Nineteen:
Love is Precious

December 1900

Scotland was far colder than England, especially near the sea, Fiona found out the hard way. Her woolen coat wasn't nearly warm enough to keep out the chill, and she wished she'd taken some of her mum's things for the journey. By the time she reached Ellenabeich, she'd been near frozen through. Now she was standing in the village square, wondering what on earth she'd been thinking.

It was bad enough that she'd had old men leering at her on the train, then on the coach, but before that, she'd almost been robbed in York – until she'd put the fear of god into a little boy who had had his hand in her coat pocket. Bad enough she was going to go to prison from stealing from her father if he found out where she'd gone – she'd gone rifling through the box he used to save money for the cottage he wanted to buy when he retired to take her fare for the train and the coach and enough to bring mum home – no need for some other kid to get caught, too. She'd boxed his ears and sent him on his way, thinking how lucky she was to have parents at all.

She felt a flutter of anxious apprehension in the pit of her belly; what if her mum didn't want to see her? After all, she'd run away without even leaving a note. Daddy had refused to go after her, stubbornly stating that if she loved them at all, she would come back of her own accord. The days had stretched into weeks and months, and Fiona had tried to hide her heartbreak; she'd thrown herself into her schoolwork, coming out the top of her class with honors and Lady Cora's promise to underwrite her teacher's certificate come April when those classes began, and she'd thrown herself into her cooking, giving Aunt Beryl something to be proud of.

And that was why she was here, now, freezing the nipples off her bosom. Because her father had given her an ultimatum.

He could not continue to expect Lord and Lady Grantham to support Fiona as they had been over the years. She needed to make a choice; she was sixteen years old and she had three possible futures ahead of her. One, she would continue on with her studies and get her teacher's certificate, and teach in a village school somewhere. Two, she would accept a position as assistant cook at Downton or cook at the Dower House. Three, she could give in to the gentle, sweet young man – Theodore – who was the baker's son, apprenticing to take over his father's business, and accept his suit of marriage. Her father had put his foot down, and her only recourse was this.

Fiona knew that when he was sixteen, he'd already been in service for a decade. But times changed, people changed – except Charles Carson. He was stubborn a fool as ever there was one, and it broke Fiona's heart to know that he hated her so much that he would force her to do something she wasn't ready to do rather than deal with his own failure.

"Lass, are you all right?" a young man asked.

Fiona shook herself and looked at him. "Sorry, I've been traveling for three days," she said, blinking tiredly. "I'm looking for Heather Green Cottage?"

"Oh, aye – Merrie Dougal's place," the man said with a smile. "If you go past the green there, and turn right on the high street, it's just between the tea shop and the post office. But what's a lovely lass like yourself want with Merrie Dougal? You aren't in the family way, are you?"

"No! God, no!" Fiona stuttered forcefully. "My mum – my mum is there."

"Ah, well… I wish you luck," the man said with a wink. "Merrie Dougal isn't exactly welcoming to those who don't need her services."

Fiona drew herself up to her full height, pursing her lips together and storming off in the direction he'd indicated. How dare a perfect stranger intimate that she was any less worthy than a common pregnant woman just because she wasn't in the family way? She was too young for all of that, anyway, even if mum had told her all about how babies came to be – that was only practical, because she needed to know for when mum went poorly or delivered early.

She found herself outside a darkly painted house that was several stories tall and thin, wedged between similar buildings that housed a tea shop and the post office and telegraph office. The sign on the gate said 'Heather Green Cottage – Merrie Dougal, midwife' in block letters; there was no front garden to speak of, just a cobblestone walk and a bit of brown grass peeking out of the snow.

She only hesitated for a moment before she decided that at least there would be a fire inside and maybe she could get warm. Fiona opened the gate and hurried to the door with her valise, using the heavy brass knocker quickly.

The door opened to reveal a short, plump woman with all the look of her mum. "Hello, lass – you look about frozen through."

