Twenty-five:
Christmas Day
"I'm going to hospital in the morning," Fiona said to Beryl as she changed into her nightgown and heavy long socks. "I don't want the first thing mum sees to be a nurse. Dad said she feels bad enough already."
"Oh, I expect she does," Beryl agreed, nibbling on a piece of shortbread. "It's got to be hard, bein' rushed about and cut open."
"She was asleep when I went earlier," Fiona murmured. "I didn't want to disturb her. Dr. Clarkson says she needs her rest. But I'm scared, Auntie Beryl. I'm scared for my mum."
"We all are, darling," Beryl said gently. "Now, get into bed and try to get some rest, dear heart. You're tired to the bone after helping with your sister all day."
Fiona frowned; she hadn't talked to her father since earlier, when they'd gone to war over her having used the wrong blanket to wrap the baby in, and Gracie had gotten cold in the meanwhile. Lesson learned: her dad clearly loved the baby more than he did Fiona. It shouldn't have hurt after all this time, but the knowledge that if her mum died, she would always be second best stung. So she had begged Beryl to let her move into her room for the time being.
She was cold and tired, but she didn't feel alone anymore.
Elsie was cold and tired, but she didn't feel alone anymore. It was an odd realization that came to her as she began to wake up, and by the time she opened her eyes, she understood why: Fiona had crawled into the tiny hospital bed with her. Her daughter was curled carefully around her, protectively, barely on the bed at all, humming very softly under her breath. It was the humming that had brought Elsie out of sleep, rather than the presence of Fiona – because for so many, many years, they had shared a bed together anyway.
"Good morning," Elsie whispered.
"Happy Christmas, mum," Fiona murmured. "Auntie Beryl will be here soon – she's bringing you some broth for breakfast."
"Oh, bless her," Elsie said softly. "My dearest girl, can you run and get a nurse? And then stay out in the corridor?"
"Are you in pain, mum?"
"No, but I've got to use the bedpan, love, and that you do not need to see," Elsie sighed. "It's complicated and painful for everyone involved and I don't want you to think less of me."
"All right, mummy," Fiona murmured, giving her a last cuddle before she got up and adjusted her hair and dress. "Do you feel any better? Dad said – he said you were very upset yesterday."
"I'm all right," Elsie lied. "You go wait and I'll be ready soon."
It was nearly forty minutes before the nurse let Fiona back in; she wasn't alone, however. Beryl came bustling in, too, with broth and plain scones in her basket. "Now, you," Beryl said, "I know you've been through the wars and back, but I wanted to bring you a good Christmas breakfast that will make you feel better. Dr. Clarkson says you need to eat, so eat you will!"
"That's a terrible lot of food," Elsie pointed out gently. "I can't eat it all in one go –"
"Well, eat what you can and then we'll hold the rest back for the other meals," Fiona said, pulling up a second chair.
"How are you feeling?" Beryl asked. "And don't give me none of the nonsense you're peddling to our Charlie –"
"I feel dreadful," Elsie admitted very quietly. "Everything aches – it doesn't hurt, not really – and I cannae move my feet or legs without help. I feel like I'm a horrible burden…"
"You never do!" Beryl cried. "Elsie Carson, you pull yourself together – you'll be right as rain in no time, stalking around the big house, giving orders, barking at them what don't do their jobs right or fast enough…"
Elsie frowned and shook her head. "Not if I can't get feelin' back in me legs, Beryl."
"Oh, darling," Beryl sighed, "lord knows you can yell at people without walking."
Elsie paused, tears in her eyes as she laughed in sad disbelief. "Oh, Beryl… this is all so…"
"Big and abrupt and scary," Beryl finished for her. "I know, Elsie. But it will be all right. Our Charlie will make sure it's all right. And if it won't be, he'll do what it takes to make it better. He loves you like a stupid man, you know. He'd do anythin' to make sure you're happy."
"Aye… but that's what I'm afraid of," Elsie admitted. "I don't want things to go pear-shaped and then him resent me down the line because I was the whole reason he sacrificed –"
"Mum," Fiona spoke up, "I don't think it matters. Dad wouldn't resent you. He wasn't ever happy till you came along. He never smiled, and he never laughed… you make him happy."
