Thirty:
The Hard Questions

Charles was counting the last of the wine delivery when his wife stormed into his pantry. He felt immediately like a caged animal had just been let loose and he knew his best course of option was to roll over and play dead. As soon as possible. If not sooner.

It was too late, however, and she slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolts with a fury that left him stunned – too stunned to form an adequate question.

"When were you going to bother to tell me that you threatened Fiona with marriage if she didn't choose her studies or a job in the kitchens?" Elsie's voice was cold, ice cold, and filled with a venom that he could barely stand to hear. "And to the baker's boy, nonetheless? How bloody could you? You stupid, stupid man." The last word was filled with such derision, such utter hatred that he knew exactly why he hadn't mentioned that foolish transgression of his to her.

"Excuse me, but I –"

She plucked the invoice out of his hands and slammed it down onto the desk. "No," she snapped, "you don't have the right to speak as though you were doing something good for her. You have no idea, no concept, of what it means to belong to someone else, do you? You have no clue in that bulbous head what you've done, do you? None at all."

He glared at her; how dare she insinuate that he didn't know what was best for his child! It was by the grace of god, and an accident of heart, at all that she could call Fiona hers as well. If anyone should be indignant about the affair, it should be him! "I do not appreciate being made to look like a fool in my own domain," he growled.

One of the muscles below her eye twitched. He knew he'd gone too far, but he could not allow her to think that she had the right to dictate to him –

He wasn't anticipating her attack, and he didn't feel the sting of her slap until after it had already landed and she had retreated, holding her wrist gingerly with her other hand.

He reached up and touched his flaming cheek, shocked that she had not only found it in her heart to strike him, but had executed it to such perfect effect. "Mrs. Carson!" he gasped.

"You just… you just shut up," she hissed. "Shut up before I lose my temper again. You have no right to be self-righteous and you have no right at all to tell your daughter that you'll all but sell her into a sham of a marriage just because she won't make a decision that you're forcing upon her. She was a child, Charles. A CHILD. She still bloody well is, but she's been forced into being an adult and she will resent you forever for it." She winced and cradled her hand. "That bloody well hurt, by the way."

"My face still aches," he mumbled. "And I wouldn't have gone through with –"

"Shut up," she repeated. "Shut up, shut up, shut your mouth." He fell silent, instinctively realizing it would do no good to further provoke her. When she got in a snit, it was best to let her explode and relax again. He was very bad about pushing her to the limit, but they always came back from the edge of the abyss.

"I would have given anything in the world to have someone to give a damn about me and my welfare when I was her age," Elsie finally said. "How dare you take that small comfort away from your daughter, Charles? How could you forget that you're her father first and foremost, not her jailer? How could you hate your own flesh and blood so much that you'd do something so horrible to hurt her?"

"I don't hate her," he said, lifting his hands in surrender. "I love her – I don't deserve her, but I love her. I never meant to actually go through with it; I just thought if she had something unpalatable to pit against the other two options, she might make a decision and –"

Elsie stomped her foot, her lips pursing together into a furiously drawn slash of a line. "You are beyond stupid, Charles Carson!" she shouted. "I have no clue why I married you! You haven't got a brain in your head – did you ever think that your daughter would see even the implication that you would sell her off into marriage as a reflection of your rejection? YOU STUPID, STUPID FOOL."

"I never thought –"

"You don't think," she hissed. "You never think. You come at me with your rank and privilege and 'I'm a man and the world is so easy for me because I make more money and I can do whatever I want within the law of god and man' and you don't bloody well stop and think before you open your stupid mouth, Charles! You never stop and think that maybe the reason I said yes to marrying you was because I was scared to be alone – because at least when you're married, you have some protection. A woman's world is so much different than a man's – you have no concept of what we have to deal with. None at all." She took a deep, shaky breath. "And for you to be so heavy-handed with Fiona… you've become the worst kind of father."

"Elsie, I –"

She shook her head and raised her hand, wincing. "I'm terrified of the future now, Charles," Elsie whispered. "What will you do to our Gracie? Will you do her the same harm as you've done Fiona? I thought – I thought I loved you, but I don't know you at all, do I?"

"Elsie, I – I would never –"

"I know you wouldn't do it intentionally," she mumbled, looking away from him. "But it's the unintended slights that do the most damage." Elsie took a deep breath, held it, released it. "You know, I almost killed myself after our Gracie was born. I was in so much pain and there was no way out. I knew I was wrong – you couldn't possibly love me or our girl enough to put up with it, to put up with me… and I went to such a dark place I didn't want to come back. But our girl was there and she needed me. She needed her mammy, Charlie… and that was the only reason I didn't do it. Because she needed me and I loved you so much… so much I couldn't fathom hurting you like that again. No one should live through that twice. I should have stayed there, in Scotland – I ruin everything I touch. I should have –"

He hesitated a moment, watching her devolve, break, crumble, and his heart broke; he had caused this, all of it, through his thoughtlessness, his carelessness… and he had no idea how to fix it.

