Twenty-two:
Love is an Infinite Well-spring

Charles served at dinner; he knew that, as a valued guest, Elsie would be expected to attend. Merrie did attend, with her shock of white hair and her annoyed, twitching lips, but Elsie was nowhere to be found. He did not dare inquire as to her whereabouts – Lady Grantham would not only frown upon it, but he would likely be out of a job, and that would do Elsie no favors.

He just wanted another glimpse of her before she spirited herself away again. He was convinced that he had already long-since lost the war, and she would be his in name only. That she would leave again as soon as she was able. And who could blame her? Without her calming influence, he had become the worst kind of a man: a tyrannical ruler of the downstairs empire.

The worst part was, once he was in that mode, he didn't know how to stop it. Everything made him snappish, peevish; he had only wanted things to return to normal, not…

From the moment he had held Rebecca Grace in his arms, he had felt such love and wonder as he'd never felt before. Alice had not allowed him to hold Fiona after she was born, and then he had neglected to do so, leaving her in the care of a wet nurse from the village until he had arranged transportation and a job at Downton. So, he had lied when Elsie had asked if he remembered how to hold a young babe, hoping that he could remember enough of watching others do it to fake it properly. He loved Fiona, he really did, but her infancy was so tightly wrapped around his grief over losing Alice that he had distanced himself; now, he had a chance to prove himself as a father again, but he was so certain he had already lost Elsie that he didn't know if she would allow him near their daughter.

And for that, he felt pitiful. He had turned into the kind of a man that they had both despised and it would be his undoing.

"How is Mrs. Carson feeling this evening?" Lady Cora inquired gently of Merrie.

"She will be much better in the morning," Merrie said. Charles could feel her eyes boring into him, but he did not waver, did not flinch. "She wanted to stay abed with Gracie this evening; the trip has worn them both to the bone." "I feel dreadful that she was in so much pain earlier," Lady Cora said with a heavy sigh. "I wish Mrs. Carson would not try so hard to keep such things from me. I do know, as a woman, the pains of –"

"Not like this, m'lady, pardon me for saying," Merrie said, cutting her off. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it beyond saying that our Elsie is a very strong woman, but strength will only get you so far in this life." Again, Charles felt her gaze boring into him like fire. He felt even guiltier, if that was possible, in the face of her condemnation.

"Well, of course, if the doctor advised her to rest, she must do so," Lady Cora said kindly. "I've been keeping back her wages; there's no point in Fiona or Gracie going hungry because she's not been working."

Charles found it hard not to sputter and turn colors; he was the provider in the family! How dare she insinuate that he could not care for his wife and children, that his wife would need the money as much as –

And then he remembered Becky, her care, the way the fees had gone up to secure doctor's care for all the patients at Jessop House. How Becky had written to 'my Charlie' and told him that Ava, her best friend in all the world, had died and she was alone and scared. That the new nurses were cruel, that she wanted her Sissy to come back and take her home with her. And he felt more helpless than ever before in his life.

He had failed Fiona as a father, as a protector. He had failed Elsie as a husband, as a lover, as a friend. He had failed Becky as a brother, as a provider, as someone who cared for her deeply but could not help her much. He had failed the Granthams as a butler, as a constant, as a man of integrity and honor. And now he would fail Gracie as a father, a protector, someone who loved her very deeply, but could not see his way out of the maze of conflicted thoughts and emotions in order to be the father she needed.

He had failed everyone.

Everyone.

"Carson, you look unwell," Lady Cora said, cutting through the buzzing silence in his brain. "Maybe you should –"

"I am fine, m'lady," he said stiffly. "Do not concern yourself with me."

"I am concerned," Lady Cora said gently. "For both you and our guests in the Red Room, who have not rung for dinner. Maybe you should leave the footmen to serve us our dinner, and you should take a tray up for our guests?"

Meddling American woman. It wasn't done for the butler to leave in the middle of dinner service and she knew it. She knew it. He was conflicted; on the one hand, he wanted to go check on Elsie, but on the other, his duty was to the family, to his employer… But if Lady Cora was ordering him to check on her, rather than merely suggesting, surely it would not be frowned upon? "I should not leave my post, m'lady –"

"You've trained the footmen well enough," Cora dismissed with a gentle wave of her hand. "Go take a tray up to Mrs. Carson. I don't expect to see you again until breakfast."

He hesitated, frowning, then Merrie snapped, "Just get on w'ye already. No use moonin' about the dinnertable, wishin' you were upstairs with her."

"Go, Carson," Lady Cora said, her voice firm and booking no argument.

With that, Charles finally considered himself freed for the evening. The others could handle the ladies; he had been ordered away. Thank god.

He went downstairs into the kitchens and met a fussing Beryl. "Mrs. Patmore," Charles said gravely, "I am to understand that the Red Room has not rung for dinner?"