"But being happy isn't the entirety of the world," Elsie said, wishing she could make them see how desperately unhappy she was, feeding on their pity and their good wishes instead of being up and about and independent. She didn't want to be doted upon –
"No, maybe not," came Charles's voice from the doorway, where he stood with Gracie in his arms. The baby was utterly swaddled in blankets and one of Elsie's many fine coats, and he looked chilly but pleased with himself. "But happiness is such an important part of the world. Isn't that right, Gracie, dear? Aren't you happy to come see mummy?" The baby cooed and burbled in response, then let out a happy shriek of glee.
"Charles, what on earth have you done to my coat?" Elsie gasped.
"Oh, hush, no harm done," Charles said with a small smile. "It's the one you were going to retire in the spring anyway – but it still smells of you and it calmed our Gracie in the night. She misses you very much, you know."
"Oh, bring her here," Elsie sighed, frowning a little. The man was hopeless when it came to children; she could see it vividly now. He laid the bundle of blankets down in her arms and she uncovered her precious daughter's face. "Hello, love," Elsie murmured. "I missed you, too." Gracie smiled up at her and squealed with the utter bliss that only a tiny child could express freely.
She leaned down and kissed her daughter's forehead, and the baby's small hands reached up and splayed across Elsie's cheeks, an answering laugh bubbling up in Elsie's throat as she was embraced such as it was by her bairn.
"She wouldn't settle until I wrapped her in your shawl and the coat," Charles admitted quietly. "I felt like such a bad father – until I realized she only wanted her mummy."
Elsie sighed and looked at him sadly. "Oh, Charlie," she breathed, "you are not a bad father – you're anything but, love."
She was a bit surprised when he tilted her chin up and gave her a gentle – but passionate – kiss. "I love you, Elsie," he whispered against her lips. "Happy Christmas, my love."
A sudden choked sob drew both their attentions to Fiona, whose face was buried in Beryl's neck whilst the cook looked both angry and bewildered. "I'm sorry," Fiona wailed, getting up and attempting to run from the room. Charles caught her before she could leave, and she struggled with his grip upon her hand for a moment before her arm went limp and she seemed to sag with misery.
"Oh love, my darling girl, come here," Elsie murmured. "Come tell me what's wrong – please –"
"It's not you that's the problem, mum," Fiona cried, "it's him. It's always him. He doesn't care what happens to me – he loves you and he loves Gracie." She glared defiantly at her father through her tears. "He couldn't give a toss what happens to me – he never has."
"That's not true," Elsie argued.
"You didn't know him, before," Fiona said. "He wouldn't hardly look at me; he'd leave me with granny and Beryl and do whatever and the only time he spent with me was at bedtime."
"I was trying to provide for you," Charles said. "Pardon me for –"
"Don't lord that over my head," Fiona ground out through clenched teeth. "When I was sick, you never came to see me –"
"Because I couldn't pass disease from you to His Lordship," Charles said pointedly.
"You put everyone else first," Fiona shot back. "Always. You've never once asked me what I wanted: you just assumed that I'd be pleased to be second best. To have the second best clothes, to have the second best shoes, to have the second best spot next to your perfect little girl with mum. Well, I can't take it anymore, dad. I can't."
Beryl cleared her throat. "I should get back to the big house," she said. "I'll have cocoa and biscuits waiting, Fiona, lovey."
"I should go with you," Fiona mumbled. "At least you want me around."
"Charles, say something," Elsie ordered, feeling the situation sliding precariously out of control. If she lost Fiona, especially now, she would be going back down that rabbit's hole of dark despair. "CHARLIE CARSON –"
"Obviously, I'm a worse father than I thought," Charles said very quietly, releasing Fiona's hand. "And I thought I was… terrible." He turned his back on all of them, trying to collect himself. "I love you, Fiona, I just – I – I don't know how to show it. You've always been so happy, so strong, and you preferred Elsie and Beryl's company to mine, so I allowed you your freedom with them, rather than inflicting myself on you."
"All I ever wanted was for you to love me and be proud of me," Fiona said, her voice full of infinite sadness. "Even when I won that writing contest, you just said, 'but of course, writing won't pay the bills'."
"I didn't want you to pin all your hopes on a dream, like I had," Charles whispered. "I only wanted something better for you, Fiona –"
"Well, I wanted you and mum and me to be happy – I thought we might be, but then she left and you started acting like –"
"I'm well aware," Charles muttered dismally.
Beryl chose that moment to make her escape. Elsie wanted to make hers, but seeing as how she wasn't going anywhere any time quickly, she merely sighed and closed her eyes. Fiona watched her with concern, if not outright alarm, and Elsie was quick to assure her, "I'm all right, love."
