GETTING MARRIED

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I profit in any way from the use of, the characters, settings, suggested plot lines or ideas drawn from Downton Abbey. Everything belongs to Julian Fellowes.

Chapter 2 The Cottage

A Petty Issue

"Have you made any progress in finding a cottage for Carson and Mrs. Hughes?"

Mary put the question to her father as he handed her the whisky she had taken to having at the end of the day.

"I haven't quite focused on that yet," Robert said, sitting down beside Cora on the sofa.

"Well, we haven't got all the time in the world," Mary went on, not moving from the sidetable. "No matter where it is, there'll be renovations and repairs to be made before they can move in."

Robert sighed. "I suppose so." He did not see over his shoulder how Mary rolled her eyes at this, but Cora gave her daughter a look. Mary was not chastened. She moved over to stand in front of her parents.

"This isn't something you can put off to the last minute, Papa. How ridiculous would it be for them to go off on their honeymoon without knowing where they're going to live when they come back!"*

At her father's ineffectual shrug, Mary made an exasperated sound. "Would you rather I took care of it?" she asked impatiently.

After a moment's thought, Robert nodded. "Do you know, I would."

"Good." Mary swallowed the rest of her drink. "That's settled. I'm going to bed. Good night." And with that she put down her glass and left the room.

"Why's she in a mood?" Robert ventured, glancing after her.

"She's working very hard as the estate agent," Cora reminded him. "It doesn't come easily to her and she's not accustomed to the pace. And she thinks she must be as capable as Tom was when he left, forgetting what a learning curve he had."

"Hmm."

"And," Cora added, gazing critically at her husband, "she's a little exasperated that you don't appear very committed to the task of finding a home for the Carsons." Cora could not disguise her own bewilderment at this. "Why have you been stalling on that?"

"I've not been stalling," Robert said, jiggling his glass a little. "I just haven't gotten around to it."

Cora said nothing, just waited him out.

"There's nothing to it," he insisted more heatedly, knowing what she was doing.

"Are you re-thinking your support of their marriage?"

He looked affronted. "Of course not! I couldn't be happier for Carson. For Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

Another moment of silence elapsed.

"Is it that you don't want Carson to move out of the house?"

Robert just stared at her. "Please. How ridiculous. He can perform all his duties effectively no matter where he sleeps."

Cora knew this to be true, but she was thinking of something else. "But he won't be here night and day, for the first time in your tenure as the Earl of Grantham. You've always relied on him to be here to hold the fort in your absence, to consult whenever there's an issue with the house. It'll be a big change for you."

"I have never disrupted Carson's sleep so that I might have a chat about some bothersome issue," he said coolly. "That was my father. And you must believe I'm a terribly fragile creature if you think I can't face life without my butler within easy reach. Really, Cora."

He had convinced her to some extent. "But there is something."

He looked almost as if he would bite her head off again with a denial, but then his shoulders slumped and he relented. "Yes," he admitted heavily, "there is something. But it's so petty I hardly dare admit it to myself, let alone you."

Cora smiled knowingly. "This is about being his best man, isn't it? Maybe he's not having one at all."

"He will," Robert said immediately, confirming her assumption. "He must. It's a formal wedding. He can't get married without one. And who else can he ask?" Robert turned to his wife with a chagrined look on his face. "I told you it was petty."

But Cora only leaned over to circle his arm with hers. "It'll do him no good at all to get married, with or without a best man, if they've no place to live together, Robert."

"Well, it won't be a problem now that Mary's on to it. She'll have a cottage for them by Tuesday."

"I don't know about that," Cora said. "Things take time. Especially things involving Carson, Robert. Just be patient."

The Look in His Eyes

Mary met them at the cottage. This was a deliberate strategy on her part. They had agreed to meet at two-thirty and she went ahead of time, wanting to look around before they arrived. She wanted a sense of the shape the place was in and how much work would be needed to bring it up to standard, the standard she wished Carson - and Mrs. Hughes, too - to enjoy. But it was also true that she did not want to spend any more time in their presence than necessary. It was one thing to see Carson on his own. She had, and always would, enjoy his company. She was less enthusiastic about Mrs. Hughes. The woman was a valued employee and Mary respected her and was grateful for her service to Downton and even, when it came to it, the role she had assumed in Carson's life. But she had not quite reconciled herself to this new dynamic. Mary would have said that of course she didn't expect Carson to devote his life exclusively to Downton or to her, but perhaps in some small corner of her mind she did. She had long had a privileged claim on his heart and was now obliged to share it. And she had never shared easily. Better to minimize the time the three of them were to spend together.