"Elsie," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I am so, so very sorry –"

"I'm not the one you should apologize to," she said. "I'm just your wife."

She could never just be his wife; nor could she just be his. She was Elsie: she was somehow bigger than life and yet, so much smaller. And he loved all of her with such desperation that it made him sick at heart.

He held his arms open and pulled her close, holding her gently, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Never just my anything," Charles breathed. "You are my everything, Elsie."

"Thank you, Miss Carson," Anna Smith chirped happily as Fiona laid out a serving of steak and kidney pie and lima beans before her. It was a simple meal, but hearty, and Fiona was glad she'd made enough for her company as well as herself.

She had been tutoring Anna in her maths since the beginning of school, and the eleven year old girl with her huge blue eyes and flaxen hair was beginning to understand a bit better what was going on. Enough so that Fiona considered it a success. And her father came by to collect her after the special lessons, after they shared a small meal usually – even if it was just tea and scones. She found herself looking forward to the evenings she shared with the Smiths, however inappropriate that might seem to anyone on the outside looking in.

"You're very welcome, Anna," Fiona murmured. She laid out a second serving for Mr. Smith and fought back a blush as his fingertips gently grazed her hand. "Would you like tea or ale, Mr. Smith?" she inquired softly, almost shyly, not quite looking at him.

"Tea, if you please," Arthur Smith said cheerfully. "The brewery paid me for work on some of the gentlemen's boots in pints earlier – I was afraid I'd be rolling down the lane."

Anna giggled. "Papa, you don't roll," she said.

"One more pint of ale and I would have lost my footing," he teased, chucking her on the chin. "Thank you again, Miss Carson, for seeing my Anna well – and for making us such a lovely dinner."

Fiona brought the drinks to the table, then sat down herself; she knew she should be ashamed of her house, of her meager things, but she found that she didn't really care that much. The curtains her mother had made were lovely, but they were just things. But the way her stomach fluttered when Mr. Smith looked at her made all of her shame over her home go flying right away.

She had underseasoned the pie. She winced and reached for the salt and pepper; but her guests didn't seem to notice the difference. She knew that the cobbler employed a maid (who helped Anna dress), a cook, and a valet, but surely he understood the value of a well-cooked meal just as well as anyone else, and she was ashamed of herself more than anything. She wanted to impress him – why, she wasn't quite sure, but she knew that it was quite important, especially with the rumors circulating in the village about his wanting to walk out with the Widow Jones – to keep Anna, the dear thing, in the school and keep the lessons going.

"This is delicious, Miss Carson," Anna said with a sweet smile, reaching over to hold and squeeze her teacher's hand reassuringly. "Mrs. Greer doesn't make her meat pies any better than this."

"Thank you, Anna," Fiona said softly. "I spent most of my childhood in the kitchens at the Abbey – or in the housekeeper's parlor with my mum."

"What's it like at the Abbey?" Anna inquired. "I bet it's grand –"

Fiona sighed a little, trying not to let her homesickness show. She was only a couple of miles away from home and her family, but it might as well have been a million. She missed the finery, the manners, the grandeur of everything where she had grown up – and now that she was on her own, she felt their absence keenly. For her part, mum had done her best to make sure she knew how to keep house and Auntie Beryl had taught her how to cook in ways that mum could never have. But there was still so much missing from her life.

"I didn't mean to make you cry!" Anna yelped in alarm.

"No, it's not you," Fiona whimpered, reaching for a napkin to wipe her eyes. "I just – I miss my family very much and… and I hate not being with them. I hate it here," she confessed miserably. "I hate this house, I hate not being there for my sister and my mum and dad…"

"Why don't you go back to the big house, then?" Anna asked.

"Lady Grantham won't allow it," Fiona said, trying to stop crying. She felt very small and silly all of a sudden, as if she were not nearly enough for the person she was meant to be. She felt very young. That didn't help anything. Young, scared, lonely –

"Miss Carson," Mr. Smith said gently, "we take our family for granted until we don't have them anymore. I am certain that they miss you as much as you miss them."

"I'm being silly," Fiona mumbled. "It's only two miles."

"Two miles is very far," Anna spoke up again. "I shouldn't like to walk that far."

There was a knock on the front door and Fiona got up, startled, heading toward it with alacrity. Once it was opened, she stood there, staring into the twilight. "Daddy, what are you doing here – shouldn't you be serving?"

