GETTING MARRIED

Chapter 18 The Bride's Day

Reflections

She was alone in her room now and wide awake, notwithstanding the few glasses of wine she'd had, which in the past often lulled her to sleep.

The case on her bed was almost complete, save for those things she needed tonight. She'd done it that morning, getting up a little earlier to do so. It wasn't something she had wanted to be doing at the last minute, certain that the unfamiliar state of emotional excitement would lead her to overlook some important item. And she wanted time to reflect on what had happened that day and what would happen the next.

She had much to be happy about, but she was absolutely glowing about the dress. Those dear women! They saved her from herself and she would ever be grateful to them for that. And then there was the dress itself. When she put it on earlier that Miss Baxter might make appropriate adjustments, they discovered that there were none to make. It fit perfectly. What an eye that woman had! And then she had slipped into the dress coat and Miss Baxter had pinned it up, and even now was off in the laundry room, whirring away on her sewing machine, working into the night that the bride might look her best.

For she was going to wear the coat. Between it and the lovely, lovely dress - she went over to where it was hanging on a hook on her wardrobe and ran her hands over the fine silk – she would never have anything so lovely to wear again. She could imagine, if she closed her eyes and wished away the years, that she will be a beautiful bride on the morrow, one as beautiful as Mr. Carson in his impeccable suit with his shining shoes and sparkling cufflinks deserved.

Her eyes left the dress and wandered the room, the room she had occupied for twenty-five years. It was a utilitarian space and now, stripped of almost all personal elements, this fact was even more starkly apparent. She wasn't going to miss this room. Her physical circumstances meant nothing to her, had no claim on her feelings. Even as this thought crossed her mind, she knew it was not true of the cottage. Their cottage. Although she and Mr. Carson would share a bedroom - there was a thought that would take some getting used to! - they would also have the rest of the cottage between them. So much space.

And privacy. Privacy had always been at a premium in the big house. But there it will be the norm. And the cottage will be theirs - not quite like the house they actually owned, but much more so than the rooms in which they had dressed and slept and dreamt for decades. They had so far made only the most basic arrangements at the cottage - moving in the furniture they'd collected and the few boxes of their few personal belongings - the civilian clothing they would not be taking on their trip, the personal items and mementoes they had. It was going to take time to find the right place for everything and they would have a lifetime together to do that. The only room that was in a ready state was the one for which they would have immediate use on their return - the bedroom. She pushed that thought away and began to undress. Best get to bed. Tomorrow would be a full day.

As she shed the clothing of the housekeeper of Downton Abbey, she pondered the fact that she would not don this garb again for a week. For an entire week she would have no responsibilities, have to answer to no one. How liberating! The last time she had been so casual was a long time ago indeed. And then she picked up her nightgown and a new pang of unease struck her. She was fortunate to have the dress with which to impress her husband-to-be, for she had nothing else. It wasn't just that her day dresses were drab, but that everything else was besides. She had resisted the pull of the modern world in her choice of underclothes and was the last woman in the house still wearing a corset. Even Mrs. Patmore had abandoned hers. With the great change of marriage imminent, she might have seized the moment to take a new direction, but a wedding day, already fraught with so many pressures, was not the time to embrace the rational dress movement. That practical thought had stilled her concerns that morning as she folded her clothes.

Tonight she did not linger in putting her nightgown on, having already over the past few months examined her body critically and at some length. Nothing had changed there. A woman in late middle age had disadvantages and there was nothing to be done about them. All she could do now was to take Mr. Carson at his word and acknowledge the desire he had both spoken of and shown her, insofar as that was possible.

But she did stare long and hard at the picture she presented in this worn flannel gown. It was not in the least attractive. It was even more shapeless than her day clothes, designed for warmth and comfort, not for appeal. It hadn't even been pretty when new and now the sombre burgundy had been dulled by the years of washing and wearing. Everyone would see her in her beautiful wedding dress, but only Mr. Carson - Charlie - was going to see her in her nightgown, and he was the one who mattered. And it wasn't flattering in the least. She was nervous enough, because she was still nervous, about his seeing her body, but she hadn't thought of his response to the nightdress. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and then it occurred to her to wonder if it would matter what her nightgown looked like.

The question drew her directly into those considerations Anna had raised in her garrulous confession of wedding night intimacies that had not fooled either one of them. Elsie had accepted and even come to anticipate the fact of physical intimacy with her husband. But...how would it be between them tomorrow night? She had been honest with Anna about her theoretical knowledge of the...the act...itself. She knew the technical details. But she was perplexed about how they would get to it. Would they undress together or separately? Would they do this in the dark? In the season of greatest light, would they have to wait well into the evening to begin? Was it possible to do...it...without taking off all their clothes? Would they even wear nightclothes? Mrs. Patmore had tried to quell the apprehensions this kind of speculation stirred by pointing out that he would be worried about these same things, but Elsie wasn't soothed by this. That was his problem.

