Chapter 15: Second To the Right.

On the night of December 27th, Elsie Hughes did not sleep a wink. At least three times, she actually got out of bed and began packing. No matter what Mr. Carson's feelings for her may be, it was highly likely that she was spending her last night under the roof of Downton Abbey. She had done what she had sworn she would not; she had broken her unspoken promise to him; her promise to be content merely being his confidant and best friend. But it was a promise that her heart could not keep; at least, not after a full bottle of wine.

Around three in the morning, Elsie abandoned all hope of rest. She dressed for her day and headed downstairs. She walked through the kitchen and the servant's hall feeling an unfamiliar sense of nostalgia and regret. Elsie Hughes was not a woman who dwelled on the past or wallowed in regrets. Elsie had left other jobs before, in the course of her career. She had even left Downton before, to work for Lady Rosamund for a time. Always, Elsie had seen these changes as opportunities; focusing on the hellos rather than the goodbyes. She had left family and good friendships behind in the past, but she had never felt like this. She had not even felt this way when she left her own childhood home to begin work as a live in servant.

If she was being honest, the nearest she'd ever come to feeling like this was when she had broken things off with Joe. While she hadn't really loved Joe, he had been comfortable and familiar and it had been difficult to give that up. But mostly, she had lamented the life she would not have. Perhaps she might have married, if she'd met the right man at the right time, instead of now. Leaving now meant leaving the only person in her life who had ever made her feel valued and understood.

The past few days had been a maelstrom of feelings for Elsie, ranging from blissfully accepting of her fate to near suicidal with humiliation. In one moment, she would think, Why not? Things might actually work out. The very next moment, she would be berating herself for her stupidity; for ruining everything. She was unsure of how to feel or what to do in the Purgatory she had created for herself. Standing now, in the darkened servant's hall, Elsie decided that she would not be a passive participant in her own life. The words she had written were true. Ill-advised and inappropriate, but true. She would not be ashamed of the letter, she would embrace her drunken error and, if there were any way it could be achieved, she would turn that error to her advantage.

Mrs. Hughes went to her sitting room and quickly found what she was looking for. She marched into the butler's pantry and stood before his vacant desk. Well, lass, you called the tune. Now it's time to pay the piper. She placed the small, silver thimble in the middle of his desk with a steady hand. Her heart was in his hands now. He would either accept it or crush it, there was no middle ground.

-00-

Charles Carson was as agitated as he had ever been in his life. From the moment, at six ten in the morning, when His Lordship had announced his intention of taking the 8:40 train rather than the 10:55 train, nothing had gone to plan. Lady Grantham had appeared to take the development in stride, but Miss O'Brien was grousing about the change of plans on her behalf. Finally, Mr. Carson had enough of her grumbling and dragging her feet and threatened to come in and pack Her Ladyship's clothing himself. He would never raise his voice to a woman, but he didn't need to yell to make his displeasure known. Miss O'Brien heard the anger in his voice and reluctantly picked up the pace of her packing.

Miss Randall was still sick, so the Herculean task of waking, feeding and dressing the girls was left almost entirely to Lady Grantham and a few of Rosamund's unfortunate maids. Carson helped herd the children as best he could, but he was mainly concerned with the luggage. Children had minds and feet of their own and Lady Grantham would not possibly leave one of the girls behind, he reasoned. The luggage, on the other hand, would not handle itself. Matters were not improved by everyone in the downstairs still insisting on screaming their words at the man they assumed to be near deaf.

Carson's mind was preoccupied with lists of things he must do to prepare for the family's departure. Even so, he noted that His Lordship was out of sorts this morning as Carson finished dressing him. Shouldn't Lord Grantham be excited to be returning home? This melancholy turn worried Carson, but there was nothing he could do now. There was far too much else to be done and precious little time.

This was not the homecoming he had envisioned for His Lordship. The household at Downton would not be expecting the family until after one, but the reality was they would be arriving before eleven. There would be no luncheon prepared and no carriages waiting at the station for the family. The family and the luggage would arrive together unanticipated with only wagons to greet them. It was going to be chaos and Charles Carson could not abide chaos. Out of desperation, Carson had sent Padraig to the wire office to send a hasty message to Downton, with only the slimmest hope it would be delivered to Downton before the family arrived.

