Chapter 14: Mr. Smee

Having navigated the evening without incident, Lady Rosamund was feeling very chipper as they left the theatre. She was consulting with Lady Edith on the best way to spend her six pence as they approached the busy cluster of food and beverage vendors. Several panhandlers stood at a respectful distance, holding out hats or hands or cups. Sybil, Edith and Mary each bought a Chelsea Bun, as Carson had recommended the night before. They were very large and sticky and still warm with large currants between the rolls of the bun.

The group wandered towards the beverage carts, as the girls enjoyed their treats and contemplated the merits of cider versus cocoa versus tea. A light mist was beginning to fall, but the warmth of the food and drinks were worth the little inconvenience. And the warm hearth of home was only a short cab ride away.

"Charlie! Charlie Carson!"

Carson took a fortifying breath before turning towards the familiar voice. He smiled genuinely. "Paul. I should have expected to see you here. Anywhere there's a crowd…"

"You'll find me there. I almost look posh enough to be one of them tonight." He twirled, showing off his coat.

"Carson?" Cora had left the girls with Rosamund and Marmaduke. "Do you know this man?"

"Yes, My Lady. This is Mr. Paul Farrimond. Paul, this is Lady Grantham."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Farrimond." Lady Grantham extended her gloved hand. Taken a bit aback, Paul hesitated, but then quickly took her hand and kissed it gallantly.

"My Lady."

It was now Cora's turn to be startled. The man's hands were filthy and there was a definite smell of stale wine coming from him. Initially, she had only seen his friendly greeting from Carson and registered his fine coat. Now she looked more closely.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Farrimond?"

"Certainly, My Lady."

"Carson. Is that His Lordship's old coat?" She had seen the familiar thread work on the left lapel, a repair from over four years ago. It was subtle and no one who did not know it was there would have seen it. Cora had noticed it immediately.

"Yes, My Lady. It would not fit me and I knew that Paul…that is, Mr. Farrimond could use it. You recognized the coat, but do you not recognize him, My Lady?"

Cora smiled back at the man and looked at his features. Realization sunk in. "He's the local drunk near Grantham House. We give him a farthing every Sunday during the Season."

"That is correct, My Lady."

"I was not aware that you were acquainted with him."

"The Landlord at the Blackbird looks after him. He frequents the pub and I see him often on my half days."

"I cannot say I approve of such acquaintance, Carson. Charity is one thing, but…"

"But befriending him like a regular person is going too far?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. This whole week, he'd been pushed out of his normal role as butler and had felt, at times, more like a member of the family. "I am sorry, My Lady. I should not have spoken so."

"No, Carson. You are perfectly right. I am the one who should be ashamed. Please, take your time with your friend; we shall be over here when you are done." She smiled at Paul and then returned to her family. "Good evening to you, Mr. Farrimond."

"Thank you, My Lady." He bowed slightly as she headed back to the girls with their aunt and uncle.

"Were the Christmas crowds generous this year, Paul?"

"They always are."

"And tonight's crowd?"

"Not too bad. It's ironic that I'm getting more attention and money in this nice coat than in my old, dingy coat. I think they don't realize they should be avoiding me until it is too late." He gave a soft chuckle and Carson smelled a fresh wave of alcohol on his breath. "The young ladies are growing so fast. Couldn't I meet them, Charlie?"

"You've been drinking, Paul. I can't introduce them to you like this. Maybe this next Season, if you can stay sober for one Sunday, Her Ladyship will let you meet them properly. It really isn't my choice."

"I understand, Charlie. The youngest looks like my Becky."

"Then you were a very lucky man."

"I was."

The drizzle was falling more heavily now. Charles noticed the droplets gathering in Paul's thin grey hair. Cora and the girls watched Carson speaking closely with the beggar.

"But, Mama, why can't we meet Carson's friend?" Sybil wanted to know.

Cora wasn't sure how to explain it to her gently. Rosamund saved her the trouble. "Because he is a filthy bum, Sybil. One may give them money, but one does not meet them."

"What is a bum?" Edith wondered.

"Well, a bum…"

"Thank you, Rosamund." Cora interrupted. "I shall handle things from here." She turned back to the girls and thought briefly.