She gave up and collapsed on her bed. There was nothing she could do about her nightgown now and, unlike the dress, it was unlikely that there would be an eleventh hour intervention by anyone to save her from herself. Her hand strayed across the bedcover. It was a quilt. Her mother had made it almost half a century earlier, a present to her elder daughter as she left home to take up her first position as a housemaid. It had adorned every bed she had slept in since. Like her nightdress, it showed the cares of the years, but she would never dismiss it because of age. The quilt was going with her to the cottage and there it would grace the bed she would share with... Charlie. She hadn't discussed it with him, but for her it was one thing that would not be up for discussion. It ought, perhaps, to have gone over to the cottage with her other things, but she could not imagine a night in this room without it and so it stayed. She'd kept it for luck. So Mr. Carson was not the only one with superstitions.

All her nighttime rituals had, tonight, taken on an unanticipated poignancy. It was the last time she would do them in a room by herself. No longer will she share the bathroom with all the women on the floor. Instead it will be just the two of them. And they will share a bedroom, where for decades she had been alone. From now on she will have both more and less privacy. They would have to work out their habits with each other, habits they had indulged for decades and must now fit around each other. Which of them will find this more difficult? She knew which she would put money on!

She had almost forgotten, in her excitement over tomorrow, and tomorrow night - a thrill ran up her spine every time she thought of it - and then every day after that, to say her prayers. The ritual was always a calming one and she needed that tonight. As she reached to turn out the light, she wondered when she would get the chance to say her prayers tomorrow night. Before? After? What complications marriage brought!

And then she turned to prayer and was overcome with a wave of gratitude. She had so much for which to be grateful. Tomorrow she was getting married, at her age! She was going to marry a man she dearly loved, which was not something to be taken for granted at any stage of life. She had such very good friends and her every wish concerning this great event in her life had come true. If there had been a bit of a struggle over one or two things, then that only had the effect of making them sweeter in the end. She could not turn her thoughts in any direction that did not bring her back to Mr. Carson.

Charlie. She had been practicing his name of late, whispering it to herself at night, wanting to be able to say it easily and naturally when the right moment came. They'd discussed only briefly, days after they became engaged, what she would call him, but she hadn't had the opportunity to use it since. He'd insisted on their usual forms of address when at work, and they were always at work.

So she had ruminated on it on her own - Charles or Charlie. He was so formal that Charles might have been more apt. But she didn't want that formality to extend into their personal lives. She wanted to know and call forth and enjoy his lighter side. She wanted to live with the man he had never been at Downton, the man who had broken free from service and life in the shadow of a great family and estate, and lived and worked for a time in a radically different world on the halls. He had been Charlie there. She loved the formal Charles Carson. That was the man with whom she had first fallen in love. But going forward she wanted to live with a man who was more than a butler. Charlie.

From tomorrow, they would be Charlie and Elsie, and for the next week would call each other nothing else. Wasn't that something!

Dressing the Bride

Despite the heightened state of her emotions, she slept. And then she woke in the morning with the sun - brilliant sunshine! - pouring in her window where she had forgotten to draw the curtains.

She woke at her usual hour, but there was nothing usual about this morning, for the holiday of her honeymoon began today on her wedding day. For the first time in her working life, she did not have to get up with the chickens. She lay back in bed, her quilt gathered in her hands, hands clasped over her breast, and listened. Outside her door she could hear the others in the passage - Mrs. Patmore, Miss Baxter, Daisy - all moving about, taking their turns in the bathroom. Then the sounds disappeared as they took to the stairs and she was alone in the women's quarters. It had never happened before that she was the last woman on the floor. In between the familiar noises of the others starting their day, she strained to hear anything from the other side of the wall that separated her room from Charlie's. She had no idea of his schedule for the morning, had never even thought to ask. Was he lying awake next door, like her, in a state of nervous anticipation?

Although she hadn't had an opportunity to sleep in in a very long time, it was impossible to close her eyes again now. Today was the day. In a little while, she would get dressed and then go to the church, and there be the centre of attention. She had never liked that, but in the moment she realized that this was different. She was proud, very proud at the prospect of becoming Mrs. Charles Carson. It was a dream come true and dreams such as this were worthy of extraordinary measures.

And it was going to be a celebration, first at the church and then in the schoolhouse. She smiled to herself in silent congratulation at having waged and won the battle for the reception venue. The Great Hall was a lovely location, but it was not them. Their celebration would be all them. She was going to enjoy herself. It would be the best party she had ever attended.

