Eighteen:
Extrapolation

Charles didn't know what to do. Elsie had cried almost the whole trip back to Downton; he felt terribly bad for her, for her position, for their positions, for, well, everything. He was worried about her, scared deep in his gut that something would happen to her this time, rather than the baby. The baby was still an abstract concept to him, and he felt rather peevish that she'd kept from him that there was a remote possibility that she might have been pregnant.

How it happened, he had no earthly idea. God knew she always stopped him and made sure she put the little rubber… thing… inside her before he was allowed to continue. He never kissed her intimately after she'd inserted the device; she didn't taste the same way after. He missed the days of being carefree… of loving and being loved in return with no strings attached.

Instead, now, everything had been about preventing the inevitable to the exclusion of, well… normalcy. It never once occurred to her that he might have wanted to try one more time earlier – before they had both gotten older… but now, they were both aging and bringing a child into the world was irresponsible…

God only knew if the baby would survive at all. Elsie had lost so many children already, and he only had Fiona to his name. He almost half-heartedly wished for it to all go away. But his wife, his love, wanted a child of her own so badly that she'd become obsessed with the idea.

He merely wanted her to be happy; for their family to be happy. He had given up on so many of his hopes, his dreams, his wants, only to pursue what really mattered. He had Fiona, he had Elsie – what else did he need?

The answer was simple: he didn't need anything else.

So he leant his shoulder (and his broad chest) to his weeping wife and worried daughter. For when Elsie behaved this way, Fiona fretted. God knew he couldn't console them both if they went sobbing at the same time.

He wanted everything to be all right, for some hint of normalcy. He didn't want Fiona to fret and he didn't want Elsie to cry. He wanted something, anything to go well… according to a plan. They had planned to have a child earlier in their marriage; that had fallen through. They had planned a good life together; that was still in the cards, but if she lost the baby or if, god forbid, she died…

Charles Carson hated when a good plan went to waste, rack, and ruin.

They were met at the station by one of the stable lads driving the governess's cart. The drive back to Downton was silent, save the occasional sniffle from Elsie, or a shuffling from Fiona as she moved slightly. Charles couldn't bring himself to break the silence, either.

They pulled 'round back to the servants' entrance, and he helped his wife and daughter out of the carriage. "I'll take our things upstairs," he said softly.

"You'll do no such thing, Mr. Carson," Elsie said firmly. "We have footmen for a reason."

"I'll take my own bag," Fiona spoke up softly. "I'd like to go see Aunt Beryl."

"Just allow me to –"

"I've got your bags, Mr. Carson," said Peter, one of the footmen. He winked at Elsie and Fiona, earning him a glower of disapproval from Charles. He was less than pleased with Peter's work ethic as of late. He was rather lazy and fond of shirking his duties to run off and play the piano in the servants' hall; one day, Charles would have to put the fear of god into him, but today was clearly not that day.

"I should go tell Her Ladyship that we've returned," Elsie said, shrugging away from Charles. He felt helpless as he watched her go inside.

"What did I do?" Charles asked Fiona, sighing in frustration.

"You didn't do anything, daddy," Fiona murmured, touching his hand to reassure him. "She's just upset and out of sorts. I'm going to go see Aunt Beryl and unpack my things."

"Are you cross with me, too?" Charles asked, frowning.

"No, I'm just tired," Fiona said.

"And how do you feel about…?"

Fiona shrugged. "I'm not nearly as against it as you seem to be."

He spluttered. "I am not against it –"

"Could've fooled me," Fiona said, "the way you jumped down her throat – in public, even. It's not as though I live in a sack, daddy; I know how babies come about and I know it's not just the woman's problem, so you might do well to remember that the next time you want to tell my mum that it's all her fault she's with child." She flounced, turning on her heel and heading inside.

He felt an utter fool; a ridiculous, old fool with delusions of adequacy.

"Oh, good, you're back!" Lady Cora said excitedly, bidding Elsie to sit down. "Mrs. Patmore said you would be taking the morning train from Leeds, but you might not get back today – how was your visit?"

"Fine, m'lady," Elsie said softly. "We were all well-met, my sister and my family." She paused, biting her lip before she could stop it from happening. Truth told, she was nervous and nauseated; she had cried for most of the train journey after Charles had snapped at her on the street in Leeds the night before. It made her sick to think that, after everything, he didn't want another child; he didn't want her as much as he claimed, either, because he'd held back so much on the return trip. She hated herself for wanting him so bloody much when he couldn't be bothered to return the favor.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Carson?" Lady Cora asked gently. "You seem to be out of sorts –"

"Mr. Carson and I had an argument last evening," she mumbled. "I'm sorry, m'lady."

"What on earth were you two arguing over?" Lady Cora asked, raising an eyebrow. "God knows I hate it when you two get into your tizzies –"

"It's nothing," Elsie dismissed quietly. "I was thinking whilst you and the girls are away for the season…"

"Oh, you don't know then?" Lady Cora asked with a smile. "We are staying at Downton this season. Dr. Clarkson says I shouldn't travel in my condition, let alone be going to so many balls…"

Elsie bit her lip again. "You're… with child, m'lady?"