By some miracle, the entire Downton family were packed and loaded onto the 8:40 train bound north. The Dowager Countess was staying with Rosamund for a few days more, not so much because she liked London but because she wished to avoid the insanity she knew would accompany the family's return to Downton. She did come down to the drawing room to see the family off.

The only upside to the morning's frantic activity was that Carson had no time to consider the Mrs. Hughes situation. His first loyalty was to the family and he would fulfill that duty before considering more selfish matters. Even on the train, he had to coordinate luggage transfer with the on board porter before finding a third class compartment for himself.

Though, in his head, he was still planning the final details of their Downton arrival, Carson could not keep his mind from racing to her. Their arrival and her introduction to Lord Grantham worried him. Carson was resolved not to make any eye contact with her or to speak to her any more than was absolutely necessary to achieve the best welcome home they could muster at such short notice. He knew she would be professional in front of His Lordship. It was his own behavior that he doubted under Lord Grantham's watchful eye. Carson feared even one look would be enough to have her sacked. But there was so much about which he wanted to talk to her.

Why was he feeling this way about a woman? Why now in his life? How could it be he had escaped the pitfalls of youth to reach middle age unscathed and unencumbered, only to fall now? His favorite line from The Little White Bird came back to him as he imagined her smiling face and graceful figure. 'The world must have rung with gallant deeds and grown lovely thoughts for numberless centuries before she could be;'

Such beauty and perfection could not be achieved or appreciated by youth. The world had grown mature and ripe, as had he. Ages of chivalry and daring deeds had proven humanity worthy; had proven him worthy. She was the culmination of, the reward for, every positive thought in his life. Finally, Charles Carson was ready to love.

He had underlined the words. Had she known as she read them that they had made him think of her? Would she believe such a silly sentiment from the grumpy butler that she knew? As the train flew north, he forgot to feel anxious. How could one ever fear coming home?

-00-

"You should eat something, Robert. Who knows when we'll get the chance once we reach Downton. Mrs. Patmore will not have expected us until tea." A sick Miss Randall and very grumpy Miss O'Brien were sitting in the next compartment over, as the girls ate cold sandwiches from the food trolley.

"I am not hungry." Robert said shortly. "But don't let me stop you. I should hate to be an inconvenience."

"What on earth do you mean by that?" Cora had been perplexed by his behavior all morning. His tone was petulant. She thought he'd be ecstatic to be finally headed back to Downton. If he was upset with the hurried chaos of their departure, he had no right to be. It was his decision to leave early that had caused the madness. "What is going on, Robert? Are you still not feeling well?"

"I am just afraid that I shall find Downton much altered upon my return."

"Altered? As if Carson would let such a thing happen." Cora laughed, hoping to cheer Robert up, but her comment seemed to have the opposite effect. Still unsure, Cora ploughed ahead, trying to find a topic that might distract him. "However did your family end up with Carson, anyway?"

"His grandfather was head groomsman." Robert snapped. She already knew about Carson's past at Downton. Why did she want to talk about the very subject that vexed him most?

"Well, the man has been an absolute rock for us in your absence, my dear. We really don't pay him enough, Robert."

"The man wouldn't know what to do with money. I gave him ten pounds for Christmas and he came back with a gift for the new housekeeper."

"That sounds like him. Just because his instinct is to give it away or use it for others does not mean he doesn't know what to do with money. Quite the opposite, I should say."

"If anyone were to give Carson a substantial amount of money, he would try to give it all away as quickly as possible."

"I will not disagree with you, but I think that is an admirable thing. Do you know he gave your old winter coat to a beggar?"

"To a beggar?"

"Not just a random tramp, but the one who greets us every Sunday during the Season. Do you remember him?"

"I think so. Is it always the same man?"

"Yes, Robert. He's been there for years, even before you went away. Apparently, he lives at the Blackbird Tavern and his name is Mr. Farrimond."

