'Lond' Her brain struggled with this bit of information. Had someone snuck in and written on her face? If so, how was it that the mirror image read as clear as day?
"Daft woman." She scolded her image. "You fell asleep after addressing the letter." The letter! What had she written? She couldn't remember the words exactly, but she remembered feeling bold and happy as she had written them.
Rubbing at her chin, Elsie looked at the letter lying on her desk, knowing she could never send it. But it had felt wonderful to write. To openly express how dear his every gesture was to her. It had felt so freeing to allow herself to even entertain the daft notion of telling him how her heart fluttered when they shared a knowing look or, if she was lucky, a secret smile. Elsie felt sad to know it would have to go directly into the fire. She picked up the letter and turned to her grate, but the fire had burnt out in the night. She did not dare try to burn it in one of the more public fires.
She would have to deal with that later. It was after five already. She could already hear Anna bustling about in the kitchen. Elsie's first concern was to remove the ink from her face. That would take some hot water and a lot of scrubbing. She hurried upstairs, placing the letter back on her desk.
It had taken some considerable elbow grease, but Elsie had succeeded in removing the incriminating ink from her chin. Though her head was throbbing a bit, Mrs. Hughes looked none the worse for wear as she descended the stairs from the women's corridor.
"Oh, Mrs. Hughes?" The footman greeted her as she entered the servant's hall.
"Yes, Geoffrey?"
"I hope you don't mind, but I posted your letter to Mr. Carson. I was helping Anna with the fires and I saw it. I couldn't find you to ask, but if it didn't catch the early post today, I was worried it wouldn't reach him before they left London. Mr. Carson says a good valet must learn to anticipate these things." Geoffrey smiled, expecting to be praised for his initiative. "Are you quite alright, Mrs. Hughes?"
-00-
Elsie spent all of Christmas day trying not to think of the letter and failing miserably. In her mind's eye, she saw the little letter winging its way to London as merry as a lark carrying her doom.
Little snippets of what she had written kept occurring to her at random moments.
"I still dream of tumbling on the grass with you and I imagine you chasing me about the lawn, as you promised." Groan.
"We don't need Downton. We only need each other." Oh, God.
The worst of it was the post script. "P.S. The only thing I want from London is a thimble from My Butler. Your Housekeeper will have one waiting for you, in your parlor at Downton."
All around her, the staff were making merry with Christmas crackers and the wine Mr. Carson had left for them. Mrs. Patmore had opened her Christmas Port and was allowing Anna a small taste to accompany her pudding. All Elsie wanted to do was crawl into a deep hole and hide until her humiliation went away. That would only take a few hundred years, she reckoned.
With no family to wait on tonight, there was no reason to stop the festivities, and Elsie let them carry on through dinner and into the late evening. Elsie did not feel much like joining in, but did not wish to dampen their spirits. She joined in a few carols, but retired to her sitting room well before midnight, coming out at random intervals to confirm that everyone was still behaving themselves. Several of the staff noticed her restraint and were duly impressed. "And that's why she's in charge." Geoffrey said, putting his hand suggestively on Marjorie's knee as Mrs. Hughes turned back to her office.
They carried on into the late hours. Roger was trying to teach Laurel a song on the piano. "Mind your hands, Roger." Elsie cautioned him on more than one occasion. Finally, well after two, Mrs. Hughes called curfew. "You'll all need to be up bright and early tomorrow." She teased them. "I expect you all at table promptly by one. There will be a cold breakfast available for those who want it. Mrs. Patmore has set it out in the kitchen already."
Elsie wearily climbed the stairs. She checked in with each of the girls to confirm they were not downstairs, subjecting themselves to the advances of two inebriated and rather randy footmen. Satisfied, she finally retired to her own room. She'd been in her corset for over forty hours now. She moaned with satisfaction as she loosened the laces. Slipping into her nightgown, Elsie remembered the lovely dreams she'd had last night, sleeping at her desk, believing that she and Mr. Carson could love each other. She had dreamed of 'a little hut beyond the blue haze of the pine-woods.'
She walked sadly to her window to let in a breath of fresh, cold air. Her bicycle ornament hung there. It was such a dear little treasure and the sight of it usually cheered her, but tonight its heart shaped wheels taunted her. She had an urge to break the little toy in half and toss it out the window, but she knew she could never do that.
Elsie closed the window and climbed into bed. She wondered when the letter would reach him and what he would do when it did. Would he dismiss it as the drunken ramblings it appeared to be, or would he see it as the honest appeal for love that it was? Would he recommend that she be sacked or would he drop everything and come flying home to her? As she lay, considering the possibilities, a calm washed over her. Whatever was to happen was now out of her hands. Fate had decided that her dilemma must be resolved sooner rather than later. There was a comfort in that notion. Come what may, she would have her answer in three days at the latest.
TBC...
A/N This story is already four chapters longer than I'd envisioned, but it keeps running away from me. Please comment if you've the time and the inclination. I'll be away for the weekend, but will try to post if I get the chance.