Charles turned back to face them, tears streaming down his face; it was enough to startle them both. The stalwart butler never cried anywhere he could be seen by others. Elsie had often heard him weeping behind closed doors, and she had never invaded his privacy. For him to be so shaken that he would cry in public, Fiona's accusations had pierced him straight to the core.
"I only ever wanted what was best for you, Fiona," he sobbed miserably. "I want you to be happy – I never meant to hurt you – I never meant –"
Fiona crumbled, bursting into tears again and rushing into his arms. "Daddy," she sobbed, "I'm sorry –"
He held her close, and Elsie wiped away tears of her own, looking down at Gracie, who was sucking on an edge of the shawl. "Oh, darling, your daddy and big sister are so stubborn," she murmured. "And I'm sure you'll grow up just the same way – maybe more so because your mammy is more pig-headed than your da."
And she watched them slowly begin to heal wounds that had been exposed long before she had ever known Charles and Fiona. She was proud of them, her man and his little girl, but not so proud to pin her hat on there not being a similar fight in future. They were both too stubborn and too proud for their own good.
"Why must we go to the hospital and see Mrs. Carson, mama?" Mary asked, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. She was eleven and her elocution and deportment lessons – as well as her training as a young lady to take over a household – had left her with a snobbish air about her.
"Because, dear," Cora said patiently, "Mrs. Carson is very ill and you wouldn't like to be alone on Christmas Day, would you?" When Mary shook her head delicately, Cora added, "Then why should she?"
"She is the housekeeper," Mary replied as if the word was dirty.
"She is my friend," Cora said sharply. "You would do well to find such a friend as Mrs. Carson, Mary."
"Mrs. Carson is nice," Edith said. "She used to read to me before she went away."
"She gave me a dolly for Christmas," Sybil piped up. "I like Mrs. Carson a lot, mama."
"Well, I think she will be pleased to see all three of you," Cora said. "Give us a twirl, then –"
"But, mama, surely we shouldn't wear our Sunday best to see a servant?" Mary asked with a frown.
"And why not?" Cora replied. "Why not show Mrs. Carson that she is valued and appreciated?"
"What would Granny say?" Mary asked.
"I don't care what Granny would say – she has said far more than enough on the subject of Mrs. Carson than is proper," Cora snapped. "Now, put on your coats, girls." She looked over at the under butler and said, "Johnson, have you loaded the gifts for Mrs. Carson into the coach?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"Good. Thank you. We will return for luncheon," Cora said, pulling on her gloves and waiting for her maid to wrap her up in her fur and wool coat, same as the girls were being done by nanny. "Please see to it that Mrs. Patmore has hot cider ready when we return."
"Yes, m'lady."
She waited impatiently for the girls to be ready – but, then again, dressing children always seemed to take more time. Sybil, in particular, was a bouncy, rowdy little thing… until she was with Mrs. Carson, who soothed her and smoothed out her wrinkles and enthusiasm, directing it somewhere more constructive. Cora really didn't know what she would do without Elsie in the household; now that she had left and come back, she had seen the utter chaos that would ensue, and she did not like it at all. No, no, best to keep Mrs. Carson close and well-provided for so she would not possibly want to leave again.
It was frightening, being dependent so much on one person.
With guilt, she realized that her dependence on Mrs. Carson was far more even than her reliance upon her husband. If he were to die, she could marry again – but to lose the Carsons… it would be beyond devastating.
The coach ride into the village was full of excited chatter from Edith and Sybil, while Mary stayed stubbornly silent, wishing she could obviously refuse to participate in the Christmas visit to the hospital. Of course, she had been delighted with her new dresses and her painting portfolio, and the promise of a spring trip to New York with Grandmama, but she was disapproving of the housekeeper. Cora wondered, honestly, if she should speak to Violet about keeping her mouth shut around the children. It did them no favors to see their granny and their mother facing off about old ways vs. new ones.
Once inside the hospital, Mary regained a bit of her cheerfulness. She was clearly glad to be able to see Carson – of all the servants, he was her obvious favorite. "Mama, I did not mean to upset you," Mary said as they walked down the corridor. "I only meant –"
"I know what you meant, dear," Cora said with a sigh. "And I'm afraid that that is the problem. We'll discuss it later. Right now, I am insisting that you be the kind, sweet girl I know you can be and be pleasant to Mrs. Carson."
"Yes, mama," Mary said obediently.