"Bum is an uncouth word for someone who is out of work." Cora told the girls. "I never want to hear you using that term."

"But what do we call him? And why is he here?" Mary wanted to know.

"He is here asking for charity, so, for tonight, we could call him a beggar. If you must address him directly, his name is Mr. Farrimond."

"Did you say 'Farrimond'?" Everyone was startled to realize that it was Marmaduke who had spoken. Cora nodded her affirmative. "Poor sod." Marmaduke said, cryptically.

As they watched, Carson handed the man his hat. It looked as though Paul tried to refuse, but Carson insisted, going so far as to place the hat on Paul's head himself.

This act of kindness stirred something in Sybil. "Do you think Mr. Farrimond is hungry, Mama?" Sybil looked down at her Chelsea bun. She'd only taken a few bites. She was saving most of it to go with her cocoa.

"I imagine he is, dearest."

"I should like for him to have my pastry."

"That is very kind, but shouldn't you like to finish it yourself?" Sybil shook her head, but her mother and sisters could tell she would like that very much.

"You may have half of mine, Sybil." Edith offered, to her mother's surprise. Edith tore off a large piece of her treat, far more than half and held it to Sybil.

Smiling broadly, Sybil asked Edith to please wait for a bit. Before Cora knew better or could stop her, Sybil ran over to Mr. Carson and Mr. Farrimond. Carson was startled at first, but then Cora could see he was making proper introductions. The girl handed over her Chelsea bun and the beggar bowed gratefully.

"Oh, my God." Rosamund cringed as Sybil took Mr. Farrimond's filthy hand and began to pull him over to meet her sisters. Rosamund looked about, fearing she might see someone she knew. Carson looked to Lady Grantham for guidance, ready to interfere, but Cora was smiling with tears in her eyes and beckoned them over.

"Mr. Farrimond, these are my sisters, Lady Mary and Lady Edith." He bowed to them in turn. They each acknowledged him with a nod. Mary popped the last morsel of her Chelsea bun into her mouth and wiped the corners of her mouth with her fingers delicately. Edith was still holding the larger half of her bun out for Sybil, who finally accepted it. "And this is my Aunt Rosamund and her husband, Mr. Painswick."

In a night full of surprises, perhaps the greatest was Marmaduke striding forward and shaking Paul's hand as though they were old friends. "How do you do, Mr. Farrimond?"

"I find myself remarkably well, this evening." Paul answered truthfully.

Carson offered Lady Grantham his handkerchief. "No, Carson, I believe I am alright."

"Trust me, My Lady." Carson insisted. He had seen something Lady Grantham had not and he knew what was about to happen. Cora took the handkerchief, looking confused.

"Mr. Farrimond? Would you care for something to drink with your pastry?" Mary had reached the front of the beverage cart line and had purchased a large, hot cider. She offered it to Paul now, holding the steaming tin cup to him.

Overwhelmed, Paul only nodded and accepted the drink. Cora took Carson's handkerchief and turned away from the scene briefly. Paul drank the cider and enjoyed the pastry as the girls watched, Sybil and Edith now enjoying their food as well. When the cider was gone, Paul handed the cup back to Mary, who returned it to the beverage vendor.

Paul had recovered himself somewhat. "I must say, this has been quite a Christmas for me. It was a very great pleasure meeting you all properly. Please, do say hello when you come back for the Season. I should leave you now." He tipped Carson's hat to them all and turned to take his leave.

"Mr. Farrimond." Marmaduke stopped him. "I've received a new pair of gloves this Christmas and I would like for you to have these old ones, if you would accept them. I notice you have none and it shall be a very cold night."

Paul hesitated. He looked at Charles, who smiled and shrugged a 'why not?' "Thank you, Mr. Painswick. I would be honored to accept your gloves."

Edith, ever the observant one, was confused. "But those are the new…"

"Shush, child." Rosamund told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't matter." Despite herself, Rosamund was rather proud of her husband as well as her nieces.

"Well, a Happy Holidays to you all. I've always said that them that live at Grantham House are the most generous folk in London; upstairs and down. And tonight has proven me right." With that, Mr. Farrimond did turn and walk away. Carson walked a little ways with him.