This did catch Robert's attention. "Farrimond? Paul Farrimond?"

"I believe that was what Carson called him. Do you know him? Marmaduke seemed to know him, but I never had the chance to ask him."

"I do not know him personally. It was all in the papers, must have been seven or eight years ago." Robert tried to remember. "I think Marmaduke's bank was involved."

"What was in the papers?"

"The fire. A whole city block, his factory, his home. Farrimond was away on business. Apparently a boiler exploded in the middle of the night; wasn't shutdown properly. His wife, children, grandchildren were all overcome by the smoke. None of them survived."

"How terrible."

"The last story I read about him, he had used the insurance to rebuild the factory and had signed the business over to the employees. Then, he disappeared."

"Goodness. Well, apparently, he's been trying to drink himself to death ever since. And in our corner of London."

"You say Carson has befriended him?"

"They're on a first name basis. He called Carson 'Charlie'. If I hadn't been so shocked, I'd have laughed. On top of your coat, Carson gave Mr. Farrimond his bowler."

That couldn't be right. Carson never left the house without his hat. "Then what was he wearing this morning?"

"Didn't you notice that Carson wasn't wearing a hat this morning?"

"No. If I did notice, I must have thought he had lost it in the confusion of packing."

"Does that seem likely?"

"No."

"He gave Mr. Farrimond his hat last night because it was raining. Just before the girls gave him a pastry and cider, like I told you. So much happened last night, I forgot to mention that detail."

"That is not the only detail you forgot to mention, my dear." Robert was done listening to how wonderful Mr. Carson was.

"What do you mean?"

"Carson's built quite the harem while I've been away; the new housekeeper, you and God knows who else."

"Mrs. Hughes? Me? What are you talking about, Robert? I demand that you make sense this instant!"

"I saw you last night, by the curb. You were touching his chest!"

"I was returning his handkerchief!" Cora exclaimed, shocked by what she was hearing. "I would be livid at you for spying, but, since it was all perfectly innocent and on a public street, it doesn't really qualify as spying."

But Cora had flushed a little at the accusation and Robert had seen it. It wasn't perfectly innocent and they both knew it. "I don't believe you." He said, flatly.

Cora stood and stormed out of the compartment. Seconds later, she returned, dragging a confused Miss O'Brien behind her. "Here!" Cora yelled, practically throwing the maid at her husband. "You want to spy? Do it correctly! Miss O'Brien, my husband would like to know if you have seen anything suspicious between myself and any male members of the staff."

"My Lady?" Miss O'Brien was trying to get her feet underneath her, figuratively and literally.

"I order you to tell him anything you might have seen that could be construed as suspicious between myself and any men in his absence." Cora said confidently.

"Are you sure, My Lady?" O'Brien raised her eyebrows. What were Lord and Lady Grantham playing at?

Cora's confidence faltered. Did O'Brien honestly think she had something to tell? But Cora had come this far. "Yes, O'Brien, absolutely anything."

"Well…" This felt like a trap to Miss O'Brien, but if she denied seeing anything now, she would not be able to claim to have seen anything later. It seemed like a shame to have to surrender her information for nothing, but she could not risk offending Lady Grantham. Maybe she could stir a little trouble with the little that she had. Reluctantly, she tested the waters. "I did see you and Mr. Carson…last night, after the cab arrived."

"By the curb? Yes, that's old news and was perfectly innocent." Cora dismissed her observation. "I mean anything else."

"Well…"

Cora and Robert both stared at O'Brien, awaiting the next syllable that would fall from her lips. Holding them in her power like this was intoxicating. These rich toffs thought they were better than her. Enjoying the game, Sarah O'Brien stretched the moment for as long as she could. "There was the day of the telegram, My Lady."

Cora sighed with relief, but Robert sat more on the edge of his seat. "What telegram?"

O'Brien looked to Cora for permission, which was quickly granted. "The telegram that announced that you had been injured and would be coming home soon."

"Ha! Soon? It was five months!" Cora scoffed.

"You don't have to tell me that, my dear." Robert reminded her, but he would not be put off. "What happened on the day of the telegram, Miss O'Brien?"