The cottage was almost empty. Mrs. Cobb had moved out two days earlier, off to live with her daughter in Oswaldkirk, taking with her all of her own possession, of course, but leaving behind a few sticks of furniture, including a table and chairs in the kitchen.

Mary prowled the dwelling, opening and closing doors, testing the stability of shelves in the pantry, checking for draughts, running the taps in the kitchen and the lavatory upstairs, flushing the toilet. Thank God there was indoor plumbing. If there hadn't been, she'd have had it installed. She would not have had Carson moving back in time, and doubted that his disdain for things modern would have extended to such practical innovations.

It was useful to make such a close inspection of the cottage. She needed to know more about the cottages, and the tenants, as well as the farms, the stock, and the crops, now that she was the agent. She hadn't been in one of the cottages in years. Not, in fact, since before the war when Matthew took her on a tour, eager to show her the innovations and modernizations he had wrought upon them. It was the great achievement of his early years at Downton and he was very proud of them. At the time Mary had paid more attention to him than to the renovations that delighted him.

Abruptly she pushed away thoughts of Matthew. She did not like to be sad. And with equal determination she drove off thoughts of Tom, too, which only filled her mind as she emptied it of Matthew. She missed Tom, too, though for different reasons, most of them involving decisions about the estate.

She was glad for the distraction when Carson and Mrs. Hughes appeared, exactly at the arranged time, which was no surprise to her. She met them at the door, rather more in the manner of a real estate agent, and took them on the tour.

Mary was not quite sure how she had expected them to react. In her view, the cottage was dark and gloomy, though bright paint and some lamps might address that. Still, she wondered at their enthusiasm as they moved from room to room. Their conversation was animated and they saw possibilities everywhere. These largely escaped Mary. They were leaving the Abbey for this? she thought. It seemed something of a come-down to her. And yet their delight was genuine.

"It'll be a bit of a trek in bad weather," Mary observed, suddenly aware of Carson's age and reluctant to think of him traversing the route to the house in the rain or the cold.

"It's only a ten minute walk," Mrs. Hughes responded lightly.

"And there's a good gravel path," Carson added.

"The estate workers will paint the place for you, top to bottom," Mary went on. "You've only got to arrange with them the colours. That should brighten things up. And we'll have it done promptly so that you can move your things in before you leave."

"That will be lovely."

"And I've tested all the faucets. Hot and cold water are in order and nothing is dripping."

Carson smiled at her. "You're quite a practical hand, my lady."

"I've learned a few things," she said, smiling back at him.

As they looked through the empty rooms upstairs, Mary added, "There's scads of furniture in the attics at Downton. His Lordship and Her Ladyship agree with me that if you want anything from there, you must feel free to help yourself."

"That's kind of you, my lady," Carson said, acknowledging the gesture with another indulgent smile.

"The rooms are a bit small," Mary noted, as they all stopped in the larger of the two bedrooms. She could fit three rooms this size in her own capacious chamber on the gallery.

"Oh, this is quite enough space for the two of us," Mrs. Hughes assured her, walking the length of the room, and pausing to look out the curtainless window. "I don't know what we'll do with so much space, but I'm sure we'll fill it up eventually."

Carson nodded. For decades they had both accommodated their few worldly possessions in fairly modest quarters. They would be able to spread out a bit here.

Mary hadn't gone out into the garden, so they all made their way down the stairs, through the kitchen to the back door together. There was a window over the sink near the door and on the ledge, though Mary had not noticed it when she was testing the taps, was a small plant. The sight of it arrested Mrs. Hughes's movement and she reached out to it, caressing the delicate purple petals.