"Say a 'hello' to Jack for me, Paul. I hope his missus forgave him for the frying pan."

"She did, but I suspect the ring he bought her had something to do with it. See you in the spring, Charlie."

"In the spring, Paul."

When Carson returned to the Ladies and Marmaduke, Lady Grantham was mostly recovered. "What an evening!" She exclaimed. "I am so proud of you girls. You have very generous instincts and, what is more, you have the strength to act upon those instincts. I cannot even say how pleased I am. I could almost burst with pride."

"Oh, dear! We don't want any bursting, do we?" A familiar Scottish brogue exclaimed.

"Duke's Papa!" Sybil cried. "But where is Duke?" She looked about as though she expected the dog to jump out of one of the food carts.

"They do not allow dogs into the theatre, unless they are to be on stage."

"Mr. Barrie. You deceived us yesterday." Carson scolded kindly as the man approached.

"I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Carson. I do not like to broadcast who I am when I am in the gardens."

"That is understandable." Carson allowed. "I take it that The Little White Bird is not as accurate as I was led to believe. Was there ever a Saint Bernard?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Porthos died just over a year ago. I could not bring myself to replace him, but my friends bought me Duke, who could not be more different."

"I am sorry to hear about Porthos, but you've immortalized him in two works of literature, which is a lovely memorial."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I like to think that is so." A tall and beautiful woman approached them, smiling reservedly. She could teach Lady Rosamund a thing or two about looking down one's nose at people, Carson thought.

"Mr. Carson, my dear young ladies, this is my wife, Mrs. Barrie. Mary dear, this is the extraordinary family I was telling you about; that use their butler as a nanny."

"That is almost as odd as a dog for a nanny." The woman observed cooly. "You are correct, he is quite like Porthos."

Mr. Barrie was a little abashed at this, but he hurried forward. "I did say you reminded me of Porthos. I did say that, because you are a rather large man and deceptively gentle and good with the children. I hope you are not offended."

"Not in the least." Carson assured him. "Porthos is my favorite character from your novel. I should be honored to be compared to him. Though, I should like it noted that, were I to eat a toy soldier, I would remember it."

Mr. Barrie laughed delightedly at this and clapped his hands like an excited child.

"Lady Mary, would you care to introduce Mr. Barrie and his wife to your family?" Carson prodded.

Mary did an admirable job of making all the introductions. Rosamund was near speechless. The events of this night had confused her, no end.

Seeing her bewilderment, Carson attempted to draw Rosamund into the conversation. "Lady Rosamund is the architect of this evening. It was she who sent your play and novel to the girls and it was she who secured our seats this evening."

"No small feat, Lady Rosamund. I was almost unable to attend myself." Mr. Barrie joked before turning from the still mute Rosamund to Cora and the girls. "We are holding a salon next week at the Llewelyn Davies'. The boys will be there, the ones you saw in the box tonight. It would be a treat if the young ladies could come. Mrs. Llewelyn Davies' brother, Mr. Gerald du Maurier will be there. Though you would know him better as 'Captain Hook'."

"It is kind of you to offer, but we are headed back to Yorkshire tomorrow." Cora explained. Rosamund gave her a wide eyed look. "We were only staying with Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick for the holiday and in order to attend tonight."

"Well, Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick would be welcome to come in your stead. I shall have an invitation sent."

"Number 81 Onslow Square." Rosamund offered quickly, finding her voice and nudging Marmaduke, who produced a card almost from thin air.

"Dear, we must be off now." Mrs. Barrie reminded him, a disingenuous smile on her face.

"Yes, yes, of course, dear. It has been a very great pleasure Ladies. Duke will be sorry not to see you in the gardens tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Barrie." The girls intoned in unison.

As the author and his wife walked away, Rosamund could not help but ask in an exasperated voice, "Goodness, Carson, whom shall you introduce us too next? It must either be a street sweeper or the Archbishop of Canterbury."

At the beginning, the cab ride home was filled with the girls recollecting to the adults all the exciting things that had happened that evening. None of the adults had the energy or inclination to remind the young ladies that it was unnecessary to recount events to people who had witnessed them.