Now Miss O'Brien was walking a fine line. How could she make what she had seen sound worse than it was without Lady Grantham blaming her for the fallout? She spoke to Cora, not Robert, trying to signal where her loyalties lay, though she had no such loyalty. "When I came in to bring you a shawl, My Lady, I found Mr. Carson holding you in his arms."

"WHAT?!" Robert bolted to his feet.

"There's a logical explanation, Robert. You must wait for the full story." Even Cora had to admit it sounded bad when you stated it like that. "O'Brien, tell His Lordship the whole story. Do sit down, dear."

"Don't 'dear' me. What could possibly justify our butler holding you in his arms?" Though he felt no calmer, Robert did sit back down, trying to maintain his control in front of their servant.

"Her Ladyship had fainted, My Lord." O'Brien interjected, trying to sound her most innocent. She was rather enjoying this scene. This lot could feign morals all they liked, but they were just as base as the people they lorded it over and they distrusted each other just as much.

Cora took up the narrative now. "I was so overcome by hearing you were injured that I fainted. Carson had delivered the telegram, so he was there when I did and he caught me. Mrs. Hughes was there too." Cora was frustrated to see that Robert was not listening. "Thank you, O'Brien, that will be all for now."

"My Lady." Disappointed to relinquish her front row seat, Miss O'Brien slunk out of the compartment. She walked past the young ladies compartment to go stand between the cars and have a smoke. It was not quite the mischief she'd hoped to unleash, but it had been mildly entertaining. It was a bonus for her that the argument came at the expense of Mr. Downton himself, Charles Carson.

As soon as O'Brien had left them, Robert turned to fully face his wife. "So, you're saying that Mrs. Hughes was there when you fainted?"

"No. She came into the room with Miss O'Brien, but it must have been mere moments after I'd fainted."

"You don't remember, exactly?"

"No, Robert, I do not. Fainting does affect one's sense of time." She informed him, testily.

"I wouldn't know." He snapped back.

Cora knew it would be a close call to name who Robert trusted more, Carson or herself. If she remained calm, Robert would accept what he must already know to be true. She took a deep breath and tried to reason with him. "Robert, the past three years have been difficult for us both. You must trust that I would never be unfaithful to you. When we reach Downton, please talk to Mrs. Hughes. She will corroborate my story. Perhaps she will be able to explain the timing exactly, but, if you are determined to believe the worst, I will not be able to convince you otherwise."

"But you keep saying how invaluable Carson has been."

"And so he has been. But it was all for your sake. Carson was the one who made sure the girls wrote to you every two weeks like clockwork. It was Carson who suggested putting your picture in the nursery. After dinner, he would tell the girls stories about you learning to ride or shoot or hunt.

"I am embarrassed to admit it, but you are only real to the girls because Carson made sure that you were constantly spoken of. I missed you so terribly and speaking of you to them hurt me so deeply, I could not have kept you as a presence in our lives without Carson's help.

"You've known Carson most of your life, Robert. Why would you distrust him now?" Cora put her hand on her husband's knee and looked deep into his eyes. "If you don't trust me, at least trust him."

Robert felt ashamed. He pulled Cora into his arms. "I am so sorry, my love. I should never have doubted either of you. Please forgive me."

Cora rubbed Robert's back comfortingly. "We shall be home soon, my dear, and then we can start to rebuild our lives. I've waited so long for this day."

"We've waited, my love. And the day is here. I promise that I shall be myself again, once I am in my home with my family."

They clung to each other, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the rails count off the miles to Downton.

TBC…

A/N I didn't mean to break here, but there it is. Those chainsaws are still flying. I promise the next update will be VERY SOON. I can't promise a second update today, but it may happen if the football games are blowouts. There will definitely be an update tomorrow and they will definitely be at Downton.

For now, I wish you all a good Turkey Day. I am thankful for my family, which indulges me and allows me time to write these stories even though they don't understand my obsession. I am thankful for my readers, who do understand. And I am especially thankful for your comments, reviews and encouragements.