"Now, let me go in first," Cora said, "and I will come collect you in a moment." She opened the door and watched the room startle. Carson jumped to his feet, baby Gracie and her bottle in his arms; Fiona immediately rose from her perch on Mrs. Carson's bed, and poor Mrs. Carson looked as dreadful and pale as Cora had ever seen her. "No, no, stay where you are," Cora said gently. "We're here as friends, not as the Ladies Grantham. Mrs. Carson, we wished to pay you a Christmas visit and bring you your gifts from the house."
"Gifts, m'lady?" Elsie asked softly. "I cannot accept –"
"Nonsense," Cora said in a firm voice. "Girls, come in and wish the Carsons a Happy Christmas."
"Mrs. Carson, Mrs. Carson," Sybil cried, rushing into the room and giggling, "mama gave me a new dress for the dolly you gave me last Christmas! Why are you in bed, Mrs. Carson?"
Elsie smiled sadly and reached out for the little girl's hand. "Because the doctor says I must stay in bed for a while, pet," she murmured. "Is your dolly's dress very grand?"
Sybil nodded and smiled. "It's gots lots of buttons, like mama's dresses do."
Cora watched Mary go over to Carson. "Whose baby is that?" she asked.
"She is Mrs. Carson's and mine, my lady," Charles said with obvious pride.
Mary gasped in horror. "Oh, mama, no – you cannot sack Mr. Carson –"
Cora pressed a hand to her lips. "Why on earth would I sack Carson, dear?"
"Because granny says that married servants cannot have babies or they'll be sacked! And Mr. and Mrs. Carson have a brand-new baby – oh, please don't sack them!" Mary sobbed, clearly overwhelmed.
"I am not letting anyone go!" Cora said with force. "And neither will I let granny do it, either – she doesn't live in the big house anymore and she has no voice in who is on staff. Besides, Fiona has grown up here with Mr. and Mrs. Carson as her very married parents…"
Mary blinked and looked over at Fiona, who had rejoined Elsie on the bed. "She is theirs?" she asked in disbelief. Of course, she had encountered the kitchen girl many times in her life, but it had never been made clear that she was a member of Carson's family to Cora's knowledge.
"I am, m'lady," Fiona said with a small smile. "Mr. Carson is my father. Mrs. Carson is my mum. And Gracie over there in dad's arms is my little sister."
"So you're not sacking Mr. and Mrs. Carson because they've already broken that rule?" Mary asked Cora, still confused and alarmed, but at least she'd stopped crying.
"Something like that, yes," Cora sighed. "I'm going to have a talk with your granny – she's quite unkind when she has a mind to be."
Edith strode up to Carson and said, "May I see your baby, Mr. Carson?" He lowered the bundle so Edith could see, and she squealed with delight. "She has such a little nose and a pretty face! She looks like Mrs. Carson!"
"She does, doesn't she?" Carson said with a smile.
Mary wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and murmured, "I am sorry for my unseemly display of –"
"Nonsense," Elsie said from her bed. "It is nice to know that someone cares, Lady Mary."
Cora carefully pulled out the bag that Elsie's gifts had been stuffed into. "I'm afraid it's the usual fabric and notions," Cora said, "but I did find a lovely patterned black brocade for you this year."
"Oh, it's lovely, m'lady," Elsie murmured with a smile. "I'll enjoy it very much."
"And… I have something for you to sign," Cora added, brandishing a folder.
"Sign, m'lady?"
"Yes – Mr. Carson and I have discussed the conditions of Jessop House and have found what we feel to be a better long-term facility for your sister in York," Cora said with a smile. "It is less expensive, and better managed. We just need your signature, and we can bring Miss Hughes come new year's."
Elsie stared up at her in wonder. "M'lady, I –"
"Don't say anything; just sign the paperwork," Cora said. "We've worked very hard with Mr. Murray to find these accommodations and negotiate with Jessop House to allow Miss Hughes to leave. She will be very happy at Althorp Manor, and you can take the train to see her on half days."
"I've not got a pen," Elsie pointed out.
Cora bit her lip and giggled. "Oh, silly me – I managed to get all the way here without pen and ink – let me go see Dr. Clarkson, then…"
"M'lady?" Elsie murmured. "Thank you. For coming, for caring – thank you."
Cora took Elsie's hand between hers and smiled for a moment before kissing it. "Speak nothing of it, Mrs. Carson. It is no more than what a friend does," she said gently.
She would do anything to protect her friends, for she had so few of them.
END PART TWENTY-FIVE