A knock at the door interrupted her reveries and Mrs. Patmore came in. Elsie sat up, a little embarrassed to be still lounging in her bed, even in the circumstances.

"Cup of tea to start your day off right," Mrs. Patmore announced, putting it down on the little stand by the bed.

"You're very kind," Elsie said humbly. She scrambled to sit up in bed.

Mrs. Patmore waved off her gratitude. "Now, there's nothing for you to do except stay in bed and worry!" She laughed at her own joke. "Daisy will bring you breakfast, by and by, and when Anna and Miss Baxter are finished dressing the ladies, they will come to you."

"I don't know how I will eat a thing," Elsie confessed, and it was true. There were butterflies in her stomach.

"Well, enjoy this morning. You'll not see another like it."

"That's for certain."

With Mrs. Patmore gone she had nothing to do but relax. And worry.

Now she heard sounds from next door, two male voices. So Mr. Carson had some special attention, too. She wondered from whom. Mr. Barrow? It seemed unlikely on both sides.

She thought she would find these minutes slow, but in no time Daisy had appeared with the tray, and not long after, Anna and Miss Baxter were at the door, the latter with the coat draped over her arms.

"We've come to dress the bride!" Miss Baxter declared. She could not have been more enthusiastic had she been in Mrs. Hughes's place.

"Those are words I never thought I'd hear," Mrs. Hughes said. She was trying to be her usual, unruffled self because that was all she knew how to be.

It was a treat to have the women dress her. She had never enjoyed such a luxury. Butlers sometimes employed hallboys to assist them, as a way to train them up to a valet's duties, but housekeepers did not train lady's maids. She had acted as a lady's maid, on occasion, but only in the most perfunctory of ways. Anna and Miss Baxter knew so much more. She gained insight into their work and a new appreciation of their skills as she gave herself over to them.

They laughed together, not least about her corset.

"I don't know where my mind has been," Elsie fussed. "I ought to have done something about it. Will it show through the dress?" She didn't know. Her day dresses were made of heavier materials and black hid almost everything.

"Not to worry," Miss Baxter said soothingly. "I can make lines disappear." And she could.

When they consulted about her hair and had conflicting opinions, exchanging these in the most polite disagreement Mrs. Hughes had ever heard, she ventured an opinion.

"Nothing fancy!"

They both turned to her with smiles at that.

"Just a little fancy," Anna said, reassuringly. "You're getting married, after all. Trust us."

Well, she did. And when they were finished that and everything else, they turned her toward the looking glass. It was an inadequate tool for such a moment, for when had she ever had to do more than check whether her hemline was straight or her hair tidy? But even she could see that they had worked wonders.

"My! The dress, the coat, they make me look beautiful!" she gasped. She couldn't quite believe it.

Miss Baxter put a hand on her arm. "They're only clothes. You are beautiful."

Elsie was taken aback by this, almost as much by Miss Baxter's quiet sincerity as the evidence of her own eyes. "You've done so much, the two of you. How can I ever thank you?"

For Anna, the glistening in Mrs. Hughes's eyes were thanks enough. When had she ever seen the housekeeper so transported?

Miss Baxter's face wore that almost pained look of pleasure. "It's so nice to have been part of this. Thank you for including me."

In her voice Elsie and Anna heard the disappointments and hurts of the woman's past, and were, in their own hearts, delighted to be part of a different life for her.

"Well," Anna said, unable to conceal her own excitement. "Are you ready?"

Mrs. Hughes gave her a look.

Anna's eyes sparkled. "Your carriage awaits, my lady!"

Didn't they laugh at that!

Going to the Church

They went down the servants' staircase, but one flight down, Anna opened the door and led them onto the gallery. Elsie hesitated, but Anna was firm.

"All things are different today," she said, steering the reluctant bride toward the grand staircase.

It was quite possibly the first time that either Anna or Miss Baxter had descended these stairs. The only servant who had the privilege to do so as a matter of course was the butler, although Mr. Carson rarely invoked it. The only time any other staff member might have managed it would have been in the company of one of the family and at their specific instruction. Although it was not a concession that extended to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes had traversed the staircase a few times over the years, admittedly while the family were away for the Season and no one else - especially not Mr. Carson - was about. But this time was different. It wasn't like Lady Mary and Lady Edith descending to meet their waiting father. No one would be waiting for her. But it was nice all the same.

She was wrong about one thing. There was someone waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Barrow.

"Your car awaits, Mrs. Hughes," he announced, as the three women reached the main floor. He held out his arm that she might take it. "Anna, Miss Baxter, Mr. Pratt will take you in the other car."