Fiona nodded, unwilling to let her teeth chatter in front of this stranger. "I'm… I'm looking for my mum," she said. "Elsie Hughes. Carson. I don't know which she'd be using –"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You turn right back around and march yourself back to your –" there was a long string of angry bitter Gaelic words that Fiona didn't understand, but made her flinch anyway, " – father and you tell him if he thinks sending you in his place is going to make Elsie come back to that god-forsaken country, he's got another thing coming!"

Fiona swallowed hard and tried to meet her eyes. "He doesn't know I'm here," she admitted. "And I've nearly frozen to death on the way – please, I just want to see my mum."

"She isn't your mum," the woman said coldly. "Not anymore than I was hers. So get off w'ye."

"Aunt Merrie?" came a disembodied voice. "What on earth's going on down there?"

"Never you mind, Els –"

Fiona couldn't take it; she was so close, just mere feet from her mum, and it hurt like she'd been punched. "MUMMY!" she cried. "Mum, please – I know you're angry at daddy, but –"

There was a sudden rush of noise and Elsie was flying down the stairs. She pressed past the midwife and threw her arms around Fiona, standing out on the front stoop. "Oh my word, what are you doing here?" she breathed. "Fiona, my darling girl, you're turning blue – Aunt Merrie, why didn't you just let her in? She's freezing to death!" She guided Fiona inside to the warm kitchen and bustled about, putting together some tea and soup. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago, with the coach from Kilninver," Fiona said. "I've been on train after train for days," she admitted, "and then the coach."

"Aunt Merrie, stop looking a sourpuss," Elsie scolded gently. "This is Fiona, my daughter –"

"She's not your daughter," Merrie said, scowling. "She's his daughter."

Fiona almost forgot her propriety; she wanted to throw her tea spoon at the old bat and tell her off sternly. She didn't want to be Charles Carson's daughter – not after the way he'd been acting since Elsie had spirited away.

"No," Elsie said firmly, "she is mine, just as much as Gracie is, auntie."

"Her Ladyship said she got a letter from you," Fiona said quietly. "I took her tray up one morning instead of Miss Henley, and I… I copied the address down." She couldn't meet Elsie's concerned gaze. "And I took money from daddy's cottage box to come here. I had to – you don't know what it's been like, mum – you don't know…" She was suddenly a sobbing, blubbering mess. She was still so cold and the tea was barely making an impact. But Elsie's arms around her, her gentle murmurs, the sweet reassuring kisses… this was home. She'd missed her mother more than she could ever explain to anyone. And now she had come home to love.

"Oh, bless," Elsie sighed, stroking Fiona's hair. "My poor darling girl… I'm sorry to have put you in the middle like that. I am so sorry, love."

"Why did you go?" Fiona whispered. "You said you were never going to leave me again – why, mum?"

"I didn't want to leave you, my darling girl," Elsie whispered back, still stroking Fiona's hair. "I need you to believe me when I say if I could have taken you, I would have. I've missed you something dreadful, my darling. I have. I know you don't believe me – why would you, when I've been away for months without a word?"

Merrie all but threw a bowl of soup down on the table. "I hope that you're not going to go running back to your Charlie just because his daughter shows up on the doorstep, begging," she grunted derisively.

"Aunt Merrie, stop it," Elsie snapped sharply. "I was just as wrong as he was."

"No," Fiona spoke up, "he's much more in the wrong, mum." She looked up at Elsie and said, "I had to find you before it was too late and I never got to see you again. He wasn't ever going to come for you – he thought… that you'd come back when you felt more yourself. And when you didn't, he got cross with me. I have to make a choice, soon, and if I did that before I saw you… I'd never see you again, mummy."

"Love, you're not making any sense," Elsie murmured. "Eat your soup and let's get you warmed up. Then you can tell me why you came all this way."

Fiona eagerly drank her soup; there had been precious little to eat since she'd gotten off the last train. She was blissfully pleased with the meager bowl of soup and the slice of bread that she'd been given. "Mum, I –" She was cut off by a piercing howl that echoed through the house.

