Fifteen:
Everything Changes

January, 1892

"Come here and stop moving about so much," Elsie scolded gently, pulling Fiona back between her legs. "I'm trying to put your hair up but you keep pulling away and I can't bend over to get the pins, love."

"Sorry, mummy –"

"You do want to wear your hair up for the servants' ball, don't you?" Elsie asked.

"I'm so happy you're letting me come!" Fiona said.

"It's only for an hour," Elsie reminded her, "and then you must come upstairs and go to bed. Beryl will come up with you to put you to bed because your father and I have to stay downstairs, but she will have to come back, as well – so you must be on your best behavior."

"Yes, mummy," Fiona agreed gravely.

"There you two are," Charles said as he came into the apartment. "I've been waiting downstairs –"

"Someone is a bit excited and wouldn't settle so I could tidy her up," Elsie said pointedly, pointing at Fiona with a smirk and a wink. "And I had a twinge when I was getting changed, so I needed to sit down."

"Mummy almost fell over, daddy, her back hurt so bad," Fiona said.

"You go on downstairs and see Beryl," Charles said. "Let me take care of your mum." Fiona rolled her eyes and sighed, but skipped off excitedly. Try as they might, they could not get her to understand that she really must not run in the big house, or move any faster than a quick walk.

Charles came over and knelt on the floor, placing his hand between the chair backing and Elsie's back, gently rubbing. "Will you be all right?"

"I must be," Elsie sighed. "I'm to open the ball with His Lordship; it wouldn't do to collapse."

"You've been in pain for two days," he reminded her.

"Aye, but it will pass – it's just the bairn's growing and my body is protesting," Elsie said, waving her hand dismissively. "He was moving up a storm yesterday."

"He?" Charles questioned. She shrugged and smiled just a little. "All right… what about today?"

"Just a little," she murmured, "but I'm sure he will start again as soon as he hears the music."

"Promise you'll tell me if it happens again," Charles ordered gruffly. "I just worry –"

"Charlie, love," Elsie said, smiling a little, "you will know the instant it happens, if it happens again. I think the entire house will know; I'll be on the floor and crying like a wee lass."

"I am so sorry you're in pain –"

"Oh, enough of that, my darling man – it's not your fault," Elsie scolded, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Well, I mean, it is, but only in the vaguest sense of the fact that you got me with child in the first place. Don't you dare take more blame on your shoulders; now, help me up like a good boy and let's go down before someone sends a search party."

They took a slow, leisurely pace downstairs to the ballroom, giving Elsie a chance to not be entirely out of breath by the time they arrived. She was, however, feeling cold sweat around her hairline and breaking out on other parts of her body – which was unusual, and made her feel apprehensive. What if she was dancing with His Lordship and another twinge went through her back? What on earth would people say when she tumbled to the floor, taking Lord Robert with her?

She pushed her worry down into the pit of her stomach and felt rewarded by the faint kick against her ribs as the baby moved slightly. Her nerves were shot; she was constantly on edge now, worrying about the baby, worrying about Fiona, worrying about Charles and the household and –

And just for one night, she wanted to not worry about anything else.

Charles had been surreptitiously watching his wife through the crowd all evening. He was beyond worried about her; she had been feeling off for days, and today, she seemed even more so. She was tired, he knew, but she did not complain of any ailments save for her back.

She had scolded him already so many times for being a 'mother hen'.

She didn't realize that he needed her – not desired, not wanted – to be all right. His equilibrium was no longer his own; it was tied directly to hers. When she ailed, he did as well; when she thrived, he practically spun in giddy circles.

Right then, he was faltering. He knew she was hiding something from him, and he could not figure out what it was. He knew he needed to, but she was holding him at arm's length. It wasn't just her bloody beastly back, though he knew it was troubling her.

He was watching her dance with the head groomsman when it happened.

She went white as a sheet, a pained gasp carrying all the way over to Charles's ears. "Excuse me," Charles said softly to Beryl, abandoning her to cross the room. "Elsie –"

"Doctor Clarkson," Elsie ground out through clenched teeth. "Now. It's too early, Charlie – "

He stopped dead still in his tracks; oh god, no –

"Kirkland," he finally managed to choke out, getting the attention of the coachman. "Mrs. Carson has immediate need of Dr. Clarkson –"

"We'd better get you upstairs," Beryl said crossly, pushing past Charles and taking Elsie's arm. "Come on, now… upstairs and somewhere safe and quiet, Mrs. Carson." She glanced over her shoulder at Charles and said, "Get the kitchen maid to boil water and get towels, same as we did with Her Ladyship before Christmas."

He was sick with panic now; it was all his fault. He had pushed her and pushed her and they had made love with no thought at all – and now she was staring, square in the face, the potential probability of losing another child. He was a selfish monster…

He was saved by Lord Grantham shoving a rather large whiskey into his hand. "Drink this," Lord Robert said firmly. "You'll need it."

Everything was a blur of color and sound and pain. Elsie gave in, letting the undulating waves take her. She knew it was too early – far too early – for her to be in labor, but here she was again, on the doorstep of something beyond dreadful.

She focused enough to follow Beryl and Dr. Clarkson's instructions, but she could not bear to give in completely, to attach herself to the child that would inevitably be taken away from her in a few hours, put into a box in the ground…

She pushed and pushed, praying a broken litany of Gaelic prayers, begging a god she hardly believed in anymore to let her have her babe. And then the pain receded and she sobbed in relief when she heard a small mewl like a kitten's first cry.

"She is very, very small," Dr. Clarkson warned. "Tiny. She may only live a few hours, Mrs. Carson."

"Give her here," Elsie ordered, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying and begging. She was shocked to see just how small the bairn was, to feel how light she was: no more than a pound or two, if that. But she was hers, and she knew suddenly, for her to be that big, for her to be able to cry, she must have been conceived the first time she and Charles had come together.

But she was still too small, too early…

Elsie snuggled her tiny child to her breast, letting her hear her mother's beating heart, feel the warmth of her skin. She would do everything she could for her sweet, darling girl.

Joe had never let her hold the ones born too soon, even if they were alive when they were born. She knew he'd been trying to spare her the heartbreak, the pain… but this…

She needed this. She needed to hold the babe; she needed Charlie to hold their child. It was entirely different now.

This was the price she paid for love.

Mary Anne Carson lived two days.

But they were two days filled with joy and love for the wee tiny babe.

She was very much wanted.

And ever so much loved.

END PART FIFTEEN