Miss Baxter looked elated at the honour. Anna was puzzled. She turned to Mrs. Hughes.

"Ought I not to accompany you? You don't want to be alone."

"She won't be alone," Barrow said smoothly, tightening his grip almost possessively. "I can assure you of that."

Mrs. Hughes felt a little guilty about this, but hoped Anna would understand. She reached out to touch Anna's arm. "I'll be fine."

Anna gave in with good grace. It was the bride's day. She joined the lady's maid at the door and the two of them giggled as they made their way to the luxurious car where Mr. Pratt stood, holding the door open that they might get into the back. There were treats all around on this day.

Barrow watched them carefully. "They're gone."

At his words, Mr. Bates stepped out of the library. He nodded to the underbutler as Barrow handed Mrs. Hughes over to him. "Thank you, Mr. Barrow."

She gave Mr. Barrow a warm look. "Yes, thank you so much for that."

He gave her a quick smile.

"Will you join us?" she asked.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I'll just dash down the shortcut. Be there before you." He saw them out the front door and then turned to have a few words with the unfortunate hallboy who had drawn the duty of guarding the house in the absence of everyone else.

Outside, Mr. Bates looked down at the woman on his arm.

"If I may be so bold to say, you are beautiful, indeed, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, you," she said, blushing a little and a bit exasperated with herself for doing so. "I might say that you're looking rather handsome yourself." He was wearing a suit she had never seen before and it did give her a different perspective. "Perhaps I've had my eye on the wrong man."

He laughed. "I'm already spoken for," he said, "and it's me who's supposed to be putting you at your ease." He glanced back at the house. "Mr. Barrow was all cooperation this morning," he added.

"I think he's trying."

"Well, we all try new things once in a while."

They made their way to the car slowly, in part because of Bates's limp, but mostly because the solemnity of the occasion demanded a sedate pace.

"Did you have a moment to yourself this morning?" he asked.

"I did. But nothing seems real to me."

"Then it must be going well."

Mr. Stark held the door of the limousine for them, smiling as they slipped into the spacious back seat.

"Now, this is luxury," Mrs. Hughes said, settling in. "I've never sat here before."

Bates leaned back into the comfortable seat. "Me either. Let's enjoy ourselves."

As the car began to move, he glanced at her. "Was Anna difficult?"

This gave Mrs. Hughes a twinge. "A little hurt, I think. I feel badly about that."

"Well, we can't have that," he said easily. "I'll make it up to her."

They exchanged a smile, he looking forward to reconciling this small wound with Anna, and she marveling about this aspect of a good marriage. She and Mr. Carson had had their disagreements over the years and had overcome them, most of them, but it would be a different dynamic when they were married. She thought perhaps she would look forward to making things up with...Charlie.

Bates played his wedding morning role here, too, engaging in cheerful, distracting banter as the car rolled smoothly down the quiet lanes. Elsie had never seen him like this. It was another side to this very complex man and she felt, more than ever, that Anna was very fortunate in her husband.

He fell silent as the car approached the church and Elsie appreciated this, too. It gave her time to gather her thoughts. She thought of her parents and hoped that somehow they could see her so happy on this happy day. She thought of Charlie. Though she had loved him for a long time, she had truly never thought this day would come for them. That it had was down to him, the dear man. And if she'd ever imagined such an occasion, she could never have envisaged the circumstances or counted the blessings that had rained down upon her these past few months in association with this turning point in her life. However overwhelmed she might be, she knew who to thank for it all. God has blessed me this day.

At the church, there were some well-wishers lingering outside, but Mr. Bates waved them away. He was all formality now, his expression one of dignified gravity. They walked together into the back of the church where the little flower girls and their handler, a farming wife and mother from the estate, were gathered. Elsie wished Miss Sybbie could have been one of them and believed that Mr. Branson would have allowed it had they been here.

The doors to the main hall were closed over but there was just a crack that allowed a glimpse of the throng within and, seeing this, Elsie gasped involuntarily. There were so many people. She had never been easy with this part of it, with being the centre of attention. But it was a particularly awkward moment to succumb to stage fright.

Beside her, Mr. Bates tightened his hold on her arm, intuitively recognizing the signs, or perhaps unable to ignore the terror that was only too clear in her eyes. He bent down to whisper in her ear.

"The only person who matters is the man standing before the altar, waiting for you to come to him. When those doors open wide, ignore everyone else and seek him out. Keep your eyes on him. No one else matters."

Oh, but this was the final blessing of this whole wonderful experience, that Mr. Bates was by her side to keep her upright. Now that she was in it, she knew she could never have managed this alone. She couldn't even thank him for his advice. She could only nod and squeeze his arm.

And then the doors swung open and the music began.