Though the distance was short, the girls excitement had begun to turn to exhaustion well before they reached Onslow Square. The adults were able to converse now and Rosamund had something she felt she needed to say in front of the girls.

"Carson, I believe I owe you an apology. I was very rude to you about attending this evening, but, as always, you've proven yourself to be an asset in almost every situation."

Carson was too astonished to reply, so Cora stepped in to assist her butler. "A good butler must be comfortable with all levels of society, Rosamund. And Carson is not just a good butler, he is the best butler."

Now, Carson was embarrassed beyond words. He nodded noncommittally and managed to say, "Thank you, My Lady. There is no need for apologies."

Satisfied with this, Rosamund moved quickly on to trying to convince Cora to stay for the salon at the Llewelyn Davies'.

"It will be a huge social boost for the girls"

"Yes, and for you no doubt, but we really must get home. Robert has been very generous to wait this long, but we need to go home tomorrow."

"You could leave the girls and Miss Randall with me."

"Thank you, Rosamund, but we will be returning home as a family. It is important."

"It is a shame that the girls will miss out on meeting Captain Hook."

"We have our own Captain Hook." Lady Sybil said sleepily, wrapping her arms around Carson's arm and leaning against him. He looked up at Lady Grantham, his eyes asking if he should shift the dozing child. She shook her head. They would be back at Onslow Square soon enough.

Shortly, the cab stopped in front of Number 81 and disgorged its occupants. As Marmaduke paid the driver, Carson, Rosamund and Cora removed the sleeping girls. Marmaduke came back and took Edith from Cora. Rosamund carried Sybil up the stairs after her husband, leaving Cora, Carson and Mary, asleep in Carson's arms, at the curb.

"I cannot thank you enough for tonight, Carson. Indeed, for all you've done for the family, especially with His Lordship away."

"It is my pleasure, My Lady."

"I hope he'll be happier once we get back to Downton."

"I am sure he will be, My Lady. We must just give him some time."

She choked up a little and nodded. She blotted her eyes with his handkerchief, which she still had.

"I never knew you were such an Ebenezer, Carson." Lady Grantham teased him lightly, still sniffling.

"Scrooge, My Lady? I am not sure I deserve that." But he did not sound offended.

"I meant Scrooge after the visitations; a man who will 'honor Christmas in his heart, and try to keep it all the year."

"I don't deserve that, either, My Lady, but I thank you for the compliment."

Finally composed, she refolded the small silk square and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a fraction of a second longer than they should. She knew it was selfish of her to continue to draw strength from this man. Her husband was home now. She must stop relying upon her butler. She had become so used to doing so in the past two years, it felt natural. From here on, she knew she must rely upon Robert for support. In a way, this was goodbye between them. In a way, they both knew it.

From the window of the first floor drawing room, Lord Grantham watched this scene unfold. From a second floor window, Miss O'Brien watched as well.

-00-

Finally, as the clocks passed midnight, Charles retired to his little room at Painswick Place. The day had been exhausting, even more so than his shopping expeditions. He forced himself to change from his tails into his pajamas and to brush his teeth before sitting on the edge of the bed and opening the letter.

The address was written in a disjointed hand that did not look at all like Elsie's. The writer had alternated between cursive and print, but he told himself the cursive looked like her hand. Perhaps she had been very tired when she had written.

Dismissing these thoughts, he ran his pen knife along the letter's seal and unfolded the small sheet of paper.

Dear Mr. Carson,

I have never written you before and must confess myself quite nervous, but you did ask if there was anything I wanted from London and I have thought of something. I cannot know if this will reach you before you leave London, but I have decided to take the risk and trust Fate to decide if and when this letter should reach you….

TBC…

A/N I know I have not yet resolved The Letter or The Gift but we can't address either of those until we get back to Downton and Elsie. Now that the play is over, we shall be doing exactly that. The longer I've teased you, the more I think you are all expecting from the reveals. I hope you are not disappointed.

I feel like someone who is juggling running chainsaws; the payoff is either going to be totally awesome, or totally gruesome.

As always, reviews are much appreciated.