"I'll be right back," Elsie promised softly. "Please don't leave, Fiona –"

"I'm not going anywhere," Fiona said, blinking.

After Elsie had gone, Merrie said, "Aye. She's got a lass of her own now, so don't you dare be thinkin' that you're something special. Your da has made a mess of things, he has, and you better not forget it."

Fiona felt an icy fist clench around her heart; what if the old woman was telling the truth? Could Elsie really love a child of her own more than she loved Fiona? Was she lying and saying she was pleased to see her? This was a mistake, a horrible mistake – all of it. Fiona scrambled to her feet and began tugging her coat back on.

She would go back to Downton; she would give up her dream of becoming a teacher, so she wouldn't have to depend on Lady Grantham to underwrite her education. She would take up the place in the kitchens that Aunt Beryl had been gently grooming her for since she was old enough to speak. She would give up any thoughts of getting married and having a family, and be content with her life – if only her heart would stop aching with the sting of rejection from her mum.

Elsie had loved her once, not even that long ago. Why did it all have to hurt so much?

"Fiona, stop – wait," Elsie begged as she came down the stairs, a bundle of blankets in her arms. "Please – don't you want to meet your sister?"

Fiona was in scared, angry tears; jealousy, grief, and utter terror swirled up in her, choking her. "I want you to come home, but now you've got your perfect bairn – you don't need me anymore," she forced out. "I'll find somewhere to stay the night and then I'm going home."

"Stay here," Elsie murmured. "Please –"

"Mum, I can't stay where I'm not wanted; you have your own baby now. You don't want me anymore," Fiona said very quietly.

"There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish you were my daughter by blood," Elsie whispered. "I love you as though you were. Please don't leave, Fiona. Please tell me what's wrong –"

Fiona frowned and shook her head. "I've made my choice," she said, her voice breaking.

"No, no, no," Elsie said firmly, "you come here. You come here right now and listen to me, Fiona." She reached out and grabbed Fiona, roughly pulling her closer. "Don't you dare let your father's hurt push you into doing something you think isn't right. Your dad and I are not perfect, and I have never claimed to be – god knows I've failed you as a mum more times than I can count. But I won't let you throw your life away because your father doesn't know how to be a da to you, still, after all this time. I love you – more than words can say, Fiona. You are my daughter and I love you, so so very much. And I'm asking you to stop and reconsider whatever choice you've made – because you're hurting, I'm hurting, your da is hurting… the only one of us that isn't hurting is Gracie here." She jiggled the little bundle of blankets, eliciting a coo in response from the baby.

Fiona peeked over the edge of the blanket at the baby, startled when her gaze met huge blue eyes and a shock of curly black hair. The little girl smacked her lips together, then ran her tongue over them, then smiled sloppily, with a bit of drool, up at Fiona.

"I was wrong to run away," Elsie said very quietly, "but I was scared, Fiona. So very afraid. And your father wouldn't listen to me and he shut me out. I had to go, to get away from all the things that were making it that much worse – it was the only way I could save your sister." She stared at Fiona, imploring her to understand. "I love you and your father so much. I do."

Fiona took a deep breath, then exhaled. She reached out and gently touched the baby's face. "Then come home with me," she pleaded quietly. "Make him see reason and sense. He's not himself, mum. He's not okay without you."

Elsie nodded and said, "I think it's time."

Merrie rolled her eyes. "Good god, girl, where's your Scottish fire gone off to?"

"It's still here," Elsie assured her. "You better believe Charlie's going to get a bleeding earful when I get to Downton – what on earth choice were you going to have to make, Fiona? And on a scale of one to ten, how furious am I going to be when I find out?"

"Nine," Fiona replied automatically.

Elsie glared at her. "He didn't try to guilt you out of trying for your teacher's certification, did he?"

And that directness, that unwavering love and support, was just what Fiona had been desperately in need of for months. She tucked up into Elsie's arms with her baby sister and refused to let go.

END PART NINETEEN