"I am," Lady Cora confirmed. "I've written to Robert to tell him; of course, he left me with such a lovely going away present on the eve of his regiment heading off to the war…"

Elsie frowned and mumbled, "I don't know how we'll manage, m'lady."

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Carson, it's not so dismal as all that –"

"I'm with child, m'lady," Elsie whispered. "And my husband doesn't want the babe or me. I might as well just hand you my notice and leave before –"

"Nonsense," Lady Cora said, leaning over and taking Elsie's hand in hers. "Mrs. Carson, how many times have we called you the patron saint of belowstairs? Why do you think? You keep that bear of a butler in line."

Elsie choked out a sob and couldn't meet Lady Cora's gaze. "M'lady…"

"Of course he wants you… and the babe," Lady Cora said gently. "I don't suppose you've seen the doctor yet – I should send someone to fetch him."

"M'lady," Elsie murmured, "you cannot keep me on. Dr. Clarkson will insist on me putting my feet up and resting; I cannot do my job that way. And god knows if the bairn will even survive –"

"Well, I'm certainly not giving you the sack," Lady Cora huffed. "You are my friend, Elsie Carson, and we're in this madness together, aren't we?"

"He says it's my fault I got pregnant again," Elsie mumbled, swiping at the tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes. "I suppose it is; I didn't exactly stop him from pawing me like a great bear, did I? But regardless, what's done is done. I don't want to leave Downton, but if I cannot work, I don't have much choice – I have to find a way to earn money for my sister's upkeep."

"You are spouting a whole lot of nonsense," Lady Cora said in a tone that booked no argument. "Of course you'll stay at Downton – whyever would I make you leave? You'll take the time that you need to rest and keep that child safely in your womb, and that's that. You will, of course, be paid your full salary: there's no need for Robert to get any notes from Murray, questioning my running of the household. It's the last thing he needs, seeing as how he's so far away."

"South Africa must feel like the other side of the universe," Elsie said with a frown. "God knows, last night, the other side of the bed felt like it was a million miles away –"

"Make up with your husband," Lady Cora said softly. "Whatever he said yesterday, he didn't mean. Carson is not intentionally cruel to you. He's frightened; after your last miscarriage, when Dr. Clarkson told him you almost bled out, he vowed not to hurt you like that ever again. He's terrified, Elsie."

"Maybe it would be better for everyone if I just left –"

"Are you mad?" Lady Cora said, her voice cold, cutting. "Have you lost your mind, Mrs. Carson?"

"M'lady, I cannot – I will not – subject you or the household to this," Elsie said very quietly. "You deserve a housekeeper who can do her job well and thoroughly; I won't be that woman for some time."

"You're just going to… what, then? How will you take care of yourself? Of the child?"

Elsie stifled a sarcastic laugh; the child didn't matter. The child would be the breaking point. And when it died…

"Does it matter?" she whispered.

Lady Cora bit her lip, frowning. "Elsie, at least let me give you some money."

"M'lady –"

"If you feel you must leave, please, let me give you enough money to see you through till the baby is born," Lady Cora said. "I don't understand, but please let me help."

Elsie paused, nodding, as her face crumpled, her will dissolved, and her heart shattered into a million pained pieces. She could not, would not, expose anyone to this again; even she didn't want to hurt herself. God, please –

"And your sister's care – write down how much and I'll pay it to them in a lump sum," Lady Cora said gently. "Elsie, I promise –"

Elsie got to her feet and smiled sadly. "I am sorry, m'lady."

"You are always welcome at Downton," Lady Cora murmured. "Always."

October 1900

"We're almost there, Elsie, love… just a couple more pushes, and your bairn will be out in the world –"

Elsie sobbed in agony, trying to gather her wits together long enough to push. She wanted Charlie; she needed him with her, had done for ages, but the idea of confessing that she'd been a self-righteous banshee with her head up her arse did not sit well on her stomach. "I need Charlie," she panted, groaning and crying out painfully.

"You should've thought about that earlier," her cousin Merrie scolded gently. "I've got no time to send off a telegram now, Mrs. Carson – here we go… you need to push, lovey." Merrie was a midwife, a good one, and she'd trained as a nurse years before; she'd been a teenager during the Crimean War, and had gone to the front.

Elsie pulled it together and pushed until she felt blessed relief, heard the squalling of a very unhappy baby. "Merrie –"

"Oh, aye, look at those beautiful eyes," Merrie said with a smile. "Lass, your daughter is as beautiful a bairn as I've ever seen – and so healthy."

Elsie felt a sob well up in her throat. God, what would Charles think… what would Charlie say if he was there? He would be so angry she'd risked her life to bring another baby into the world; that's why they had fought so intensely in the first place. That was why she had left.

He couldn't have changed his mind now, could he?

He was still Charles Carson, and he did not like change.

He did not like to be in a situation where he was not in control.

Elsie could not fathom a way to give him any control at all, now.

Not with the tiny bundle of beautiful baby in her arms and tears rolling down her cheeks. "Rebecca Grace Carson," she whispered, stroking her daughter's cheek, "you are very much wanted and ever so much loved."

END PART EIGHTEEN