"I've left it to the underbutler for this evening," he said with a frown. "May I come in or –"

"Yes, of course, but I've not got much to serve you for dinner – Mr. Smith and Anna have already tucked into their shares and there's just mine left…"

There was a long, quiet pause, then her father said, "You're entertaining a gentleman without a chaperone?"

She sighed and frowned. "I don't expect you to approve and you've already jumped to the wrong conclusions –"

"You are seventeen years old," he said angrily. "And you are entertaining an eligible gentleman in your dining room without a proper –"

Fiona pursed her lips together and huffed irritably. "His daughter is there. There is nothing untoward going on. Besides, Mr. Smith wouldn't give me the time of day, let alone want to walk out with me, unless I were helping his daughter with her lessons. So if you please would be reasonable, daddy – I am not a child anymore. You cannot push me and pull me and pretend that you care when it suits you to."

Mr. Smith came up behind them and said, "Miss Carson, I'm afraid that Anna and I need to go. I should not like to be the reason for you falling out with your father."

"You are not the reason," Fiona denied quietly.

Her father merely made an almost inaudible grunting noise in response to Mr. Smith.

"Thank you for dinner, Miss Carson," Anna said with a small smile. "I will see you in class tomorrow."

"Yes, of course, Anna," Fiona said quietly. "Thank you for coming – you did very well today with your lessons."

"Anna, will you go wait for me by the gate?" Mr. Smith said. When the girl was gone, he turned to Fiona's father and said, "Mr. Carson, you may not realize that your voice carries and that my daughter and I heard everything that you said very clearly. I am afraid that I've been remiss in not coming to the Abbey to speak with you about spending time in your daughter's company, but I did not see the harm in staying when invited with the pleasure of the company of two lovely young ladies. That being said, Mr. Carson… I would be completely remiss if I did not seek your permission to court your daughter's hand – I promise to do nothing untoward, and I shall keep Anna with us at all times."

Fiona was light-headed and giddy with sudden emotion rushing to her head. "What?" she stammered. "But I thought you were walking out with Madge Jones –"

"She would like the world to think that I am walking out with her," Mr. Smith said with a roll of the eyes. "But she is not who I would care to spoil with my affections." He looked very pointedly at Fiona, who blushed and bit her lip.

Her father was just glowering at Mr. Smith, though her suitor paid him no heed at all. "Mr. Smith, we will discuss this matter later," he finally said. "You may come to see me at the Abbey and present yourself to my wife. She is far more protective of Fiona than I am; she will be the one whose approval will matter."

Fiona looked back up at Mr. Smith and smiled hesitantly. "Mum likes you," she said softly.

"She won't like him as a suitor," her father warned curtly. "Good day, Mr. Smith."

And with that, the cobbler was sent on his way. Fiona felt very small next to her father and his indomitable wrath, but a tiny thrill of hope surged in her heart. There was a man – a real man, not a boy, not some skeevy man who just wanted her for the sake of having her – who was actively seeking her approval… and it helped that she had already spent many evenings with a pot of cold tea, daydreaming about what it would be like to have him for her own.

Her father grumbled and followed her to the dining room table where the remnants of dinner were still laid out. "I suppose, if your mother approves, you'll be walking out with Mr. Smith," he muttered disapprovingly. "You will want to speak to her about… certain things. Things you ought not do when in the company of your gentleman, to give him the wrong ideas –"

"There are no wrong ideas when you care for someone, daddy –"

He glared at her. "You are a silly little girl, Fiona, and you don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. "It is my duty as your father to protect you – which, clearly, I have failed in doing if you're allowing yourself to be kissed by the Mater lad and now you're entertaining Mr. Smith in your dining room of all places! Anyone could have looked in the windows and seen –"

"And what if they did?" she challenged.

"Do you want to be on a path to ruin?" he shouted. "No daughter of mine is going to be tainted by scandal!"

"Well, maybe I don't want to be your daughter anymore," she shot back furiously. "You only claim me when it suits your purposes – so why claim me at all?" She was near tears, flushed and queasy from the overwhelming, conflicting emotions. "Why can't you just be happy that I've caught the eye of such a good, kind man? He is a good father, a good businessman –"

"And you would be the wife of a tradesman," he said with derision.

"There is more honor in being an honest tradesman than in groveling for scraps as a butler," she hissed.

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her father looked as though he'd been struck; he drew himself up to his full height and left without a word.

It was an old fight that was never resolved, and though she felt guilty for spurring it on, she could not find it in her heart to forgive him the numerous slights he'd inflicted against her over the years.

She cleaned up the kitchen, did the dishes, and went to bed. Fiona cried herself to sleep not for the first time.

END PART THIRTY