"Aye, bloody fools," Beryl snapped, rounding her irritation on him instead of Fiona, who was scurrying around, trying to put the finishing touches on the dessert course. "I go out of my way for uninvited guests and just look what bloody happens –"

Charles frowned; surely Fiona or someone else would have communicated that the 'uninvited guests' were merely Mrs. Carson and her aunt. "Her Ladyship has asked for a tray to be made up so I might take it to the Red Room," he said gravely.

"Her bloody Ladyship can make up a bloody tray herself!" Beryl all but shrieked.

"I'll do it," Fiona said. Her words were quiet, clean, abrupt. "Auntie, don't worry about impressing them. I'm sure the stew for downstairs dinner and some bread will suffice."

"I will worry about impressing the guests –"

"Mrs. Patmore," Charles said, his voice steely, "there is no need."

"Mr. Carson, I do not tell you how to do your job," the cook snapped back warningly, "so maybe you should butt that big nose of yours out of my business!"

"Mrs. Patmore, there is no need to impress Mrs. Carson," Charles said with a sigh. "She will be pleased with whatever Fiona chooses to send up on the tray."

There was sudden silence. "Mrs. Carson?" Beryl said quietly. "Our guest is Mrs. Carson, and no one thought to tell me?"

"Because she's not feeling very well," Fiona interjected firmly. "I can take the tray up, father."

Charles flinched at the coldness of the title. "Her Ladyship has charged me with that duty," he said. "You should stay down here and help with the –"

"Don't," Fiona hissed. "Don't do it."

His shoulders slumped. "Nevertheless, I shall take the tray up."

"You better not make my mum cross," Fiona said warningly. "If you do, I will –"

"I have no intention of making anyone cross; I just seem to do it with aplomb as of late," Charles said, his tone regretful and slightly sad.

"Because you've been behaving like a right prick," Beryl said cheerfully – as opposed to angrily as before. He would take winning the small battle; he may never get Fiona back fully on his side now, so he would take all of the small battles he could.

Fiona finished laying a tray of stew, bread, and a large slice of lemon pie. She looked furtively at her father, then said, "It's ready. Tell mum I love her and I'll be up later to help with the baby."

He nodded, lifting the tray and heading out of the kitchens as Beryl ambushed her for details about Elsie and the baby. He was glad not to be in the range of fire – at least for a few minutes. No, that would come soon enough.

He paused outside the door to the Red Room and set the tray on the sideboard so he might knock without disrupting the food. He knocked and waited; finally, Charles heard a faint, "Just leave it on the sideboard," in reply.

He was torn; on the one hand, he did not want to see her shun food, and on the other hand, he was bloody well ready to talk to her. They needed to talk, to work out whatever needed working out from before… Charles needed to tell her that he still loved her very deeply, dearly, and he was so furious with himself for making her to feel that she was not worthy of his love. That he did not love her and the babe equally – well, of course he did not love them equally. He loved Elsie with all of his heart and soul; Gracie was an afterthought. But he did love the little girl with her black curly hair and her little nose so like Elsie's. Just not the same way he loved her mother. He could never love the child like he loved the mother.

He didn't know how long he'd stood there when the door opened. "I assume you have a reason for skulking out here in the corridor, Charlie," Elsie said softly.

"How could you tell I was –"

"You were blocking the little light that was coming in beneath the door," she murmured.

"Why don't you have a candle going?" he asked, looking past her into the darkened room.

"I'm trying to get Gracie to settle for the night," Elsie sighed. "She's so fussy today." She jiggled the baby gently as she nursed beneath the shawl. "My poor little girl doesn't like the train, not that I can blame her much."

His heart jerked a bit in his chest. "Does this mean you will be remaining at Downton?" he inquired, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Aye," she responded in a clipped, abrupt explosion of the word.

"Elsie, I – I don't begin to know how to apologize…"

"Well, first off, come in so you can do it properly, not allow just anyone to overhear you," Elsie scolded gently. "And secondly, I should be the first to apologize."

"Elsie, no –"

She held up her free hand and said, "Let me say my piece, Charlie. I wasn't in my right mind when I left. I was scared and angry with you because you didn't seem to want the baby. I thought if I was to die, or the baby was to die, it would be best if I weren't near you – you didn't need to be hurt more. I know how hard it was for you to lose Alice. I couldn't bear the idea of you feeling the same for me if something happened. So I was foolish and I ran like a child after a tantrum. I was wrong, Charlie. About all of it; I needed you and I was too utterly stupid to see it till it was already too late."

"It's not too late," he said quietly, his voice choking him with emotion. "It's never too late, Elsie – I am glad you've come home. And I am sorry I made you feel that your only option was to run, love."

"Charlie, come in and close the door," she murmured.

END PART TWENTY-TWO