Chapter 17: Pan's Shadow
Elsie sat on the edge of her bed, holding the battered letter. She had seen it in the evening post and slipped it into her pocket between the backdoor and the servant's hall, where she had handed the rest of the post to Mr. Carson. The idea of letting the letter reach him had played in her mind ever since his return, but when the moment came, she stole her words back without hesitation. His attachment to the Crawley family was too strong. Even if he did choose her, it would tear him in two and she could not do that to him.
Initially, Elsie had thought his rejection of her would break her heart, but when she considered the situation objectively, she realized that nothing had changed for him. He had not been made aware of her true feelings. So, she decided that nothing need change for her. She would continue to give him her support and devotion and be content with the small kindnesses he dared to show her. Her belief in his feelings had not waivered.
Between the girls' talk of London and Miss O'Brien's story of Lady Grantham's hideous gloves, Elsie had pieced together some of his shopping adventures. She was even more impressed with her perfect gift now, knowing he had bought something for Lady Grantham on the same day that could only be described as haphazard. But everything had worked out in the end. Rosamund had written to inform Cora that fuchsia gloves were now all the rage in London since the woman of the hour, Mrs. J.M. Barrie herself, had begun to wear them everywhere.
For a week after coming home, Carson looked for her letter in each post, finally giving it up for lost. He would have to wait for the Season to receive his first letter from her.
In the weeks that followed, the euphoria of His Lordship's return wore off and a malaise set in. Lord Grantham wandered the house like a ghost, Pharaoh following along dutifully. When the weather was dry, they wandered the gardens and the grounds together as if searching for something he could not remember he had lost.
Mr. Carson was not handling things much better. Elsie noticed that Mr. Carson had become more deferential upstairs and more dictatorial down. She was not altogether pleased with this shift, though she thought she understood the cause. Mr. Carson felt he had become lax during Lord Grantham's absence. He was trying to rebuild the walls of propriety that he had neglected somewhat over the past few years.
Also, she was worried that Mr. Carson had lost his sense of purpose. The return of his Lord and master had been Mr. Carson's focal point for three years; the finish line to be gained. But, that had now been achieved and he was having difficulty finding something new on which to concentrate. The daily running of the home was not fulfilling enough. Mr. Carson had not visited the nursery or spent any appreciable time with the girls since returning from London. This added to his dark mood, she was sure.
Elsie tried to reach out to him, but he was avoiding her. The pleasant jingling of her keys on their delicate chains sounded softly in the hallways and, unbeknownst to her, comforted him. They also allowed him to avoid her more easily. She felt like the cat that had been belled and could no longer sneak up on the mice, or rather, the mouse.
In defense of his dour temper, he was working much harder than anyone in the house, including Elsie. Both Geoffrey and Roger had proven unequal to the task of being Lord Grantham's valet. In addition to his other responsibilities, this duty now fell to Carson until a suitable candidate could be found. The task was a thankless one which started and ended Carson's days on a sour note. While dressing His Lordship, Carson would try to hint at hunting parties to be organized or the resumption of planning for the delayed Servant's Ball. All suggestions were met with noncommittal grunts of displeasure. Carson knew better than to belabor the points.
Elsie had finally discovered that she could trap the butler in his pantry after the servant's dinner was done. There was paperwork he had to do and he could not run away. Elsie had gotten into the habit of taking him tea each evening as he worked. Sometimes she simply brought the tea and left, afraid he'd start hiding elsewhere if she hounded him too much. Sometimes she sat down, uninvited, across from him. He never protested when she did the later, but he never invited her to stay and the burden of conversation always fell to her.
One evening, in mid January, Elsie decided that she'd let Mr. Carson brood long enough. For the good of the house, she was not letting him leave his pantry tonight with out making him start to see sense.
"I was by the nursery this afternoon." She began. "Lady Sybil is still telling me all about your London adventures."
"They may be veering into the fiction of a child's imaginings at this point, Mrs. Hughes. I cannot think what more she can have to tell."
"Then you don't have friend named Paul, to whom you gave your hat? Sybil said he smelled like vinegar."
"She only thinks that because she's never smelled cheap wine. Paul is the Earl's Court local drunk. I've known him for years. I'm not sure I should have introduced him to the young ladies. He's a good soul, but broken."
"Why broken?"
"He had everything a man could want; wealth, health and a loving family. But he lost his whole family. Suddenly his wealth was a burden and his health a curse. He gave away his money and lives hand to mouth now, drinking to forget and waiting for booze and neglect to claim him. Unfortunately for him, he's the constitution of an ox. Not exactly the sort of person you want to introduce to children." Paul really had not looked well the last time Carson saw him.
Mrs. Hughes broke into his melancholy musings with something almost as depressing. "Lady Sybil asked me if there was something they had done wrong in London. All the young ladies think you are angry with them."
Mr. Carson looked at Mrs. Hughes as though she had just stabbed him in the back. "I hope you told them otherwise."
"I told them you were very busy now that their father was home. The younger two seemed to accept that, but Lady Mary will not be fooled. She knows there's more to it than your being busy."
Carson smiled ruefully. "Of course she does."
"Just because their father is back does not mean you can't spend time with them."
He looked at her sharply. "It means precisely that, Mrs. Hughes. It was barely acceptable for me to be so familiar with them when he was away. Now that he is home…"
She saw it clearly now. He was trying to draw back, trying to regress to the butler he was before Lord Grantham left his family to Carson's protection. Mr. Carson believed that the girls no longer needed a surrogate father because their true father was home. He could not be more wrong. "But he isn't spending any time with them either."