"Look at this, Mr. Carson. An African violet! Imagine Mrs. Cobb leaving behind something as dear as that. Isn't it lovely?"

He was close behind her and stopped when she did. At her words, he extended his hand, too, only he did not touch the plant, instead gently brushing his fingertips down the back of her hand. Then he folded his fingers and drew his knuckles softly over her hand once more. For a moment they stood as though locked in time and in a world in which they were the only inhabitants.

Mary's gaze shifted from the innocent but intimate contact of their hands to Carson's eyes. What she saw there in his expression, fixed on Mrs. Hughes's face which was still enraptured with the fragile little flower, gave her heart an agonizing wrench. She knew that look.

"She's forgotten it in her move," Mrs. Hughes announced, breaking the spell. "I'll take it back up to the Abbey with me and make sure that she gets it."

"And what if she doesn't want it?" Carson demanded, teasing her a little. "Maybe she thought it was bad luck to take with her everything she had."

"Then I'll keep it, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes responded. "My mother had one just like it." She passed on out the door into the garden and he followed.

Mary fell back.

When Carson had announced to her on Christmas morning that he and Mrs. Hughes were engaged to be married, she had been surprised. There was no denying the happiness in his eyes as he conveyed the news, although there had also been some trepidation in his manner, for he had been unsure of her reaction, a concern that was wholly unfounded. She had been swept with joy for him. She seldom framed it so explicitly, to herself let alone anyone else, but she loved Carson and she wanted him to have anything in life that would make him happy. And if Mrs. Hughes filled that bill, then Mary was glad of it. But the news had taken her by surprise because she had no inkling of their relationship. Carson was not in the habit of confiding his secrets to her and she had had no opportunity to put the pieces together, for she rarely saw Carson and Mrs. Hughes in one place.

Nor had opportunities to do so increased in the few months since. So although she accepted the fact of their affection for each other, she had seen little evidence of it with her own eyes. They had not meant to put their relationship on display for her here and would have been embarrassed to think they had done so. But this in itself made their exchange even more poignant. It was such an unassuming series of simple things - Mrs. Hughes's quiet delight in the flower, Carson's gentle touch, their light banter. They knew each other well, were comfortable with each other at a very deep level, and had an emotional intimacy that was apparent in even the slightest of interactions. Now as they navigated the garden, Mary took a moment to recover her poise.

And then they were inside again, as pleased with the garden as they had been with the cottage and full of plans for flowers. For a few minutes the three of them discussed the adjustments that might be made and Mary, all business-like, produced pencil and notebook and made a list. Then Carson took note of the time and they thanked Lady Mary for her consideration and Mrs. Hughes collected the African violet and they left. Mary remained for a few minutes at the table where she had sat to take her notes.

They wanted to be away from the Abbey as a couple. They were looking forward to a home of their own, a more modest home in a cottage rather than rooms in the great house, as an aspect of their transformed relationship. They would have their own garden where they might plant flowers, something they had never been able to do at the Abbey. And they would have here an intimacy - emotional as well as physical - that could never flourish within the walls of the great house, so closely encumbered as they would be there by so many other people.

She was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of Matthew. Matthew, whose sudden elevation to the status of heir to an earldom and the title to a vast estate had not turned his head. Who had seized upon updating the estate cottages, making the lives of those who lived in them just that much more comfortable, as his first legacy to Downton. Matthew, who had come to love the family and Downton Abbey itself, but who yearned for a life apart with Mary in the early years of their marriage, that they might "get to know each other without everyone watching." Matthew, whose eyes told her every time she looked into them how very much he loved her.

Mary had thought she would never see that look again and then turned to find it in Carson's gaze only moments ago. She had watched him watching Mrs. Hughes, looking for her reactions, wanting to see the cottage through her eyes, wanting to feel what she was feeling. It was a look imbued with the passion of young love, young in a way that had nothing to do with the age of the lovers. It staggered her to have had this unexpected and intimate insight into their lives and her heart broke in remembrance.

*A/N1. How ridiculous indeed that the Carsons should go away on their honeymoon and return to find that members of staff had packed up their rooms and relocated them to the cottage they had never set eyes on. I couldn't see this happening.