Anddd we're back. This one is a bit shorter than the other two, but I've decided I'm going to just start posting what's written without fussing over it and getting stuck as I usually do.
I also wanted to say thank you to those who have commented- comments really do a lot to uplift a writer's spirits. Anyways, let's crack on with the chapter. Enjoy and let me know what you think/where the story is going- we're heading into the actual plot soon, so I really am curious.
"But why must people seek alternative employment? The world has worked perfectly fine just as it is, has it not?" Violet says between spoonfuls of her soup. She pauses to take a sip of her wine, gestures for Carson to refill her glass.
"Of course it has Mama," Cora gives her a smile, a bit ruefully, "However, I should think that the opportunity to do something one likes and gets them ahead is an idea that appeals to everyone."
"I simply do not understand how being a secretary would help her more than being a housemaid."
Matthew interrupts, amused at the turn of the conversation. There are moments when he thinks he has begun to fit into their way of life, when he could see himself living in the house despite its grandeur. Then there are these vivacious conversations and exasperations of the Dowager which prove otherwise. "She simply wants another way of life. It is hers to live after all."
"I should much rather prefer three warm meals cooked for me than having to do all that myself. Being a servant has many luxuries, you must admit."
Isobel guffaws, "Oh, surely you don't think that is true when there are so many that suffer greatly under the hands of their employers."
Matthew shares a look with Mary at that, bracing themselves for the inevitable. They will spar and open wounds and add salt, allowing for the bitterness to fester until tomorrow's dinner where it will all begin again. He must admit that in their words he finds a hint of jest, as though they are testing the limits of their friendship. A comforting thought, seeing as over a month ago when they arrived, the two couldn't stand the sight of one another.
"That may be but Gwen lives here and I highly doubt Carson or Mrs Wolfe give them lashes should they make a mistake, do you, Carson?"
"Never, Milady." He affirms, a bit put out at the suggestion. He pours her wine, fills the glasses of others. His back is straight and stiff. He hopes the conversation will veer off course to something more political or perhaps a bit of gossip.
"Carson?" Lady Sybil speaks up, peering at him curiously, "Shouldn't you like for Alison to have the chance to explore these different paths?"
"I shouldn't think so, Milady. I would be very honoured for her to have a place in a house like this." He would be positively bursting in fact. The thought that his daughter could follow in his footsteps, her mother's too he supposes, to work in one of the greatest houses of the land. He couldn't even begin to imagine what other profession his daughter might find preferable to that.
"Who is Alison?" Matthew asks, feeling as though he's been left out of a secret. He's sure he's heard the name before but can't be quite sure.
"One of the Carson girls," Sybil says and there's a certain fondness in her voice. "Davina and Alison; surely you've met them by now?"
"I must have. The name sounds familiar." He swallows a bite of his food.
"That would be because you've heard it from me." Isobel laughs, then, in response to the curious looks aimed towards her, she adds, "I saw them in the village with Mrs Carson. She helps at the hospital, so I suppose we will be seeing each other often."
"Ah, you have found an ally, Cousin Isobel," Robert remarks. He has finished his meal, places his fork and knife onto the plate just so, to show the footmen they can take it.
"I didn't know Carson had a family," Matthew says to no one in particular, "Perhaps that is a testament to the modernity of the world we live in. There may even come a time when a servant may marry another and maintain both of their positions."
"I should warn your wife Carson," The Dowager begins, eyes glinting with some mischief, "Lest Mrs Crawley inspire unfavourable feminist ideas in her and your children. She already seems to have corrupted Matthew."
"You make me sound like a rebel." Isobel raises her chin defiantly, sipping from her glass. Not to hide behind an action but rather to prepare for a fight.
"Aren't you?" She raises an eyebrow.
Carson interrupts, "I will keep an eye out, Milady." He nods to the footmen, "William, Thomas."
They gather the plates and move on to serve the fish.