"Nor is he likely to if there is a butler already taking his place. He will come around, Mrs. Hughes, and when he does, he must find them waiting for him."
"But they miss you." She informed him gently. "And you miss them."
"They'll get over it."
"And you? Will you get over it?"
"Not that it matters, but yes, I will." He scratched violently at the ledgers for a few moments before looking up at her. "Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Hughes." This declarative statement told Elsie that she was being dismissed. She was satisfied with tonight's progress. She knew it had been painful for him, but it had been necessary.
"I'll wish you a goodnight, then, Mr. Carson." As she rose to remove the tea tray, her keys jangled pleasantly.
With a sad, half smile, Charles asked, "And are you still fond of your gift, Mrs. Hughes?"
Startled by the question, she answered, "Yes, Mr. Carson. I am; very much."
"It will need to be polished regularly. Feel free to drop by anytime I am polishing the silver and I can take care of it very easily."
"I shouldn't want to be a bother. I can polish it myself."
"It would not be a bother, Mrs. Hughes. When the cabinet is open, it won't take long, and it would be my pleasure."
"Very well, Mr. Carson. I will do that."
Later in the week, Elsie had come upon him in the late morning with the silver cabinet open. He was just beginning the polishing when she entered his pantry. Usually, he would not allow anyone in his pantry when the cabinet was open. Holding up her keys, she said, "I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity."
He smiled warmly at her, a more genuine smile than she'd seen from him in weeks. "Certainly, Mrs. Hughes. Draw up a chair. I'll be with you in just a moment."
They chatted easily as he finished up the sugar bowl he was working on when she came in. She found now, as she would often find in the future, that he was more forthcoming when he was concentrating on this meticulous work. It reminded her of how they had spoken when she'd first become housekeeper; comfortable but guarded.
"I understand, Mr. Carson, that, in addition to the new valet, Her Ladyship would like to add another housemaid, in anticipation of more house parties."
"Yes, she has mentioned that to me. Do you want to post the listing in the London papers or recruit locally?"
"I was considering recruiting from within. I do not think Anna is happy in the kitchens. Her disposition is better suited for housemaid or even a Lady's Maid."
"So you want to advertise for a kitchen maid and move Anna?"
"I need to speak to her first, but yes, that would be my ideal plan."
"I know Mrs. Patmore thinks highly of her. You'll not be making a friend there."
"I am unlikely to ever make a friend there, Mr. Carson."
He chose to stay silent on that subject. Mr. Carson had already seen the mutual respect between the two women, but knew each would balk to call it friendship. Mr. Carson placed the shining sugar bowl on the proper shelf, ready for dinner service. He returned to his desk with a small bundle. Laying a fresh rag in front of him, Mr. Carson motioned for her to place the chatelaine on the cloth. Beside the cloth, there lay a series of small brushes and picks.
"This is still in very good condition, Mrs. Hughes. A quick buff should do the job this time."
"I should not have imposed upon your time, Mr. Carson."
"Nonsense. It's best to stay ahead of the tarnish when you are dealing with silver, Mrs. Hughes." He made quick work of it and only used the cloth. "You should use a cloth or gloves when handling the silver clasp, whenever possible. You won't have to worry about the chains, as they are stainless steel."
She used an extra cloth to pick up the finished chatelaine and replace it on her belt, but remained seated. "Thank you, Mr. Carson." Mr. Carson looked at her, a little perplexed that she made no sign of leaving. He returned to the cabinet and took out the next piece of silver to be polished. "Do you think there will be a servant's ball this year, Mr. Carson? The staff would very much like to know."
"They shall know as soon as I have an answer from His Lordship. It has not yet been cancelled." He spoke with his back to her, facing the silver. "Though I think it likely that it will be."
"The young ladies will be disappointed."
"How is that, Mrs. Hughes? None of them are old enough to attend."
"They are working on an entertainment for the servant's ball."
"Should I be worried?" He asked lightly.
"Very, Mr. Carson." That caused him to turn and face her. She smiled and rose from her chair. "That reminds me. I've been asked to tell you that you are to report to the nursery after tea today. Lady Mary's orders."
"I cannot possibly..."
"And Her Ladyship's orders, as well, Mr. Carson."
He scowled at her with his hands upon his hips but he did not look very menacing with his apron and sleeve protectors. "Do you know what this is about, Mrs. Hughes?"
"I do, Mr. Carson, but I've been sworn to secrecy." And with that, she turned and jingled away.
After tea, Mr. Carson dutifully knocked on the nursery door. "Come in." Came Lady Mary's pert reply.
"You summoned me, My Lady?" Carson stepped into the room to find it occupied by Miss Randall, all the young ladies and Lady Grantham. He looked at Lady Grantham questioningly, but it was young Lady Mary who addressed him.
"We are tired of being ignored by both you and Papa, Carson." He started to protest, but she spoke over him. "You've not spoken to us since London and he would rather play with the dog. We've a plan to fix that and you will help us with it. Is that understood?"
"Yes, My Lady."
"Excellent. Now, please fetch the dog and we'll get started."
TBC…
A/N Just a quick update today. Expect the next update on Monday. We've only two chapters left in this visit to 1903, but I hope they will be quite long.
Thank you for all the encouraging reviews and for not being too miffed with me over the letter. Thank you for reading, and please do drop me a note, if you've the time.