Later, when Mr Carson is dragged into the housekeeper's sitting room under the pretence of discussing household accounts not balancing out, he hardly entertained the thought that he would be occupied for so long that he would be late in retiring for the evening. Late in arriving home. To see his wife, his girls who each night did all they could to stay awake and postpone their bedtime to say goodnight (or "g'night" in Davina's case). He hopes Elsie has managed to coax them to bed, if only to spare her the difficulty of caring for them in the morning when the last thing they wanted to do was to awake.
"Well, you see Mrs Wolfe, I wouldn't consider her a suitable candidate." Ms O'Brien lifts her chin, "Not when she doesn't pull her weight or try to better herself. Being a lady's maid is an acquired skill. One doesn't fall from a sack and suddenly obtain the title."
"So you believe Anna is attempting to remain head housemaid instead?"
His thoughts shift back to the dining room conversation. He knew his wife to be a charitable person, kind and caring, happy to help others when needed. This was a source of pride for him, to have a wife who was compassionate. And yet, this was the first he'd heard of her helping at the hospital. With Davina still not attending school- for reasons beyond his current comprehension- he wondered where Mrs Carson found the time. It must be Dr Clarkson, he thinks, who imposed additional work onto her when she was already so busy with other things to do. Yes, it must be the impertinent doctor.
He clears his throat, "Ms O'Brien, you are dismissed for the evening."
The lady's maid doesn't question his authority for once and he is glad. He doesn't spare a glance in Mrs Wolfe's direction to register her reaction. He doesn't need to, already can feel her tense from across her desk, fuming at his interruption.
When the door clicks shut behind O'Brien, she speaks.
"Mr Carson, I do wonder what impression you hope to give the staff when you act in such a callous manner."
"I hope they realise that my patience is being tested and my time wasted. Mrs Wolfe, you have spoken to her ladyship, who has suggested that Anna is the most suitable candidate for the post but must take on additional duties until we find another housemaid to replace her. Still, instead of answering the applications for that position, you call Ms O'Brien for a testimonial on someone who has already been given the position. This defiance of her ladyship's wishes concerns me greatly."
"As Ms O'Brien has pointed out, Anna does not appear to be motivated to take on the work required of her-"
"Ms O'Brien is not a judge and jury in this matter." He pulls out his pocket watch, flickers his eyes towards it to check the time. It is much later than he had anticipated. Had Ms O'Brien really been speaking for well over an hour? "I believe this is a discussion best saved for the morning. In fact, I will take my leave now, Mrs Wolfe, should there be nothing which requires my assistance."
"Your assistance is required in maintaining the standards of this household which have been slipping for quite some time." It is at times like these that Mr Carson wishes he is in London, tackling a problem with Mrs Bute, the housekeeper at Grantham House. She was a dull woman, with very little sense of humour but level headed, calm and professional. Words he wouldn't use describe Mrs Wolfe at this very moment. Mrs Bute wouldn't raise her voice to make a point or draw attention. Mrs Wolfe, on the other hand, had no qualms in doing so. Rather, it seemed she took delight in the embarrassment such outbursts caused. "Yet, you continue to refuse to acknowledge this fact. I've begun to think that you may have a role to play in it with the way you carry on, Mr Carson."
It really is much too late for this, he thinks. He stands, straightens his waistcoat and nods towards her, "I will assume that you have had a trying day, Mrs Wolfe, and that your remarks just now are a result of it. We will discuss this in the morning. I bid you goodnight."
In the hallway, where he is supposed to be checking that his pantry door is indeed locked as it should be, he sees the small figure of Anna. She should have gone to bed earlier with the others, but instead she is seated in the bright electric light with garments spread on the table, so focused on her work that she does not hear the back door open. She doesn't pay any mind that it closes when he leaves either. He didn't disturb her. No, she had things to do and in the morning, he will make sure to put aside some time to speak with her. He has a pressing question on his mind following the staged ambush that took place today, one that he is almost sure he already knows the answer to.
The weather outside is bothersome only until one wears a coat and so the walk to his cottage is not as tiresome as it is when there is snow or wind or rain.